《The Mysterious Art Museum》


 Chapter 1: The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 1: The Mysterious Art Museum


    "An artist''s work is the flower of their life.


    It grants a persistent and tranquil existence to a moment captured from the fleeting passage of time.


    Every artist bears the imprint of their era.


    The greatest artists are those with the deepest imprints.


    They see a world in a grain of sand and a heaven in a wildflower."


    **


    Gouache paints.


    A brush filled with opaque watercolors mixed with gum arabic dances over 300g heavy-duty paper.


    A symphony of colors fills the circles drawn with a pencil on the inverted ceramic cup.


    In a dark bedroom corner, an old man coughs while painting, muttering,


    "My youth was arduous. Just when white hope seemed to dawn, I was suddenly thrown into pitch darkness, and the road I thought led to sess ended abruptly at a cliff."


    The old man fills the circles with flowers and tree vines.


    Lost in the magic and colors emanating from his hands, I stand mesmerized.


    How can it be so beautiful?


    It''s hard to capture the sorrow in a human''s heart or the scent of a flower.


    Yet, the flowers in the old man''s painting seem to emit a profound fragrance.


    How does he paint like this?


    But I dared not ask.


    A street artist like me couldn''t disrupt this historic moment in art.


    The old man with sses nces at me through them and smiles.


    I wonder if this surreal scene is my imagination, a fantasy, or some kind of lucid dream borne of deep longing.


    The old man in front of me says,


    "Try mixing a bit of Delo Blue and Van Dyke Brown."


    Indeed.


    The old man painting in front of me is...


    Alphonse Mucha, the Czech national painter who died on July 14, 1939.


    How have Ie to meet a legendary artist who has already be a star?


    Hey everyone, d that this novel caught your attention! <b>The Mysterious Art Museum </b>is about how a street artist who went around making portraits of people on street for quick money encounters a weird art gallery where he gets to experience famous historical artists'' way of living and painting, which shapes him to be a great painter himself. Join him on this journey!


    I''m using ChatGPT and then editing it myself and will give my best to make it a good reading experience for you all.


    Release frequency would be alternate days (for now).


    Bonus chapters upon reaching milestones on Kofi, and also for every 5 reviews until 20 reviews and every 25 ratings upto 100 ratings on NU! It will help others find this novel.


    Advance chapters will be soon on Kofi page.


    Happy Reading!

 Chapter 2 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 2 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    All done, customer.


    The alleyways of Ikseon-dong, Jongno.


    What used to be just a densely popted residential area has, over the past few years, be a street frequented by many people, especially on weekends, thanks to the pretty shops that have sprung up in every alley.


    I am a street artist in this area, setting up my spot in front of a house without a shop on the first floor, painting portraits for passersby.


    Oh my, is this really me? Youve drawn me so beautifully!


    A woman in her twenties, expressing her joy upon receiving the drawing I handed her, showed it to her boyfriend who had been waiting and said.


    Doesnt it look good? Do you think it looks like me? What do you think?


    Her boyfriend, who had been leaning against the wall engrossed in his phone the entire time I was drawing, seemed disinterested in the portrait and pulled out a designer wallet.


    How much do I owe you?


    I looked up at the man, dressed in clearly expensive clothes and wearing a luxury watch I could only dream of, and bowed my head.


    Its 25,000 won, customer.


    The man opened his wallet and handed me a 50,000 won bill.


    Here.


    Oh, your change. Just a moment.


    Do I even have enough change? I might just have enough if Ibine all the thousand won bills. Will he be upset if I give it all in small bills? I sat down, straightened my legs, rummaged through my pockets, and pulled out crumpled bills to make the change.


    Heres your change


    Gone.


    Both the woman and the man. They had already walked quite a distance, the woman arm-in-arm with her boyfriend. At least the woman seemed to want to say goodbye, turning around while linked to her boyfriends arm, and waved at me.


    Hey, over here.


    I held up the change, signaling them to take it. But the woman just smiled and waved it off.


    I heard the woman say as they walked further away, arm-in-arm.


    You liked the drawing, thats why you tipped, right? Good job.


    Thats not why I tipped.


    Then why?


    Just felt sorry for them standing out in the cold like that.


    Oh


    Tip.


    Its still a foreign concept in our country, but surprisingly, many people do tip. Some for liking the drawing, others, like that man, out of pity, leaving more than a small change.


    I quietly looked at the change in my hand, then crumpled it up into my pocket.


    Does it hurt my pride?


    What a joke. I dont have such pride left.


    To me, both the woman who liked my drawing,


    And the man who showed no interest in it and left a pity tip,


    Are all people Im grateful to.


    You can dig all day, but you wont find a thousand won in the ground.


    I roam the alleys of Ikseon-dong all week.


    Why dont I stick to a fixed spot? Isnt it obvious?


    This is in front of someones house. Its only natural for a homeowner to dislike having a peddler set up right in front of their door. I have to move spots several times a day.


    Even now, the homeowner has been ring at me over the wall for a while. I smiled amicably and bowed.


    Finished drawing. Ill get up now.


    In fact, the homeowner said something while I was drawing the woman, but I begged for a little more time to finish the portrait.


    I packed my tools in a bag, collected my folding chair and easel, and walked down the alley.


    Once out of the crowded alley and in a quieter area, I checked my earnings for the day.


    50,000 won, 100,000 won... a total of 125,000 won. Today was a good day.


    Fridays are profitable. On weekdays, its hard to even make 50,000 won. There have been days when I waited over 10 hours and didnt earn a single penny, while days like today, I work a few hours and earn a substantial amount. Of course, this luck is limited to Fridays and Saturdays.


    Thats it for today.


    This should cover the cost of the materials I use at my precious home, which is also my studio. Ive paid my rentst week, so I should befortable for a while. Today, I want to give myself a bit of a break too.


    Phew.


    Between the alleys, the beautiful moon visible through the gaps in the roofs of the residential area.


    I gazed at the round moon shining in the ck sky for a while, then took off the hat I had been wearing all this time.


    I thought no one was around, but two women passing by me nced at my face and whispered to each other.


    "Wow, he''s handsome."


    "Why does he dress like that with such a face? Looks like a beggar."


    "Hey, be quiet. He can hear us."


    "Giggle, let''s go."


    Yes, I can hear you all.


    I ran my fingers through my hair, heavily ttened by the hat. But my hair, pressed down all day under the hat, was greasy and stuck to my head. I had washed my hair with water in a public restroom, wiped it with tissue, and shook it out with my hands, so it looked somewhat presentable.


    No one paid attention to me in my ck tracksuit covered in paint and the hat pressed down on my head.


    I wandered through the crowd like a ghost, feeling unusually happy to be out.


    The surroundings quieted down a bit when I reached the park in front of the Jongmyo Public Parking Lot.


    I took out my phone and called my mom.


    -Yes, son.


    "Mom, it''s your second son."


    -Of course, my son. How was your day?


    "It was luckier than usual. I''ve already finished work and I''m on my way home."


    -That''s good, things will get even better for you, my son.


    "How is brother?"


    -He''s just in his room.


    "Is he reading Braille books?"


    -No, he''s listening to the radio in his room. Should I change it for him?


    "No, I''ll see him when I get home. Did the basic living allowance for this monthe in okay?"


    -Yes, that and your brother''s disability assistance came in too.


    "Okay, I can send about 400,000 won home this month, so use it for living expenses."


    -You don''t have to do that every time, it''s hard for you too. The two of us are fine with the money we get from the government.


    "Brother likes meat, use it to buy him some pork belly"


    I used my brother as an excuse, but in reality, it''s mom who loves pork belly the most.


    If I tell her it''s for her, she won''t ept it, so I always have to use my brother as an excuse. That''s the only way she''ll take it.


    -That''s great, he will love it. I''ll make sure to buy it and cook it for him.


    "Okay, I''ll call again, mom."


    -Okay, my son. Thank you always.

 Chapter 2 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 2 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    I sat on the park bench during the call.


    I put the phone in my pocket and unbuttoned my shirt and took out a yellow string ne from around my neck. A string ne that is a bit short for me to wear. Some people asked me why I was wearing such a rag, but this is my treasure.


    It was thest gift my dad gave me.


    "Dad, are you doing well in heaven?"


    I touched the string ne and looked at the night sky.


    My dad was a sailor on a deep-sea fishing boat. He never came back after he encountered a storm when I was 12 years old.


    He was the one who gave me a pencil he bought from abroad as a gift, because I loved drawing since I was young.


    I was afraid to use the good pencil that I had never seen before, because I often lost pencils by drawing anywhere. I was afraid of losing it.


    Before he left for hisst expedition, he put this string ne around my neck and attached a pencil to the end. He stroked my head.


    "My son. This way you won''t lose your pencil. Draw as much as you want, don''t be stingy. I''ll buy you a better pencil when Ie back. Next time, you''ll be a great painter. How about that?"


    To be honest, I didn''t even know what a painter was.


    I just thought he was someone who drew pictures. I nodded my head, because I liked drawing.


    I hugged my dad and looked up at his smiling face.


    That was thest image of my dad I remember. Among the passengers of the ship that capsized in the storm, 30% were swept away by the waves and their bodies were not found. My dad''s body was among them.


    I waited for three years, hoping that he would miraculously survive, and I didn''t do a funeral. But my dad never came back.


    My brother is congenitally blind.


    He has never seen anything since he was born. He doesn''t know what my mom, dad, or my face looks like. My mom always had to take care of him. She couldn''t work, of course, and our family became eligible for basic living assistance.


    Now I live apart from my mom and brother.


    I had to separate the household because I could lose my eligibility for basic living assistance if I made money.


    I could live without the allowance if I made enough money, but I didn''t, so it was a choice I had to make. Of course, I was taxed very low because my ie was low, as I only drew portraits and received cash. I did it out of spite.


    I sat quietly on the bench and got up.


    "Let''s go back to my cozy basement studio today."


    The ce I live in is a basement studio in a small vi at the end of the Dongmyo residential area.


    Six bus stops from Jongno 3-ga station*, where my workce, Ikseon-dong, is located. It''s a distance that I can walk slowly and save on transportation costs, so I always walk. [T/N: Subway stations]


    I walked slowly along the street with an easel on my shoulder, a tool bag on the other side, and a chair in my hand.


    Did I have any ramen left at home?


    I''m hungry. Today''s ie was good, should I raid a convenience store?


    No, convenience stores are expensive, let''s go to the neighborhood mart.


    Even if I go there, I''ll end up picking something cheap among the cheapest foods, but I still feel good when I look around the mart.


    I walked slowly, humming a tune, and passed Jongno 5-ga station. I entered a rtively quiet street. I could go by the main road and get there faster, but the traffic situation on the weekend road of Jongno, which is full of cars, is veryplicated.


    I avoided the dizzying main road and walked along the alley. I stopped at some point.


    "Was there something like this here?"


    Is it a new store?


    This is the residential area that I pass by every day.


    No, but can an art gallery be built in such a secluded ce? I don''t even see a parking lot.


    ''Lucid Dream Art Gallery? The name is grand.''


    But I''m interested in the exhibition as a painter.


    I wondered what kind of exhibition they had to have an art gallery in this back alley. I looked at the poster hanging in front of the building and widened my eyes.


    "Alphonse Mucha? No way, in such a small ce?"


    To host an exhibition of a famous foreign painter, you have to pay a rental fee to the current owner of the painting and bring it.


    It''s not easy to hold an exhibition unless it''s a big art gallery like Sejong Cultural Center or Seoul Arts Center, because the cost of moving the old paintings by ne, building the exhibition facilities, and hiring the preservation staff is not cheap.


    I narrowed my eyes and stared at the poster for a while. Then I chuckled.


    "Oh, digital media art."


    Of course, this also requires a rental fee, but it''s much less than renting a real original painting.


    The representative digital art exhibition hall in Korea is the Bunker of Light* in Jeju Ind. There is also a branch of the Bunker of Light at the Walkerhill Hotel in Seoul, which is constantly holding exhibitions, but I couldn''t afford to go there because the admission fee was too expensive.


    [T/N: Bunker of Light is a French immersive media art exhibition hall, surrounded by dozens of beam projectors and speakers as soon as you enter, where you can immerse yourself in works and music and enjoy the exhibition realistically.]


    Why is the exhibition expensive when the rental fee is cheap?


    Digital media art is a re-creation of art. Of course, there is a program, and there is another artist who created the program. There are people who take a margin in between, so it''s bound to be expensive.


    To be honest, I wasn''t interested in exhibitions that weren''t original paintings, so I didn''t even think about paying for them.


    Then, I saw the words written at the bottom of the poster.


    "Opening discount event, admission fee 5,000 won?"


    Oh, I was curious about what digital art was and wanted to see it once. That''s good. Yeah, let''s skip a meal and see it. It''s better for a painter to see than to eat.


    I heard that it was an exhibition that filled the walls and giant LED screens with images of paintings, along with magnificent music. It felt like I was in a dream. I was looking forward to it.


    I searched my pockets and took out a 5,000 won bill and walked into the empty art gallery entrance.

 Chapter 3 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 3 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    There are no staff. I want to leave my luggage, but I can''t.


    Instead of staff, there is a kiosk at the ticket sales booth. Well, it doesn''t matter. I''m not looking my best, so I prefer unmanned sales than meeting people right now.


    I used cash instead of a credit card to print my ticket and then looked for the exhibition entrance.


    It seems the exhibition is underground.


    I followed the arrows downstairs. As I descended, I could faintly hear the sound of a violin.


    ''Antonn Dvok.''


    A representative musician of Czech.


    Even those uninterested in ssical music would know him for his famous Symphony No.9 ''From the New World''.


    ''Requiem, op. 89.''


    A requiem for the dead.


    Not as famous as Mozart''s, but still an excellent piece of music to honor a legendary deceased painter.


    Of course, music by Beethoven, Schumann, or Brahms, beloved by Koreans, would also be nice, but it seems inappropriate to y music by Germanposers at Mucha''s exhibition, especially since Mucha suffered cruel torture at the hands of the Nazis andter died from worsening pneumonia symptoms.


    They might not have a direct rtion to World War II?


    Think again. It''s like ying traditional Japanese songs from the Edo period in a museum dedicated to Kim Gu. Even if the music is from people unrted to the war, there are other choices that would be more appropriate.


    I entered the dimly lit hallway, enjoying the gentle music, and looked for a staff member near the slightly illuminated door I presumed to be the entrance to the exhibition. However, no one was in sight.


    "The ce must be new, it''s a bit disorganized."


    Did I buy a ticket for nothing? It seems I could have entered without any problems. I sighed, looking at my ticket.


    "But it wouldn''t be polite to see an exhibition of a legendary painter for free."


    Whether there''s a ticket checker or not, it''s a matter of conscience.


    Carefully opening the door, I was struck by a sudden change. Was it the air? The music, which sounded very faint outside, now resonated powerfully.


    Overwhelmed, I stood at the entrance to the exhibition hall.


    "Wow."


    Is this digital media art?


    It''s on apletely different scale from what I had heard. Rumors had it that the exhibition consisted of beautiful pictures disyed on 100-inch LCD screens, with movements added for emotional impact, but what I saw was entirely different.


    A fusion of visual and auditory art.


    The first thing upon opening the door was a staircase going down.


    The basement must have high ceilings. I stood at the door, unable to descend the stairs, my eyes delighted by the huge paintings.


    Ceiling, floor, walls. Every visible space was adorned with beautiful paintings by Alphonse Mucha. Furthermore, they changed over time or with the progression of the music, sometimes transforming into different images, patterns shifting, flowers blooming, and vines growing.


    I stood there, transfixed by this new feeling of awe.


    It took me five minutes toe back to my senses.


    Not because of time, though.


    Digital media art usually consists of 20 to 30 minute programs that repeat.


    Once a program ends, there''s about a 5-minute break before it starts again from the beginning.


    It seems I entered about 5 minutes before the end of a program.


    After watching the credits screen that showed the names of the foreigners who nned this exhibition, I finally came to my senses, washed my face, and smiled contentedly.


    "I did welling here."


    Indeed, I did. I was well aware of such an art form, but I didn''t know that a digital media exhibition could be this moving, unlike the original paintings.


    Indeed, one must see and experience much in life.


    It was only then that I truly saw the interior of the art gallery.


    As the paintings that adorned every space disappeared, the deste appearance of a warehouse-like building was revealed. Of course, the gloominess is offset by the dimly lit interior and the beautiful, soft lights that shine prettily.


    "Is there no one else here?"


    Hmm, well. I passed by here yesterday too but didn''t notice the existence of this gallery. It seems it opened for the first time today. Exhibitions that don''t put up early bird tickets on inte ticket sites are usually like this.


    I walked on the ck floor and sat on the square rock sofa in the center, where I could best enjoy the festival of lights spreading out in 360 degrees.


    I ced my easel, chair, and a tool bag next to the rock sofa.


    With my body feeling lighter, I slightly bent my waist, rested my elbows on my thighs, propped my chin, and settled in to enjoy the next program from the start, staring at the empty wall.


    Waiting without doing anything, I got lost in my thoughts.


    When I''m always immersed in thoughts alone, I think of my dad.


    I quietly closed my eyes and remembered thest memory with my dad.


    That day was when my dad returned home after leaving for 8 months.


    The port where the long-distance fishing boat docked was very far from our house, so I couldn''t go to meet dad.


    I sat on a rock below the hill leading to our house, drawing pictures on the back of a used calendar that mom had torn up while waiting.


    Initially, I drew pictures while sitting cross-legged, but it got ufortable, so I justy down on the ground and drew.


    I didn''t think about what to draw or how to draw. I just drew anything my hand felt like doing.


    I had drawn dad''s face, mom''s face, and my brother''s face to the point of boredom. So, I turned my eyes to the surroundings and started drawing trees, flowers, small houses, and mountains.


    At some point, when I was so engrossed in my doodling that I forgot I was there to wait for dad, a familiar voice called out.


    ''Our second child! Why are you lying down on the ground?''


    I sprang up from my spot as if on a spring and ran towards the direction of the voice.


    ''Dad!!!!!''


    ''Haha! Look at this guy. Grown so tall in just 8 months. Let me give you a hug, whoa! You''re heavy.''


    Dad lifted me up in a hug.


    I rubbed my face against dad''s prickly stubbled cheek.


    It wasn''t exactly a pleasant smell, but it felt like I was going to fly because I hadn''t smelled dad in so long.

 Chapter 3 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 3 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Dad looked at the calendar paper I was drawing on for a while and then smiled broadly.


    ''Our second child, your drawing skills are improving, aren''t they?''


    ''Yes! I drew a lot. With the pencil dad bought me.''


    ''Really? How many pencils are left?''


    ''Hmm, two out of twelve.''


    ''I see, you''re running out of them. I''ll buy you new pencils when I go out again.''


    ''The ones you bought me before! My school friends are jealous of my pencils.''


    ''Really? Then I''ll buy you more pencils, so will you draw hard?''


    ''Yes! I''m going to be a painter when I grow up!''


    ''Really? Are you confident?''


    ''Yes!''


    ''Then shall we make a promise with dad? To be a great painter for sure.''


    ''Okay!''


    That day, we made a pinky promise.


    We rubbed our palms together, copying each other and pressed our thumbs together as a seal.


    Dad had returned after a long time.


    Having Dad at home felt like moving from a barren house without any walls to protect us, to a grand mansion guarded by security personnel.


    Some say childhood dreams change every day. But I couldnt change my dream anymore. I couldnt tell it to Dad, who didnt return after leaving for his next job.


    My disabled brother, my mother who couldnt work because of him, and me, still young.


    The three of us left behind lived on government support.


    Some people pointed their fingers at me, saying that I was a pathetic person who only wanted to do what I wanted, leaving my family behind, when our house was so poor and I was the only human being who could work.


    But I had no other choice.


    Even lying on a thin nket on the cold floor in a dark, half-basement room, facing horrors and insults in the darkness, I always remembered the promise with Dad in my dreams.


    I tried hard. I thought bing an artist would fulfill my promise to Dad and take care of my family.


    But after graduating and entering society, there were no jobs. Even friends from prestigious art schools like Hongik, Kookmin, and Seoul National University ended up as docents who guided the works in museums after studying abroad, a harsh reality in this field.


    Most of my friends who didnt give up on painting went to designpanies. Those who remained as pure artists were one in a thousand.


    Dad. It seems hard work alone isnt enough.


    Ive thought about giving up many times. In fact, Im still considering it.


    Maybe I should just get a job to free my mom and brother from this miserable welfare life.


    As my thoughts grew darker,


    And despair stemmed from conflict,


    Just then, the majestic music signaling the start of the exhibition program yed, and the massive paintings I was looking at lit up.


    I unclenched my jaw, straightened my back, and smiled faintly at the paintings.


    "The Seasons."


    One of Muchas most famous series.


    Also one of my favorite works by him.


    Each painting personifies the characteristics of a season with fairy-like women, using distinct, wavy lines, vibrant colors, and backgrounds adorned with flowers and trees, perfectly representing the Art Nouveau style.


    I turned my head towards the painting of Spring projected on the left wall.


    A beautiful woman with long blonde hair and a white dress, wearing a floral wreath.


    The woman ying the harp seemed to be celebrating the uing spring.


    Around her were numerous flowers representing spring.


    I quietly watched the five birds sitting on the harp she was ying.


    The birds pecking at the strings of the harp seem to be weing spring as they sing along.


    "Beautiful."


    Truly beautiful. How did someone paint this 120 years ago? It doesn''t look outdated even now. Honestly, I''d believe it if someone said it was painted by a popr illustrator of our time.


    I lifted my head to see the painting of summer on the ceiling.


    The woman, the protagonist of summer, wears a wreath of fiery red flowers, symbolizing the heat of the sun.


    So hot that her clothes have slipped to expose her shoulders,


    She is perched on a tree vine, dipping her feet in the stream.


    Resting from the heat, yet her eyes are seductive and beautiful.


    After briefly admiring the painting of summer, I looked forward to the painting of autumn, which I always found impressive.


    "There''s so much conveyed in the painting of autumn."


    Autumn is the season of bountiful harvest.


    In the painting, a woman of autumn, wearing a chrysanthemum flower wreath, joyfully harvests grapes.


    Anyone thinking of autumn would predict this far.


    However, what sets this painting apart is the physical difference between the women of other seasons and the woman of autumn.


    While the women of other seasons are either slender or just beautiful, the autumn woman has muscr arms and shoulders, resembling those of a man who exercises frequently.


    I nodded, looking at the woman''s physique.


    "Working and harvesting in the fields naturally develops healthy muscles in a woman''s body. Alphonse Mucha''s ability to express such delicate details is truly remarkable."


    I spent a long time admiring the autumn painting before turning my head to the right wall, where the winter painting was.


    The woman, wrapped up in a dress to her head, sits breathing warm air into her frozen red hands. The barren branches around her, covered in snow, make the painting feel cold just by looking at it.


    "But Mucha portrayed it differently."


    In front of the woman, three birds sit huddled against the cold. They seem too cold to move.


    I looked around,paring the birds in the spring painting with those in the winter painting.


    The birds in winter appear plumper than those in spring.


    One could think they''ve feasted in autumn, or perhaps they''ve grown their winter feathers, but I heard that Alphonse Mucha painted these plump birds hoping they would survive the winter well.


    Also, the woman''s hand, which seems to be warming herself with her breath, actually holds a small bird.


    On closer inspection, it''s clear that she is not warming her own hand but the small bird.


    This painting beautifully conveys thepassionate heart of the artist.


    "The Seasons," paintings of the beautiful seasons expressed in pastel tones and curves. I really love these paintings.


    As I was enjoying the paintings, feeling as if I had rented the entire gallery, the music crescendoed and the paintings changed. I gasped as I saw a single, huge painting rise.


    "Zodiac."


    A painting well-known to Koreans as the 12 Zodiac signs. This single painting dominates the space of the exhibition, representing Mucha''s work.

 Chapter 4 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 4 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    The woman in the painting, with a captivating gaze, looks off to the left.


    Adorned with various jewels, she wears a crown and reveals her femininity through avish ne and a medieval dress with voluminous shoulders.


    The twelve zodiac signs refer to the twelve constetions.


    This painting is named so because behind the woman, there''s arge circle with twelve smaller circles, each depicting a constetion.


    Below her, to the left are sunflowers, and to the right, poppies are painted.


    The entire border of the painting is richly decorated with sinuous nt stems, and the womans long orange hair elegantly cascades down like vines, curling into round shapes.


    The paintings outlines are bold and thick, giving it a modern design sketch or cartoon-like feel.


    A characteristic of the Mucha style is the near absence of empty space in the painting.


    Its splendor evokes an immediate exmation of awe.


    However, the use of warm pastel tones subtly reduces the excess, defining Alphonse Muchas style.


    The remarkable aspect of Mucha''s works is their non-obvious nature.


    Every densely packed element in this opulent painting has a meaning.


    Below the twelve zodiac signs are the sunflowers and poppies, and the twelve constetions themselves. Indeed, this painting is not just an artwork; it is a calendar. Specifically, it''s a cover picture used by Mucha for a calendarmission.


    The sunflowers and poppies below symbolize the sun and the moon.


    He believed that a person''s life is like the rising and setting of the sun and the moon, the passing of months and years, umting over time topletion. Thus, each element in his mboyant paintings holds its own meaning.


    In the field of design, he was almost a century ahead of his time.


    Even the creators of famous animations like Sailor Moon and Cardcaptor Sakura openly acknowledge their drawings as being inspired by the Mucha style, attesting to his significant impact in the modern world of design.


    "Truly magnificent."


    As mentioned earlier, this painting is actually the cover of a calendar, so it is not veryrge in reality.


    Of course, it wasn''t as small as a desk calendar, but it''s not as overwhelminglyrge as it appears now. The painting projected onto the walls and ceiling that I am currently observing seems to be about 15 meters in height.


    I minutely observe the densely drawn paintings, noticing that the twelve constetions positioned behind the woman start to light up.


    "Digital media art is truly amazing."


    Lights turn on and off in each constetion, and finally, the light shines on Aries, at the bottom left. As the bright light of Aries dims, Taurus lights up, followed by Gemini.


    One by one, the constetions light up.


    After Pisces shines and flickers, all twelve lights turn on and off simultaneously.


    And then, one constetion lights up.


    "Its Leo. What does it mean?"


    At that moment, I feel a bit dizzy and close my eyes for a while.


    Is it because of the overwhelming size of the painting? Or because it''s not a traditional painting but a media art exhibit? It''s making me feel seasick.


    I rub my eyes intensely as if washing my face.


    I feel like Im going blind, even with my eyes closed, simr to symptoms of anemia. After the dizzinesspletely fades, I open my eyes.


    What is this?


    I rub my eyes again in disbelief at the incredible sight.


    "Is this a dream?"


    I was certainly sitting alone in the middle of the exhibition hall. I had just closed and reopened my eyes due to a brief spell of dizziness. But now, I find myself sitting alone in apletely different ce.


    A cold, cutting wind seems to bite into my flesh. It feels too real to be dismissed as a dream.


    "Have I been too tiredtely?"


    Yeah, that''s possible. I''ve been out painting portraits in Ikseon-dong for 15 days straight without a break, earning money for living expenses and to help out at home. It''s no wonder I dozed off at the exhibition.


    Thinking it''s a dream makes it less scary. Wherever I am, whatever happens to me here, its just a dream, and I wont remember it once I wake up.


    I slowly survey my surroundings.


    Its just a street. Strange, right? But no, this is not South Korea.


    The medieval-style buildings and unpaved roads, the night streets littered with trash and various debris, and not a single person in sight. It feels like I''ve been transported to Europe in the past.


    I crane my neck to get a better view of the street. I can see a light on in a shop, and at a nce, I spot a Christmas tree inside.


    Piecing together the visual clues, it seems like Im somewhere during the Christmas season.


    Im assessing the situation when I suddenly freeze at the sight of something huge and ck looming over the building roofs.


    "The Eiffel Tower?"


    A massive metallic structure.


    It''ste at night, and with the lights off, the dark body of the tower is only visible in the moonlight, towering over the rooftop.


    Yes, I am in Paris, France, of an unknown era.

 Chapter 4 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 4 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Ah, since the Eiffel Tower was built in 1889 as a monument for the centennial of the French Revolution, it must be some time after that. Its funny to say I''ve e" here. More urately, I''m dreaming of being here.


    Paris, France.


    A ce I''ve always wanted to visit, even in a dream.


    Should I be d to see it in a dream, considering that a trip abroad is unthinkable given my familys financial situation?


    When I was in high school, there was a school trip to Japan.


    However, I couldn''t join. We couldnt afford the trip fees. Although my teacher offered to pay for me, I refused. The only thing left in my teenage pride was not wanting to beg for sympathy.


    So, even now at twenty-eight, I still havent been abroad.


    I n to enjoy the luck I''ve found in my dreams.


    But... even in a dream, does the weather need to be this realistic?


    I quickly put my frozen hands in my pockets and looked around.


    I can''t tell the time, but it''s definitely night.


    There are only two ces lit up within sight.


    One is the Christmas shop I saw earlier, and the other is a ce with lights on but I can''t tell what it is, though the door is open.


    I walked towards the Christmas shop first.


    Through the ss, I could see trees, various dolls, gifts disyed, and a high-nosed woman, seemingly an employee, organizing things and turning off the lights. It looks like the shop is just closing.


    Worried about loitering in front and being mistaken for a suspicious person, I quickly moved away and walked towards thest lit ce.


    It doesnt look like a shop on closer inspection.


    A ce like a warehouse with its door open on this cold day. I peeked inside against the wall.


    Hmm, there arerge machines. It seems like a print shop given therge papers and inks.


    Someone is inside.


    A young man, only visible from the back, is hunched over in a chair, working on something.


    I moved slightly to see what he was doing.


    A painting?


    The man is drawing. In the middle of the night, when the streets are deserted, in a print shop rather than a studio.


    What kind of person is he? My gaze then shifted to a calendar hanging on the wall.


    December 24, 1894?


    If it''s December 24, its Christmas Eve. I heard that Europeans back then never worked on Christmas Eve. Was that information wrong? Oh, right, this is a dream.


    I leaned out into the street again.


    Seeing that this is the only lit shop, it seems the custom of not working on Christmas is right. But why is this person working in my dream when everyone else is resting?


    Just watching the back of someone engrossed in something is a bit boring.


    I came out in front of the print shop and looked around the street. Then, I spotted a signpost.


    57th Street.


    Knowing the street number doesn''t change anything, but just so.


    I stepped back a few paces and looked at the sign of the print shop.


    Lemercier? Seems like the name of the print shop. But isn''t that a person''s name?


    Thinking it sounded familiar, I recalled - it''s the name of a famous medieval French architect, Jacques Lemercier.


    Then I heard the sound of a door opening inside the print shop.


    I looked down to see a plump middle-aged maning out of an inner door. Is he also working on Christmas?


    The plump man looks at the young man absorbed in his work and says,


    "Alphonse. Even if it''s a favor for a friend, why work on Christmas Eve? That friend really has no conscience. Asking for such a favor on a day everyone else is resting."


    I widened my eyes at the plump mans words. Alphonse? I furrowed my brows and pieced together the puzzle.


    The person working is named Alphonse...? Then that man... is Alphonse Mucha from 1894.


    Am I dreaming this because I fell asleep at his exhibition? What a strange dream.


    Anyway, Alphonse Mucha would have been around 34 years old at this time. Mucha at this time waspletely unknown.


    Mucha, with short hair and a mustache, smiles kindly and lifts his head.


    Mr. Brunhoff, the office manager. I''m fine, it''s a paid job even if it''s a friend''s request. I need to earn a living.


    The man called Brunhoff drags a chair over, sits down, and nces at the painting Mucha is working on.


    What are you doing?


    Proofreading work.


    Tsk, tsk, money''s good but you should take a break during the Christmas season. Go see your family.


    Haha, I came to Paris alone anyway. I have nothing to do even if I go home.


    Brunhoff clicks his tongue and shakes his head.


    My wife is driving me crazy with her nagging. Standing guard duty during Christmas season. If I were her, I couldnt stand it either. Damn boss.


    Haha, if Mr. Lemercier hears, youll be fired?


    He''s not here, right? It''s okay to curse when he''s not around.


    As I thought, Lemercier was a person''s name. The owner of this printing house must have that name.


    Brunoff asked.


    "Don''t you have any friends? Don''t you have anyone to meet on Christmas holidays?"


    "I do, I''m going to have dinner with Marold and Makovsky at the restaurant on the 26th."


    "Hmm, well, I''m d you''re not stuck at home all holiday."


    Then, I heard someone''s urgent footsteps in my ears, who was listening to the conversation outside the printing house.


    I stuck my head out and looked to the side, and saw someone running down the alley, seeing the lighting out of the printing house, blushing and running faster.


    Uh, uh.


    Is heing straight to me?


    Doesn''t he see me?


    I didn''t know how to react, so I just stood there awkwardly and couldn''t avoid him until the man came right in front of me.


    Just before the man hit me, I reflexively raised my hands and feet to protect myself.


    "Huh!"

 Chapter 5 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 5 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    I braced myself for protection, but strangely, I felt no pain.


    A man, who had just dashingly grown a mustache and wore a sharply tailored suit, passed right through me.


    I turned, startled, to see the man who had just prated my form, dashing away behind me.


    "Ah, it''s just a dream, of course."


    To the people I see before me, I must be invisible. Then, I can rx. It''s cold; better to go inside and watchfortably.


    The man who passed through me shouts in front of the print shop.


    "Excuse me! Can I request work now?"


    Brunhoff and Alphonse turn to look.


    Even though I''m in their sight, their attention is solely on the man who just appeared. As I thought, I''m invisible.


    Brunoff stands up and shakes his head.


    "Sorry, but we''re not taking job requests. It''s the Christmas holiday period, as you know."


    "Please! It''s urgent. Can''t you do something?"


    "Haha, sorry. Pleasee backter."


    I sneak into the print shop.


    Sure enough, the two inside don''t notice my presence. I lean against the warmest wall in the print shop, observing the situation.


    The hurriedly visiting man pulls out a handkerchief, wiping sweat as he enters.


    "My name is Mikael Dujardin. I''m Sarah Bernhardt''s manager."


    Brunoff''s face, which had been dismissive until the name was mentioned, suddenly hardens.


    "Sa, Sa, Sarah Bernhardt''s manager?"


    "Yes, that''s right."


    "The famous actress Sarah Bernhardt of France? The greatest theatre actress?"


    "Yes, that''s right! May I sit?"


    Brunoff swallows nervously, offering a chair.


    "Please sit down. But could you maybe get an autograph..."


    "If you take the job, I can do that for you."


    "Ah, taking the job is a bit... All our main artists are on vacation..."


    "Aren''t you here?"


    "No, I''m not an artist. I''m the office manager here, managing this print shop."


    Mikael turns to Alphonse.


    "And this person?"


    Mikael''s eyes light up when he sees Alphonse''s drawing.


    "So, you are an artist!"


    Brunoff waves his hands dismissively.


    "No, this friend here isn''t a main artist, just an assistant."


    "An assistant artist? Sigh..."


    Mikael looks disappointed, his head drooping.


    "This is the only ce open at this time."


    Alphonse interjects.


    "Can we hear what the urgent matter is?"


    Mikael sighs.


    "Sarah Bernhardt. You know who she is, right?"


    Alphonse nods.


    "Of course, I couldn''t be unaware of France''s most beautiful actress. I''m well aware that she''s made almost every y a hit."


    "Huh, embarrassingly, the y we just put up at the theatre was a flop. Sarah thinks it''s because of the poster. As you know, promotional materials are trend-driven, so everyone just copies whatever is popr. Sarah says that''s the problem and wants apletely new poster for the next y."


    Brunoff interjects.


    "Can a poster really make a y unsessful?"


    Mikael rubs his face, shaking his head.


    "Of course not. But the beautifuldy is very whimsical and stubborn. If we don''t bring a new poster, she won''t take the stage. Then we''d have to pay the venue rental and other actors'' fees, incurring huge losses."


    Brunoff puckers his lips, nodding.


    "Then make a new one. If a great actress like Sarah requests, we shouldply. The print shop is closed until the 28th, soe back on the 29th."


    Mikael washes his face dryly, his head drooping.


    "The performance is... on January 1st."


    Brunoff looks incredulous.


    "You''re starting a performance on January 1st and are asking for a new poster now? Look, it takes days to create a painting. Even if we start right now, there''s not enough time to print and post them around the city. Be reasonable."


    Mikael bites his lip, realizing the absurdity.


    "Are all other print shops closed? Isn''t there any open?"


    Brunoff asserts, waving his hands.


    "It''s all the same. Only office managers like me would be left. We take turns on duty due to the high risk of fire from the many machines. But wherever you go, you''ll only find general office staff remaining. All the painters have gone on vacation."


    "Ha..."


    Mikael rises from his seat with a look of resignation.


    "There''s nothing I can do then."


    At that moment, Alphonse, who was sitting, speaks up.


    "I, I''ve worked with Ms. Sarah Bernhardt before."


    Mikael''s eyes widen. He looks down hurriedly and then grasps Alphonse''s shoulder tightly, asking,


    "Work? What kind of work are you talking about?"


    Alphonse pushes up his round sses with a smile.


    "By chance, I drew a poster for the Cleopatra y four years ago."


    Mikael''s eyes widen as he recalls the memory.


    "Four years ago, that''s 1890... Yes, yes! Cleopatra! There was such a y! Did you draw that poster?"


    "Yes, although I was an assistant back then."


    Mikael eagerly says,


    "Please do it! You''re the only one who can!"


    As Mikael shakes Alphonse while shouting, Brunoff interjects.


    "Hey, he said he was an assistant painter. What would Sarah say if we bring a poster drawn by an assistant?"


    Brunoff''s point is valid. Mikael hesitates for a moment, then starts shaking Alphonse again.


    "Still! It''s better to bring something, even if that''s all we have, to handle her temperamental nature! Please, I beg you. I''ll make it worth your while! I''ll pay double the original price!"


    Alphonse, still held by Mikael''s hand, sways and pushes up his sses with a smile.


    "Yes, I''ll give it a try, Mikael."


    I watch them with a faint smile.


    I know this event.


    Having liked Mucha since childhood, I''m well aware of the Christmas miracle that came to the young and poor but honest and kind Alphonse Mucha in Paris, France, in 1894.


    Mucha adjusts his sses and rises from his seat.


    "Where is Sarah now?"


    "She''s rehearsing at the Renaissance Theatre."


    "Shall we go?"


    "To the theatre?"


    "Yes."


    "Why the theatre?"


    "Because she''s the lead. Surely you don''t want a poster without her face?"


    Mikael looks stunned, then quickly grabs Mucha''s arm.


    "Understood! Let''s go right away! But how long will it take?"


    Mucha smiles gently and says,


    "No matter what happens, I''llplete it by the day before the performance."

 Chapter 5 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 5 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Mikael breathes a huge sigh of relief.


    "Phew, that''s a relief. Truly a relief."


    Brunoff, watching from the side, sneers.


    "There''s no guarantee Sarah will like this guy''s poster, and you''re already relieved."


    Mikael''s expression hardens. Brunoff''s point is right. But it''s better to prove that we''ve made an effort rather than going empty-handed.


    "Let''s go anyway."


    I follow Mikael and Mucha, who are led out by Mikael''s hand.


    The Renaissance Theatre is not far away, a very elegant building made of red bricks. The theatre is empty, as it''s ate Christmas Eve night and the performance hasn''t started yet.


    I enter the auditorium with Mikael and Mucha.


    A beautiful woman stands in the middle of the stage with brown flooring where the wood grain is alive.


    A young and beautiful woman with a mix of brown and blonde hair.


    The woman in thevish dress seems to be rehearsing for the y, reciting her lines alone while staring into space.


    "Decisions are just ves to memory, Gaspard. Born fiercely, butcking the perseverance to endure. None of us can be masters. But stay strong, as long as you can say this is the bottom, it''s not the bottom yet."


    It''s my first time hearing a nightingale-like voice in reality. Sarah''s voice is as beautiful and pleasant as the chirping of real birds.


    ''She''s really beautiful.''


    Of course, this is a dream, so it''s probably the materialization of Sarah Bernhardt as I''ve seen in documents. She''s likely more beautifully adorned than in reality.


    Sarah Bernhardt.


    A great actress who gained fame throughout Europe with her theater performances in the 1870s.


    In the early days of film, she was an actress who appeared in several films, evaluated as the most famous female actress in Europe and the United States in the 19th century, known for her very dramatic performances and called a goddess.


    I jumped down to the stage and followed Mucha, who exined the situation to Sarah and started sketching a simple portrait.


    In fact, I came to know about her because of Alphonse Mucha. I could find Sarah''s portraits in many parts of his artistic world.


    Leaning my arms on the back of the front seat and resting my chin on my hand as usual, I thought, "So the poster he is going to draw now is for the y ''Gismonda.''"


    Of course, what Mucha is drawing now is a simple portrait to be used for the base work of a poster, but it is the greatest fortune to be able to witness the birth of a work that will go down in history. Mucha spent about 30 minutes drawing Sarah''s face from different angles three times, then packed up and stood up.


    I couldn''t understand what they were talking about, but after a brief exchange, Mucha came back towards the audience seats and passed by me. I slowly got up and followed him.


    The empty night streets.


    Time for everyone to be resting with their families before going to bed.


    But Mucha''s steps were quick.


    Returning to the print shop, Brunoff, who had fallen asleep on duty, rubbed his eyes and asked, "Did you meet Sarah?"


    "Yes, Mr. Manager."


    "The autograph?"


    "Haha, here."


    Mucha tore out Sarah''s autograph, which he had received at some point, from a notebook and handed it to Brunoff. Brunoff, beaming with joy, carefully stored the paper in a desk drawer, saying, "It''s toote now. Go home today and do it tomorrow."


    "There''s no time."


    "Look, can you draw a picture just by being rushed by time? Don''t you need a sh of inspiration? The boss also, if he doesn''t get inspiration, just ys for days. And then when he feels it, hepletes a painting in just one day. That''s a real artist."


    I nodded in agreement with Brunoff''s words. I felt the same.


    I am a portrait painter, but that''s just a means to earn a living.


    What I really want to do is be a fine art ormercial artist. In fact, I am more inclined towardsmercial art because of my financial situation. Anyway, I always draw when I return home.


    It''s a narrow basement one-room, but there''s enough space to draw.


    However, like Brunoff said, there are days when I don''t know what to paint. On those days, I look forpetitions. Competitions can be a stepping stone for amateur painters like me, so I often submit my work.


    My skills are not bad, and I have won a few prizes, albeit small. In fact, the 5 million won deposit for my current one-room came from winning a posterpetition hosted by a smallpany.


    But if there''s nothing challenging in thepetitions, I spend the day watching TV or reading in bed.


    It''s a blessing if I can get out of the slump in a day, but it usuallysts several days. I don''t have my own way to escape it yet. Maybe if I work harder, I''ll develop my own know-how someday.


    I suddenly wonder.


    How does Alphonse Mucha, an artist that most would empathize with on this issue, escape it?


    Mucha sits down with a smile.


    "I''ll take responsibility so that the shop won''t have any problems since this is a personalmission. Go to sleep first. I''ll take care of the shop."


    Brunoff tried a few more times to dissuade him but eventually sighed and went to the back room to sleep.


    In the quiet shop, Mucha, who had already started working, murmured softly, "An amateur waits for inspiration, but a pro just goes to work, Brunoff."


    It was just a soft word.


    But I felt as if his words were a sharp de piercing my heart.


    It sounded like a painful admonition hurled at me, who is always busy finding excuses.

 Chapter 6 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 6 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    I have been observing Mucha for several days.


    He has been working tirelessly, barely sleeping three hours a day.


    It''s said that Europeans work all year for the Christmas week, spending thest week of the year resting, traveling, or exchanging gifts with seldom-seen rtives. But Mucha is different.


    ''Have I ever lived my life so hard that I would have no regrets?''


    Life is a series of coincidences and opportunities. One must prepare a foundation to seize whatever opportunity maye, a story even a middle school student knows. But how many actually live that way?


    Nowadays, trends have shifted, and more people say it''s okay not to live too hard. It''s a way tofort our tired lives and enjoy the present. However, the more I make these small but happy choices, the deeper my emptiness grows.


    A life where I can enjoy little happiness, even at the cost of a little earnings, is more appealing. It''s a sweet temptation. A life focused on immediate happiness, forsaking the need for great effort and sacrifice for future value, seems happier.


    Watching Mucha engrossed in his work in the empty print shop without a word, a thought crossed my mind: humans seek reasons for their pain because it''s unbearable otherwise. What does he think is the reason for his pain?


    My lethargy also began from there.


    Immediate happiness canfort pain but can''t exin it.


    The happiness that can be obtained right now doesn''t require much effort.


    It''s a happiness that doesn''t need the effort and endurance required for a future filled with happiness.


    But we constantly face problems throughout our lives.


    Perhaps the mostmon problem is money.


    Am I happy just earning this sry? Sure, for now.


    But if I or a family member falls ill and needs a significant sum, I''ll be helpless. If I dy treatment due to financial issues, the illness will worsen next year, starting a vicious cycle of poverty.


    While the poster was beingpleted, I observed him more than the legendary poster-making process.


    Yes, he''s different from me.


    Is it just that we live differently? No, that''s wrong.


    I''ve lived a life with purpose but no goals. But the person before me is the opposite.


    A life running towards a goal. That''s the difference between him and me.


    If there''s a life goal, the harsh reality can be exined.


    Pain and trials be obstacles to ovee for achieving the goal.


    I thought I had lived diligently.


    I earned my living by drawing portraits in Ikseon-dong and returned to my underground single room to paintte into the night. To others, it might have seemed diligent. But while working, all I thought was ''I want to finish quickly and rest.''


    Unknowingly, I had made rest the purpose of my life.


    Lost in self-reflection while watching him work diligently, the days and nights passed. Finally, Mucha stretches after rising from his seat. He had been sleeping at his desk for days.


    It wasn''t a brief nap.


    He would copse on the desk, sleep for about an hour, startle awake, and resume working. Holding tworge paintings, he smiled broadly.


    I crossed my arms and nodded as I watched him.


    ''1880s theater posters were predominantly horizontal rectangles. This person changed that.''


    His poster was over two meters tall, an unfamiliar sight for people back then. Mucha stood in front of the printing machine, pondering.


    "Can I print this?"


    The machines in the print shop weren''t set up to print such tall posters.


    After thinking, Mucha printed the two paintings separately and joined them. He printed two hundred posters, rolling them neatly and checking the time.


    "He won''t be asleep yet, right?"


    Thinking of heading to the Renaissance Theater.


    I nced at the calendar.


    ''Monday, December 31, 1894.''


    He kept his promise with Mikael.


    I hurriedly followed Mucha, who was heading to the theater. He ran into the theater first, and I followed him in a littleter. I foresaw the situation that would soon unfold inside.


    ''At that time, Sara''s manager Mikael was furious when he saw the finished poster.''


    The ease of knowing the future. I opened the theater door a littlete and walked into the audience.


    Sure enough, Mikael, who was sitting in the front row of the audience, was furious at the finished poster.


    "No! Hey! What the hell is this horrible picture! Who''s going to look at this long poster! Don''t you even know the basics that a y poster should catch people''s attention?"


    Mucha listened to Mikael''s sarcasm and stopped.


    "I''ll show it to the actress, and if you don''t want to use it, I won''t take the money."


    "Is it an answer if you don''t take the money! I asked for the work to at least have hope! If I had known beforehand that you would bring such a trashy picture after wasting time, I would never have hoped for you! Go away! I don''t even want to see you."


    Mucha turned around without a word and left the theater.


    I looked at him walking away with a slightly drooping shoulder and a disappointed expression, and smiled.

 Chapter 6 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 6 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    ''Don''t be too disappointed, go home and get some sleep. A miracle will happen tomorrow.''


    I didn''t follow Mucha, but sat in the theater seat and waited for the situation that would soon unfold. Mikael checked the poster several times from the front row of the audience, scratching his head roughly and swearing.


    Damn it! Damn it! Sarah is going to be furious when she sees this. Damn!


    Do modern celebrity managers also live like this?


    What is it like to live a life dedicated to shining a light on others? When their charge bes a star, do managers also feel a great sense of satisfaction? I''m not familiar with the industry, so I don''t really understand how it works.


    Then, Sarah, dressed in stage costume, appears for the final rehearsal.


    She stands majestically on stage, like a goddess. Even before the rehearsal starts, I quietly nod, seeing Sarah already in the role of the protagonist.


    She is an actress who came from a background of prostitution.


    Abandoned by her parents when she was young, she had no other way to survive but that. Born with a strikingly beautiful appearance, she worked as a high-ss courtesan. Her past followed her like a lifelong stigma.


    When she started acting, her immense talent led every y she was in to be a huge hit, and she became a star overnight.


    But she was not just any star.


    Even in her middle age, she lost one leg in an ident.


    The beautiful actress became disabled.


    Everyone thought her acting career was over.


    But she chose roles that she could perform while seated and continued acting, oveing everything with her natural talent, maintaining her fame until death.


    She was an incredible woman.


    And now, this remarkable woman is right in front of me.


    Sarah changes her gaze to focus on acting, then momentarily returns to her original look when called by Mikael.


    Sarah! The new posters have arrived, but


    Mikael''s voice trails off, apologetically unfolding the poster.


    The thing is... every print shop was closed for Christmas week. Eventually, I found a print shop where an assistant writer works andmissioned them... Remember the person who painted your portrait a few days ago? I''m sorry, I didnt expect such a disaster toe out of it.


    Mikael climbs onto a chair with Muchas poster, which is unusually long and vertical, to show it to Sarah.


    Sarah quietly looks at the poster, then her eyes light up as if shes seen a beautiful flower.


    She sps her hands and nods.


    It''s beautiful.


    Right? I thought it was terrible too... Wait, what did you just say?


    Mikael, surprised, drops the poster he was holding in front of his face.


    Sarah smiles and says, Good job, Mikael. Go out now and stick the poster everywhere you can.


    ... Are you serious?


    Yes, it''s a really beautiful poster.


    [T/N:


    File:Alphonse Mucha - Poster for Victorien Sardou''s Gismonda starring Sarah Bernhardt.jpg - Wikipedia


    ]


    ...


    I smile slyly, propping my chin.


    The artistically talented Sarah recognized the value in Mucha''s ahead-of-its-time painting.


    Sarah takes a poster to the stage, spreads it out, and sits down to admire the painting. Touching the part of the poster depicting her face, she smiles contentedly.


    Mikael, stunned by the unexpected turn of events, stands there nkly, then rushes out with the posters as the next day is the day of the y.


    I was about to follow Mikael but then looked towards Sarah, who remained alone on the stage, admiring the poster.


    She touches the painting and mutters softly, What kind of painter are you? Who are you to paint me so beautifully? I''m curious.


    I grin and run after Mikael.


    When I go out to the street, itste at night and empty. Mikael is busily sticking posters everywhere. Ifortably sit on a metal bench on the street and watch Mikael sweat.


    Mikael is stering the entire neighborhood with posters.


    When dawn breaks and morninges, a miracle will happen.


    **


    The next morning.


    Curious about the reaction to the posters he hungst night, Mikael steps onto the street and blinks in disbelief.


    The posters... where did they all go?


    Gone.


    The posters he had sweated over were all taken, not a single one left.


    I sit on the bench where I spent the night watching the situation andugh at Mikael.


    Then, I hear women passing by Mikael.


    Is the y called Gismonda? Where is it being performed?


    At the Renaissance Theater! Its the new y of the famous Sarah Bernhardt! Lets definitely go see it today, okay? Okay?


    I also felt like seeing it after you brought that poster home. But about the poster, wouldnt it look great as a decoration in the living room?


    "I also felt like going to see it when I saw the poster you brought home. But the poster, you know. It would be cool to hang it in the living room as a decoration, wouldn''t it?"


    "Of course! That''s why I brought it. I almost missed it. People who saw it in the morning were so greedy for the beautiful picture that they tore the posters off. I barely got one from the back alley and brought it home. Look at that. All the posters that were there are gone."


    "That''s right. Sara''s y will be a hit."


    Mikael listened to the women''s words and his face turned pale.


    "Th, th, the posters were so beautiful that people took them all?"


    The streets of Paris, where not a single poster was left.


    I smiled at the sight of Mikael, who was frozen with a ghostly face.

 Chapter 7 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 7 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    How long did I sleep?


    The program is still running.


    Digital media art is a program that repeats itself during business hours, so it''s not surprising.


    I checked the time with my cheap wristwatch and stretched with satisfaction, seeing that only about 30 minutes had passed even though I had a very long dream.


    "I think I slept really well."


    I feel like my fatigue is gone.


    I''m really d I came here.


    On the ceiling, walls, and floor,mercial posters that Mucha left behind in his lifetime are projected.


    Cookies, bleach, detergent, alcohol and cigarettes. He had a huge number of posters, as he had covered all kinds of advertisements.


    "He deserved to be rewarded for working so hard."


    I smiled and recalled his image that I saw in my dream, then grabbed my tool bag, easel, and chair next to me.


    "Amateurs wait for inspiration, but pros go to work. That''s what he said."


    It seems like tonight will be very long.


    I feel like I can enjoy painting for my goal when I go home today.


    **


    A small studio.


    In my small room, which has the advantage of being dark even in broad daylight because it''s underground, a loud cell phone ringtone rings.


    I was asleep on the bed with only a mattress and no frame, and I fumbled around the floor for my phone that I had plugged in and answered the call.


    "Uh... hello."


    -What, are you sleeping?


    It''s a woman''s voice.


    "Who is this?"


    -It should have shown up on your phone, it''s Young-ju.


    I opened my eyes halfway and checked the phone screen. Seo Young-ju. She was my college ssmate and one of the few friends I had.


    "Oh, Young-ju."


    -What time is it, are you sleeping?


    "What time is it?"


    -It''s two in the afternoon, you bastard.


    I rubbed my eyes and got up.


    "I was painting until eight this morning and then went to sleep."


    -Wow, did you be an owl human?


    "Uh, well. I felt a bit inspired yesterday. But what''s up?"


    Young-ju was a talented kid whopeted with me for schrships for four years.


    And she came from a wealthy family, so she went to study in Austria after graduating from college and came back this year and got a job at the Seoul City Museum of Art. There''s almost no ce for art school graduates to work if they give up on studying abroad.


    Some of them became game illustrators or got jobs at designpanies, and some of them, like Young-ju, were able to get jobs at museums after studying abroad.


    Of course, it''s not a job that involves painting. They only exin or manage other people''s paintings.


    -Turn on yourputer.


    "Why?"


    -You''re still making money by entering contests, right?


    "Yeah."


    It''s been four months since Ist won a prize, but I''m still doing it. This is my portfolio, proof of experience, and skill history.


    -MG Electronics has announced a contest. It''s a big one.


    Oh, MG Electronics? It''s a conglomerate that dominates the domestic white goods market along with Oseong Electronics. Of course, MG is second, but it''s a contest run by a conglomerate that is steadily producing results, so the prize money must be quite good.


    "Hold on."


    I opened my oldptop that I bought for 300,000 won five years ago and went to the MG Electronics website. As Young-ju said, as soon as I entered the website, a pop-up window for the contest information appeared.


    "Thanks for letting me know. Let''s have a drinkter."


    -Show me your face and say that, you bastard. Do you know how many months it''s been since I''ve seen you? Why is it so hard to see your face when we''re in the same Seoul?


    "Haha, okay. I''ll buy you a drink when we meet next time."


    -Bullshit! Don''t suck the blood out of a flea. Just bring your precious face, I''ll buy it.


    "Haha. Okay, thanks."


    Thanks to my looks rather than my skills, I was quite popr in college.


    Of course, after they found out that my family was poor enough to qualify for basic living assistance, the kids who fawned over me decreased, but there were still some juniors who showed their feelings for me with their innocent hearts.


    Young-ju was always a friend who hung out with me, and whenever those juniors came, she would snatch away the choctes or candies that they brought for me. Instead, she didn''t care about my background and remained a friend until the end even after entering society.


    I decided to freshen up and washed my face and brushed my teeth, then sat back in front of myptop.


    "Let''s see."


    A new imagination


    A greater impression


    2024 MG Electronics Home Appliance Design Contest


    Contest period: April 30, 2024


    Contest method: Mail submission (Click on Apply for Design Contest on the top right of the MG Electronics website)


    Contest theme: Refrigerator design


    * Award scale


    Grand Prize: 1 person (10 million won prize money)


    Best Award: 1 person (5 million won prize money)


    Excellence Award: 1 person (1 million won prize money)


    *All the pictures submitted for this contest belong to the authors and will not be used without permission. We hope that the applicants will apply with afortable and enjoyable mind.


    I gasped at the scale of the awards.


    "Ten million won for the grand prize?"


    This kind of contest is notmon. Design contests are mostly national contests at the city or provincial level, and most of them have a prize money of about 2 million won for the grand prize.


    I read the contest announcement again from beginning to end.


    I had a memory of wasting a few days by uploading apletely irrelevant picture because I didn''t read the contest announcement properly before.


    "Refrigerator design."


    I rested my chin and thought about MG Electronics.


    Though considered rivals, the revenue gap between MG Electronics and Oseong Electronics is so big that it''s embarrassing to call them rivals when looking at the sales scale. The design refrigerator that they released this time was a sensational hit.


    Oseong Electronics'' refrigerator, which allowed users to customize the four doors of the refrigerator in different colors, caused a sensation in the white goods industry and received support from the biggest customers, the young newlyweds.


    The smaller MG Electronics'' position became, the better Oseong Electronics'' white goods series did.


    They are not inferior in performance, but the design is definitely better on Oseong Electronics'' side. MG Electronics seems to be holding a contest as a desperate measure to ovee this situation.

 Chapter 7 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 7 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    What kind of design would be good?


    I imagined a refrigerator in my mind.


    What if there were plum branches across the refrigerator and a few flowers blooming? Wow, that would be so pretty.


    Whether they are newlyweds or not, the ones who have the decision-making power when buying a refrigerator are usually housewives. Husbands usually just whine that it''s expensive. In the end, to sell well, the refrigerator has to satisfy the aesthetic needs of housewives.


    The conclusion is clear.


    A design that women would be satisfied with is needed.


    "What women like."


    The first thing thates to mind is flowers. Of course, there are also luxury goods, but I can''t draw a luxury bag on the refrigerator door.


    "Flowers, flowers."


    There are hundreds of kinds of flowers.


    And others will have simr thoughts to me.


    Then I need to draw a rare flower to stand out in the contest. I can never get attention by being the same as others.


    Hmm, how about cats? Don''t women like cats?


    I was habitually resting my chin and thinking, and I realized that I had been thinking for over two hours.


    "Ah, I have to go to work."


    Drawing portraits is my livelihood.


    The contest is important, but if I don''t work now, I might starve tomorrow night, let alone today. Well, it doesn''t matter. I have plenty of time to think while going to and from work, and it''s not like I don''t have time to think because the customers whoe to draw portraits are bustling.


    I can think whenever I have time while working.


    I boiled water for ramen and opened the electric rice cooker to see that the rice I made three days ago was hardened and yellow. I tasted one grain and it felt crunchy, but it seemed edible.


    It''s still cold, so if I don''t eat enough rice and go out, my hands will shake and I can''t draw, so I have to eat enough.


    I quickly ate a bowl of rice with ramen, kimchi, and hurriedly packed my tools and headed to Ikseon-dong.


    I arrived at the workce and discreetly set up my ce in front of someone else''s house andid out my drawing tools, but today there were unusually no customers.


    It''s already eight in the evening, but I''ve only had one customer so far. Is it because today is Sunday? People who have to go to work tomorrow usually go home early on Sundays.


    That''s why I usually finish work around 8 o''clock on Sundays, but today I can''t go. I can''t live on 25,000 won a day.


    Fortunately, as I was leaving, a man who was going into the house where I was, asked me to draw his daughter. I thought I was going to be kicked out when he went into the house, but it was lucky.


    I barely made 50,000 won and went home.


    I was worried about not making money, but I had a lot of time to think about the contest thanks to the leisure. But it wasn''t enough.


    "These days, the global trend is Korean. Maybe I should go with a traditional flower?"


    Since ancient times, famous Korean painters have often painted flower and bird paintings.


    As the name suggests, paintings with flowers and birds. There are many wildflowers in traditional paintings that we don''t usually see.


    "How about the jade chrysanthemum that appeared in Sim Sa-jeong''s Flower and Bird Album?"


    The chrysanthemum drawn by Shin Yun-bok in Hyewon''s Flower and Bird Album is also good. But the most frequently drawn in history is the pine flower.


    What flower is there on a pine tree?


    It doesn''t look like a flower and looks like a pine cone, but there are definitely flowers on a pine tree. Painters in thete Joseon period painted a lot of pine flower paintings. The problem is that people who see them don''t know that they are pine flowers.


    ''Hmm, pine flowers are definitely not amon subject in modern times.''


    I was walking along the familiar alley, repeating my thoughts, and stopped in front of the art gallery I visited yesterday. I smiled at the sign and recalled the pleasant dream I had here yesterday.


    The art gallery where you can enter for 5,000 won as an opening event.


    I''m a little hesitant. I feel like I didn''t see it properly yesterday because I was sleeping, and I feel like it would help me toe up with a picture for the contest because I have a good memory, but today my pocket is too light.


    It''s only 5,000 won, but from my point of view, I have to spend 1/10 of the money I made today to get in.


    Reason tells me to go home and work, but emotion whispers to me that I can get inspiration if I go in again. To be honest, I want to have that pleasant dream again.


    I searched my pocket and took out the money I made today and looked down, but eventually I bit my lip.


    "That''s right, it''s an investment. It''s an investment, this is."


    If I can make 10 million won with 5,000 won, it''s obvious that investing is the right thing to do. I deluded myself that it was natural to win the grand prize and get the prize money, and walked into the art gallery.


    The art gallery where no one is seen today either.


    I bought a ticket and went down to the basement as usual, and I heard the sound of Dvok''s music again. I guess I didn''t catch the program start time again.


    I opened the door and entered, and the fantastic space I saw yesterday was still there. And I''m still the only customer.


    "Doesn''t this mean they''ll disappear soon if they don''t do business?"


    I don''t like it when people swarm to my favorite restaurant, but I''m also afraid that they''ll disappear if they don''t do business well. It seems that everyone has this contradictory thought. I went to the central rock sofa where I sat yesterday, put down my luggage and sat down.


    The pictures of Mucha that fill every space I can see.


    And the majestic orchestral music of Dvok that fills my brain with richness.


    I seem to like this ce very much. I''m already happy just by stepping in.


    The paintings of Mucha that fill every space I can see.


    And the majestic orchestral music of Dvok that fills my brain with richness.


    I seem to like this ce very much. I''m already happy just by stepping in.


    || Next Chapter

 Chapter 8 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 8 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    The music intensifies and the part that I couldn''t see yesterday because of the crowd unfolds.


    "v Epic (Slovanska epopej)."


    A series of 20 pieces.


    These paintings, depicting the history and civilization of the vic people, are enormous, with thergest measuring 6 by 8 meters. And there are 20 of them.


    Unlike hismercial art from his younger days, thesete works of Mucha reflect his fears of being remembered only as amercial artist and his desire to document the joys and sorrows of his own nation and other vic people, not to let history be forgotten.


    Mucha took one year toplete each painting, finishing this magnificent series over 20 years. He then donated the entire collection to the city of Prague tomemorate the 10th anniversary of Czech independence.


    I gazed quietly at the painting projected on the far left, dark yet fantastically rendered.


    "No.1 vs in Their Original Homnd."


    [T/N:


    The v Epic - Wikipedia


    ]


    A series that begins with the history of the vic people from the 4th to 6th centuries. The first painting immediately catches my eye.


    The vs, farmers living in the marshes of the ck Sea or Baltic Sea,cking a political structure, constantly faced attacks from the Germanic people of the West, who would burn their houses and steal their cattle.


    I scrutinized each painting carefully.


    On the horizon, a vige burns. In the foreground, a couple hides in the bushes, trembling with fear.


    They are likely vigers who managed to flee and survive.


    The terror and thrill on their faces seem to plead for help from the viewer.


    The warrior in red, supporting the priest''s right arm, symbolizes war, while the woman in white with aurel wreath on her head symbolizes peace.


    Next to these two figures symbolizing war and peace, floats the image of an ancient priest from folk belief, pleading with the gods for mercy on his suffering tribe. These figures foretell the peace and freedom that wille to the nation through war and independence.


    True to its name, the epic paintings tell a story.


    I''ve heard that Thangkas in Buddhism are paintings depicting the life of Buddha from the scriptures.


    Mucha''s paintings simrly seem to calmly narrate the history of the vic people. I snapped out of my reverie, gazing at the paintings.


    "Look at me, getting lost in these paintings when I came here for inspiration."


    In this dreamlike universe where the epic unfolds,


    I viewed the paintings, pondering over ideas for thepetition, searching for hints. Amidst fleeting images, I wished to identify anything resembling a flower, but flowers were nearly absent in the history of the suffering vic people.


    "Sigh, I''ll have to wait for the program to restart."


    These paintings are, of course, historically and aesthetically significant.


    But I need a hint.


    Like Mucha said in my previous dream, I''m not just waiting for inspiration, I''m actively seeking even a straw to grasp at for a small clue.


    Then, as the music dims, all the paintings slowly vanish.


    "Oh! Looks like it''s over."


    Wait, but it seems different fromst time. Or is it? Did I miss this part because I dozed off?


    I sat there, waiting for the program to start again.


    Now, when it restarts, the first painting will be The Seasons I saw yesterday. Alphonse Mucha, the artist who seduces with his images.


    There must be a hint in his paintings. I must discover it today.


    About five minutes break between programs.


    I leaned my chin on my hand, smiling as I recalled yesterday''s dream.


    "Thanks to the poster, Sarah''s new y Gismonda was a tremendous sess. People who came after seeing the poster asked if they could get one. Seeing this, Sarah proposed a six-year exclusive contract to Mucha, and he seized this opportunity to seed."


    There was something in the poster for Gismonda that wasn''t originally nned.


    After seeing the script, Mucha wrapped a snake-shaped bracelet around Sarah''s arm to enhance her viinous image. Sarah, delighted with the poster,missioned a jewelry designer she knew to create the bracelet.


    The designer, Georges Fouquet, a famous jeweler at the time, created the bracelet based on Mucha''s design, adorned with diamonds, rubies, and gold, resulting in a stunning piece.


    Fouquettermissioned Mucha for a design for an exhibition piece at the World''s Fair, thus venturing into jewelry design.


    "Fouquet, after his great sess, wouldtermission Mucha to design his entire shop in Paris."


    Alphonse Mucha, the star of Art Nouveau.


    What if I had the chance to think like him?


    Could I be a leading artist in themercial market like him in that era?


    Though times and opportunities are different, and sess is not guaranteed, it would surely be better than now.


    Then, Dvok''s majestic Requiem starts again.


    I thought I had enough time to think more about the contest submission since I saw the Four Seasons enough yesterday.


    But that was a mistake.


    "Huh?"

 Chapter 8 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 8 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    What? Wasn''t this a nned program that repeats? Yesterday, the Four Seasons was the first painting, but today, the Zodiac is the first one. That''s also a painting I saw yesterday.


    Just like yesterday, I can see bright lights entering the 12 zodiac signs positioned behind the woman.


    Lightse on in all the zodiac signs and then go off, with the lighting on in the Aries sign at the bottom left of the Zodiac of the Ecliptic. After the brilliantly shining light of Aries goes off, the Taurus sign lights up, followed by Gemini.


    The zodiac signs light up one by one.


    After thest sign, Pisces, shines and then flickers off, all 12 lightse on and go off at once.


    And finally, one zodiac sign lights up.


    It''ll stop at Leo, just like yesterday.


    I was closely watching the Leo sign, expecting the light toe on.


    "Huh?"


    It''s not Leo? This time, the lightes on in Pisces, located at the very end. Is each program operated slightly differently?


    At that moment, I felt the dizziness of anemia returning and reflexively closed my eyes.


    An unpleasant sensation.


    It''s a feeling I''ve experienced yesterday, but still, I''m unable to adapt to the anemic symptoms. Even with my eyes closed, I feel the darkness enveloping me. I only opened my eyes after the spinning sensationpletely vanished.


    What? Where is this ce?


    Have I entered a dream again?


    Great! That''s what I wanted. Today, I wish to see themercially sessful Mucha creating and pouring out magnificent works of art as he soars in his career. It would give me strength too.


    But what unfolds before my eyes isn''t the morous streets of Paris, but a dark bedroom of a night.


    Not just any bedroom, but that of a European-style mansion.


    There''s a wooden easel in one corner, with a canvas on it.


    Around it are a palette with dried-up paints, a bucket, pencils, charcoal, and all, lying haphazardly, and an old but luxurious wooden chair.


    Therge window in front of me shows it''s quite dark outside, indicating that it''s night here too.


    I didn''t dare move, just roving my eyes around, trying to make sense of the suddenly changed environment.


    A dark room.


    Still, I can make out the arrangement and structure of the room, thanks to the moonlight streaming through the open curtains.


    Dark-toned furniture.


    Chests of drawers, wardrobes, chairs, and mirrors, pictures hanging on the walls.


    Seems like the bedroom of a well-off house.


    The size of the room appears to be about four times that of my studio apartment.


    For a moment, I forgot that I was dreaming and felt a slight fear. Because there''s another person in this room besides me.


    ''Ah, I''m invisible, right.''


    No need to be tense. Whoever is lying there can''t see me, so what''s the difference?


    A bed in a shadowy corner away from the moonlight.


    Thanks to the moonlight draping over the lower part of the bed, I can see the bulge of the nket. Someone is lying there.


    I moved towards the bed to identify the person lying there, but then a half-finished sketch on the floor caught my eye.


    A sketch only in charcoal, without any color. It was borate.


    Much like Mucha''s, the crowded sketch depicted a happy family having dinner.


    The mother with abundant hair bends her body in a beautiful curve and puts delicious-looking food on the table, and a boy and a girl with a fork in one hand and a knife in the other are waiting for the food and seem to dance with joy.


    The person who looks like the father is a little behind, wearing a suit.


    Just arriving home, carrying bags full of bread and fruits in both hands, he enters while smiling.


    The edges of the painting are adorned with vines, and it crosses my mind that it would look splendid if colored in a refreshing green.


    While I don''t im to know every painting in the world, this one doesn''t ring a bell in my memory.


    I''ll look it up once I wake up. I''m extremely curious about how it will feel when it''spleted.


    I got lost in the painting for a while and then slowly walked back towards the direction of the bed.


    Finally, when I reached the bottom of the bed, in the moonlight''s shadow, I found an old man lying there.


    White hair of moderate length, a white and stylish mustache curled upwards, and a simrly long white beard extending to his neck. If not for an overall feeling of frailty, he could almost be linked to Santa us.


    On the bedside table next to the bed where the old man lies, there''s a pair of round sses that seem to belong to him. Who is this grandfather? I feel like I''ve seen him somewhere.


    I stared at the sleeping old man for a while.


    The old man''s breathing reached my ears. However, the sound was unusual.


    Thanks to my experiences visiting the hospital frequently due to my disabled brother, I remember the sounds of patients in the pulmonary cancer ward. Labored breathing, as if boiling phlegm. There''s a strong smell of impending death from the old man.


    This old man is in considerable pain right now.


    As I observed the sleeping old man for a while, I noticed arge and beautiful patternedmp next to the bed. It seemed like it would emit a beautiful light when turned on.


    Above the old man''s head hung arge painting, and next to it, there was a calendar.


    " July 4, 1939?"


    In a fleeting thought, I quickly turned my head to the old man''s face, and a shiver ran down my spine.


    This grandfather is Alphonse Mucha, who died ten days ago.


    In just a day, Mucha, who I saw as a 34-year-old yesterday, has now be a 78-year-old in front of me.

 Chapter 9 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 9 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Let''s organize the situation.


    I seem to be dozing off again in the art gallery.


    And I''m dreaming. A dream of July 4th, 1939.


    What does this dream want to show me?


    I looked down at Mucha, struggling for breath.


    What I wanted to see was when he was in his prime, but now only an old man battered by the years remains, his moments of brilliance long gone.


    Since he''s asleep, I should take a look around this room.


    It''s a rare privilege to see Alphonse Mucha''s bedroom.


    True to his fame and wealth umted even during his lifetime, his bedroom is decorated with very expensive and luxurious furniture.


    Interestingly, unlike his mboyant painting style, the room has a luxurious yet simple interior. I''m not sure if this is his taste or his wife''s.


    Sitting in front of the painting I had seen earlier, I carefully examined it again.


    The painting is only sketched with thick lines characteristic of Mucha, without any color, reminding me of coloring books for kindergarten or elementary school students.


    My father used to buy those for me asionally when he was alive, but after he passed away, I couldn''t afford such things. It''s been a long time since I''ve seen anything like this.


    Looking around, I see the paints Mucha often used during his lifetime.


    Gouache, an opaque watercolor paint mixed with Arabic gum, and Tempera, made by mixing egg yolk, honey, fig juice, and other ingredients with pigments.


    Nowadays, such paints are readily avable, so there''s no need to mix materials by oneself. Ah, but this is 1939, so these paints would already be producedmercially. I used them a lot during my school days.


    Unable to dare touch someone else''s painting, suppressing my urge to paint, I suddenly had this thought.


    ''Why worry, it''s just a dream?''


    Right, who would have the chance to color in Alphonse Mucha''s painting? Since it''s a dream, I can do anything.


    Feeling good with this positive self-justification, I fiddled with the paints. At that moment, a voice came from behind.


    "Did youe to take me away?"


    Excited about the thought of painting, I was filling my lungs with air when the old man''s voice suddenly deted me like a balloon.


    "Ah!"


    Did he just speak to me?


    There''s only you and me in this room, can you see me? This is a dream, and people here shouldn''t be able to see me, right? I felt chills on my skin and slowly turned my head.


    Mucha was staring at me with his eyes slightly open.


    No way, it must be just his mumbling. I stood up to check. But his eyes slowly followed me as I moved.


    ''He''s looking at me.''


    He can see me? In myst dream, I wandered among Brunoff, Mikael, Sarah, and the people on the streets of Paris, and no one could see me.


    I still couldn''t be sure and hesitated. Then Mucha''s eyes slowly moved up to my hair.


    At this time, Mucha had just been released after being captured and brutally tortured by the Nazis for painting the vic Epic, as part of their ethnic eradication policies. He returned home and soon died of pneumonia.


    Given the timeline, this would be about 10 days before his death, so his condition must be very poor.


    "People''s words were true."


    ".............?"


    "They say the hair of people from the afterlife is ck."


    ".............Yes?"


    Oops, I unknowingly asked back. Did he hear me?


    He struggled to get up. Maybe because I grew up in the East, where manners are important, my body reflexively moved to help the old man, but I hesitated, thinking that it was not certain yet. Mucha got up and leaned his back on the bed frame, then picked up the Bible that was next to him.


    The old man who prayed quietly.


    Maybe he believed it was thest moment of his life? The sight of the praying old man was almost devout.


    It would be better to check if he can see me, if he can hear my voice. It would be better than hesitating like this, neither here nor there.


    "Excuse me, sir."


    ".........."


    "Do you need me to call someone if you''re in pain?"


    Then, Mucha, who was praying with his eyes closed, slowly opened his eyes and looked at me.


    "Only I have to go with you to our house. The others are too young, soe back muchter."


    [T/N: He seems to have mistaken MC with Grim reaper, and grim reaper calling someone]


    What does that mean? No, more importantly, did we just have a conversation? Yeah, there''s no need for the rules of the previous dream to match. It doesn''t matter what happens in a dream anyway.


    I was happy to have a chance to talk with the painter I admired, even in a dream.


    But I have to clear up this misunderstanding first. I can''t make someone who can live for another 10 days prepare for thest moment already.


    "Excuse me, but you''re mistaken. I''m not from the underworld, and I''m certainly not the one who will take you to heaven."


    Mucha didn''t seem surprised by my words, he just stared at me nkly.


    Maybe he had seen a lot of things in his long life, so this wasn''t surprising. But still, it''s normal to be surprised when a strangeres into your bedroom in the middle of the night.

 Chapter 9 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 9 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    I hesitated for a while, then greeted him.


    "My name is Ban Jeong-hoon."


    "Van? Are you from the Nethends?"


    "No, no. I''m from South Korea."


    "Where is that?"


    Oh, right, there''s no such country as South Korea in 1939. It''s thete period of the Japanese colonial era. Thete period of Joseon, when they were under endless pressure from Japan, who had a simr policy of ethnic extermination as the Nazis.


    Then it makes sense that the old man doesn''t know what South Korea is.


    "Well, it''s a very far away country."


    "How long does it take by boat from Prague?"


    Gulp, it would take about a month by boat, grandpa.


    Mucha continued to talk as if he was entertaining a guest at his home.


    "If you''re not from the underworld, I guess you''re probably from the East, judging by your ck hair."


    "Do you know anything about the East?"


    Mucha smiled and said.


    "When I was studying in Paris, I studied the paintings of Japan that came to Europe through the opening of Japan''s culture. Actually, they weren''t proper paintings, they were just pictures printed on the wrapping paper of Japanese ceramics."


    "Oh."


    It wasn''t because Japan''s paintings were outstanding, but because Japan had opened up early and introduced their culture to the Western world, the Parisian painters were shocked by the exotic paintings of the East.


    This is a historical fact, and there are many European painters who were influenced by the Japanese traditional painting of the Edo period, ukiyo-e ().


    Mucha straightened his posture and said.


    "I''ve been very rude. I didn''t even introduce myself."


    I waved my hand and said.


    "No, I already know who you are."


    "............"


    Mucha nodded his head, looking at me. He was a national hero of Czechoslovakia, who was so famous that it wouldn''t be strange for a stranger to know him.


    There was a brief awkward silence, and Mucha opened his mouth again.


    "Cough, cough. What do you do?"


    "............"


    His coughing sound is not good. He will lose consciousness in a few days.


    "I''m a painter... well, more like an aspiring one."


    Mucha seemed interested and asked quickly.


    "Are you still a student?"


    "I graduated from college."


    You look young.


    Asians tend to look younger, haha.


    I smiled awkwardly at him.


    The grandfather, with a kindly twinkle in his eyes. His expression alone, known for his good nature, makes one feel warm-hearted.


    Perhaps thats why? I wanted to tell him how the words I heard in my dreamst night, watching his younger self, resonated with me.


    Im older than I look. Im twenty-six this year.


    I would actually be twenty-eight, but in June 2023, South Korea adopted the Western age calction method, making me two years younger.


    Mucha asked with a slightly surprised look.


    You seem very young, I thought you were a teenager.


    Haha, thats how it is with us Koreans. Anyway, Ive thought about giving up because I havent achieved anything significant at this age, even considered quitting painting, which felt like mechanical homework.


    Mucha looked at me intently and then asked.


    Do you still have those doubts?


    I smiled and shook my head.


    No.


    Mucha smiled faintly.


    Thats good to hear.


    Actually, its thanks to you.


    Really?


    Mucha looked at me, puzzled. I smiled and said.


    Your younger days prevented me from giving up.


    Mucha stared at me silently, then nodded.


    You seem to know a lot about me.


    I know you saw the light at thirty-four, and that you dedicated your youth and worked hard for that light.


    Haha... Thats an exaggeration.


    Not at all.


    Who could belittle you? You are Alphonse Mucha.


    He looked at me, then smiled and asked.


    Then why are you here?


    This should have been the first question in a normal conversation, but its only being asked now.


    I didnt know how to exin, just scratched my head,ughed, and told the truth.


    Actually, Im dreaming right now.


    ...?


    I think I might be meeting you in a dream.


    At first, Mucha looked at me, not understanding, then realizing he was in bed, fell silent in thought.


    Then this could be your dream and mine at the same time.


    Is that how it works? Well, it could be. Its easier to exin that way. No use wasting time exining it.


    Perhaps it is.


    Hearing my answer, Mucha fell silent, deep in thought.


    What could he be thinking? What does a dream at the moment of death mean to him? What does he want to do in thest moments of his life?


    Then, Muchas gaze fell on the floor to my right.


    I smiled.


    It was because of the unfinished painting there. Even in the moment of death, the artist in him yearned to paint during these brief moments of peace.


    I asked softly.


    Shall I bring it to you?


    Mucha, as if caught with his inner thoughts, startled slightly, then smiled.


    Bring the easel, palette, paints, and a chair too, please.


    Hmm, even in a dream, painting while sitting in a chair ten days before dying seems tough. He could just sit on the bed.


    I did as he asked, brought the unfinished painting and materials, and ced them next to the bed. I set up the easel, ced the chair in front, and arranged the water, paints, palette, and brushes within easy reach.


    Its ready.


    I stepped back and said. Mucha gestured with his eyes and said.


    Then, please sit down.


    ...?


    This painting. Would youplete it for me? As you can see, even in a dream, Im not free from pain.

 Chapter 10 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 10 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    "Do you mean to tell me to finish this painting now?"


    "How dare I, of all people,y a hand on Alphonse Mucha''s painting?"


    "Even in a dream, this is not right. It''s like sphemy."


    "I wouldnt dare."


    "Didnt you say you finished your art studies?"


    ""


    It''s not that Ick the skill to continue.


    I have even copied some of his paintings before. I worked part-time for apany that sold these reproductions, knowing full well they were fakes, but some buyers wanted the texture of the brush strokes, so I painted them by hand.


    I was quite good at copying, so much so that I was offered a full-time position, but as someone dreaming of being a pure artist, I was content with just the part-time job.


    I hesitated, not knowing what to do.


    But think about it, who wouldnt want the honor of touching Mucha''s painting, and who could have the chance toplete it under his guidance?


    This experience is more precious and valuable than any lesson. I swallowed hard and sat down, cleaning my brush.


    Mucha gestured and said,


    "It would be good to mix a little of Delo Blue and Van Dyke Brown."


    Which part is he talking about?


    Where in this happy family picture would the colors he mentioned fit? Mixing blue and brown would create a color close to grey. Of course, it would be a darker, more luxurious tone than the typical grey.


    I swallowed hard again and asked,


    "Is it the color of fathers suit?"


    Mucha smiled and replied,


    "No, it''s the color of the dishes."


    Ah, what a fool I am.


    The only ce in such a bright picture that would include grey tones is the dishes. Embarrassed, I quickly mixed the paints and with trembling hands started adding the color. I was confident in my skills, so by the time I was painting the second fork, my hand had stopped shaking.


    Mucha watched my work and nodded.


    He didn''t say anything, but I felt proud and confident just seeing him nod out of the corner of my eye.


    I pointed to the mother''s dress in the center of the painting and said,


    "It seems we should paint this area first to set the mood, as its the focal point of the painting."


    "That''s a good point."


    "What color should we use for the dress mom is wearing?"


    "Let''s try Alizarin Crimson."


    A choice befitting Alphonse Mucha.


    A vibrant color, close to purple rather than just red. Using this color, the mother, the centerpiece of the painting, will stand out the most in the family of four.


    Mucha uses thick outlines and doesnt blend the edges of colors as other painters do, so using bold colors is not a problem.


    Excitedly, I continued painting and asked,


    "Looking at the style, it seems more likemercial art than pure art. Do you still paint like this?"


    I had heard that in hister years, he feared being remembered only as amercial artist.


    The vic Epic was also said to be a painting borne out of such sentiments, ording to a professor. But why would he choose to paint something akin tomercial art in his final moments?


    I cautiously asked,


    "Is this amissioned piece?"


    Mucha adjusted his sses and shook his head.


    "I haven''t takenmissions for a very long time."


    Right, he didnt domercial art for the 20 years he waspleting the vic Epic.


    He would have done the same even in his final moments. But what about this painting?


    "So why this painting..."


    Mucha looked at the painting with a smile.


    "Because its a painting that made me who I am today."


    His style, famous enough to be a synonym for ''Mucha Style.''


    His vic Epic, paintedter, was impressive, but what is globally known are the paintings done in this technique. In his youth, he had tremendousmercial sess with these styles.


    Perhaps the reason he could focus solely on the vic Epic for 20 years, not doing anything else, was because of the money he made in his youth with this style?


    If he had been struggling to make ends meet, he wouldn''t have had the luxury to dedicate 20 years to a painting that wouldnt bring immediate financial gain. Moreover, didnt he donate the vic Epic to the city of Prague without selling it? Such an act was possible because he had the financial freedom.


    And all this was thanks to themercial art he was painting now.


    In his final moments, Mucha chose to paint something that had shaped his current self. Such a choice was just like him.


    "That''s right."


    I nodded and added color as he directed. Even though as a painter I''m never quite satisfied with just coloring someone else''s drawing, if one knows who this elderly man sitting before me and instructing is, no one would dare say such a thing.


    After painting every part as instructed, all that remained were the four circles in the painting, the overall light and shade treatment, and the wallpaper.


    Looking at the position of the circles, they seemed to be a round window, a wall clock, and frames. Thest one was a pattern on the hem of my mother''s dress.


    What about this?


    Will you give it to me?


    Ah, he seems to want to finish it himself. After all, it''s his painting, so that''s only natural.


    I stood beside him like a eunuch next to the king, holding all kinds of brushes for him, unsure which one he would use.


    I even had a knife tucked at my side, just in case. Mucha reached out his hand and said.


    Please hand me the number 30 brush.


    The number 30 brush is the thickest among brushes used for oil and acrylic paintings.


    He seems to be nning to fill in the background of the circles.


    After handing him the brush and squeezing the paint he wanted onto the palette, Mucha tapped the palette lightly with the brush and picked up some paint. I didn''t want to miss even a small movement of his, so I couldn''t take my eyes off him.


    Usually, in modern paintings, the background color ispletely filled in and dried before drawing the picture on it, but Mucha was different.


    He painted the background color as if there were already pictures within the empty circles, moving delicately. And before the paint even dried, he outlined them with a number 10 brush.


    They were flowers and vines.


    A garden unfolded in therge round window visible from the living room. Staring nkly at the painting being rendered in magical colors by his hand, I lost myself in thought.


    ''This is Alphonse Mucha.''


    Amazing.


    It''s a clich, but when admiring a work of art, the saying ''you see as much as you know'' couldn''t be more urate.


    If you simply look at a painting and move on, you only notice the colors,position, expressions of the characters, backgrounds, and props with your eyes. But if you take more interest and study these elements, understanding their symbolism and the background of the artwork, then the work starts to convey a different meaning and feeling.

 Chapter 10 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 10 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    I had chosen Mucha''s life as my source of information.


    He''s currently exining it himself.


    As a child, I always longed for such a family. Having nothing, I couldn''t have a family until well past my thirties. But now, I have everything. The people in this painting represent my family.


    Of course, the husband in the painting doesn''t resemble Mucha.


    The woman in the painting also looks more like the beautiful Sarah Bernhardt than his actual wife.


    Probably the cute two children also don''t look like his real children. But to a father, wouldn''t these beautiful people in the painting appear as his family? They may not be as beautiful and cute in reality, but that''s how they look to him.


    After drawing all the windows in the living room, Mucha fills in the circle where the clock should be. Surely, there must be a clock there? I thought my guess was right.


    But my confident assumption was wrong.


    Instead of a clock, he was drawing a sunflower shining with a mysterious blue light.


    I knew that he often used sunflowers to represent the sun. The sun signifies time. But I had never seen a sunflower with such mystical blue hues.


    When we think of sunflowers, yellowes to mind first. Even the famous Vincent van Gogh painted sunflowers in yellow.


    I couldn''t hold back my question.


    Excuse me, sir.


    Oops, I called him ''sir.'' But he didn''t seem to mind my mistake and answered.


    Yes.


    Why is the sunflower blue?


    What, can''t it be?


    ..


    What can I say when asked that way, a painter paints what he wants.


    Rather than that.


    Ha ha, I''m just joking. Do you know the meaning behind the color blue?


    Blue. A color that feels positive, stable, spiritual, and hopeful. This is why we think of the bluebird when talking about hope.


    Did you want to paint a hopeful family?


    Mucha smiles wryly.


    Blue is derived from the word meaning to grow. I hope the childrens time is used for their proper growth.


    To grow.


    Unknowingly, I turned my gaze to the two children waiting for a meal, smiling brightly. A father''s heart. The blue color represented the father''s wish for his two children to grow up right and healthy,pleting the family.


    I forgot to speak at his wonder of putting meaning into even a small color. Mucha, who had finished the clock, started to fill in the circle that looked like a frame.


    I quietly observed the tip of his brush as he began to draw the outlines with ck paint.


    What''s that? A beehive? As he sketched out small hexagons in the shape of a cluster of beehives, he started filling the tiny pictures within each small beehive with a number 1 brush. The beehive was filled with very small family photos.


    I realized the thoughts of a 78-year-old man.


    The memories he had with his family during his lifetime were etched in his mind, just like those beehives, remembered moment by moment. Although he couldn''t draw in detail due to the small space and ended up blurring some parts, Mucha made sure that the family photos were recognizable to anyone.


    I nodded emphatically.


    "Even the smallest parts contain his usual thoughts and feelings."


    Perhaps, I have gained a learning opportunity that I could not have bought even with money, all in a dream.


    How many hours had passed? Initially asional, but then more frequent, Mucha could no longer paint due to his coughing.


    "Cough! Cough!"


    Blood, there was blood on his palm that he had covered his mouth with. I quickly wiped his hand with a towel nearby.


    "You''ve overexerted yourself, please lie down."


    "Thank you."


    Holding my hand firmly for support, Mucha slowlyy down, taking several deep breaths and then quietly looked at me.


    "Will youplete the painting?"


    I looked at the painting, which was more than 90%plete. What remained was the color of the wallpaper inside the house.


    In color theory, there is something called color psychology, which exins how people interpret colors and assign meanings to them. What color would be the family house he wanted? Surely, it wouldn''t just be the color of this house''s kitchen.


    How about orange?


    It''s overly shy but gives a cheerful and warm feeling. No, this color is used to capture attention or convey a specific message.


    Using such a strong color for the living room wall, which makes up more than 30% of the entire painting, would make the family''s figures look dead.


    I pondered silently and then said.


    "How about we leave the wallpaper colorless?"


    "..."


    Of course, I didn''t mean to leave it as a nk canvas. I would paint it titanium white. I just suggested not adding a background color.


    Muchay there, pondering for a moment, then smiled.


    "That''s good, let the future of my family after my death be determined by their own choices."


    Indeed, he saw right through my intention.


    I hope your family won''t be too sad after you''re gone. I hope they celebrate your freedom from pain and find joy in their newfound freedom rather than mourning your death.


    And I hope they have the time to work towards a future where the new families they create are colored with hope.


    Mucha nodded to my thoughts and said.


    "Please do so."


    "Understood, sir."


    After filling the wallpaper with titanium white, I stood so that the painting was clearly visible to him as hey holding it.


    "How does it look? Quite happy, isn''t it?"


    ".... Yes."


    I stood holding the painting for a while, allowing him to admire it. Gradually, Mucha closed his eyes.


    "I''m very sleepy."


    "It''s natural, given your illness. Please sleep."


    "I''m sorry to the guest."


    "Don''t worry about me. You''ll be fine once you wake from this dream."


    "Will I see you again?"


    "I''m not sure."


    Mucha, forcing his eyes open, pointed at the painting I was holding.


    "I will gift you this painting."


    "What?"


    Insane, how much Alphonse Mucha''s painting would be worth. There''s almost no trade of his paintings in the market, but if it were to be auctioned, it would sell for an astronomical price.


    I chuckled to myself in my imagination.


    ''It''s just a dream, why am I thinking so much.''


    I bowed deeply and said.


    "I will gratefully ept it, sir."


    "Take care."


    Watching Alphonse Mucha drift into sleep, I stood still until his breathing became steady, then quietly moved to the window.


    The Czech Prague in the wee hours, when everyone is asleep.


    At this time, Czech would be undergoing hard times due to the Nazi invasion.


    National hero Alphonse Mucha, gravely ill, and people unable to visit his home due to Nazi surveince.


    But I know what happens next.


    Mucha, facing a lonely death unbing of a national hero.


    Despite the Nazi surveince, his funeral is grandly conducted by 100,000 vs whoe to mourn the death of their national hero.


    I looked over the painting that would disappear once I wake up from this dream, then bowed to the sleeping Mucha.


    "I have learned well, sir."

 Chapter 11 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 11 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Antonn Dvok: Requiem, op. 89.


    This piece, performed by the orchestra and choir, ends with a quiet song of the choir.


    I prayed silently with my eyes closed, even after waking up from the sleep of mourning.


    ''May you rest in peace.''


    When I opened my eyes, the program ended by quickly projecting the paintings he left behind in his lifetime.


    I didn''t want to forget his paintings, I didn''t want to forget his will, so I sat down and took out the painting materials from the tool bag and started sketching.


    It was thest painting I painted with him. I couldn''t bring the painting I dreamed of into reality, so I had to paint it again.


    I couldn''t finish the painting here.


    It''s because I don''t have any paint among the materials I brought to draw a portrait.


    I made a thick outline by applying severalyers of 4B pencil, and I started sketching as I did when I first saw the unfinished painting. Of course, I also drew the pictures inside the circles.


    I looked at thepleted sketch and remembered hisst words.


    ''I''ll give you this painting as a gift.''


    This painting does not exist in my memory.


    Of course, I don''t know all the paintings.


    Even though I majored in art, I can''t see all the paintings in the world. Even people who have studied hard about famous artists can''t know the paintings that have never been exhibited in private collections.


    Is this painting really a non-existent painting?


    Isn''t it obvious? This is a painting I dreamed of.


    But human dreams, and memories, are not to be trusted.


    When we dream, something we saw before going to bed, or something we saw in our lives, tends to take shape. It''s the same logic as having a scary dream after watching a scary movie. So I''m going to look for this painting once and see if it really exists.


    I missed the 30-minute program again because I was busy, but I''m very satisfied. I don''t know if I''ll ever have such a dream again, but the dream that came at the moment I wished for made me happy.


    On my way home with the tool bag.


    I tried not to forget hisst appearance, words, and actions. Of course, I don''t know if that''s really Mucha''s words and actions. It''s just his behavior in my dream.


    I came home, threw my bag, sat on the mattress, turned on myptop and searched for the painting.


    I ran the search engine dozens of times with various search words. I spent two hours searching through not only Korean portal sites but also foreign sites, but I couldn''t find the painting.


    I nced at the painting I had set up on the mattress.


    ''A painting that does not exist in the world. But this is definitely Mucha''s style.''


    Then, the phone vibrated in the quiet room.


    It was a sound that wouldn''t have been heard if it wasn''t a quiet room, but I heard it now. I took out my phone from the jacket I took off and it was Youngju''s call.


    "Hey, Youngju."


    -Did you start working?


    "No, not yet."


    -Sigh, I feel like something ising up, but I can''t think of anything. I''m trying to draw this and that, but I can''t find anything that says this is it.


    "Are you also entering the contest?"


    -Of course, I can''t live by hanging around the museum forever.


    "What did you try to draw?"


    -First of all, I thought about the needs of the target consumer group. A refrigerator is something that every household uses. But I think the trend overwhelminglyes from the choice of newlyweds. Newlyweds are young. Then it makes sense to have a design that appeals to the young sensibility.


    Hmm, that''s true.


    "Don''t you think you should also consider the demand for changing refrigerators in existing households?"


    -Oh,e on, how long have you had your refrigerator?


    I nced at the small refrigerator in the corner of the room.


    "I never bought one. The one in the house is a studio option."


    -What about the refrigerator at home?


    "Uh... I think it''s been about 20 years since my father passed away and bought it?"


    -See? Our house has been using it for 10 years. Refrigerators are so sturdy that they don''t change them unless they break down. You can ignore that much demand. Besides, do you know how fast word of mouth spreads among newlyweds? If you want to make a well-selling appliance by creating a trend, you have to target the young generation.


    "So what did you draw?"


    -Um, first of all, I think that whether the man pays or they pay together, the one who chooses the appliance is the woman.


    "That''s usually the case."


    Not every household is like that, but there is a general awareness that refrigerators are something that housewives use. So they usually choose ording to their taste.


    The appliance that has a lot of men''s breath is TV.


    It''s because the usual husbands are the ones who look for the TV remote as soon as theye home from work and lie down on the sofa, taking off their clothes like a peel.


    -Then you have to make it for young women. So I ran big data and looked for items that women in their early 30s like.


    Big data? Wow, do you have to do that too?


    -The first thing thates up is fashion.


    Fashion? Can you apply that to a refrigerator?


    "Do you want me to draw a bag on the refrigerator?"


    -Are you crazy, does that make sense?


    "Then what?"


    -I''m going to use Yves Klein Blue.


    "Oh."


    That''s a good idea.

 Chapter 11 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 11 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    There are artists in the world who create their own colors and are remembered by colors.


    Yves Klein, a great artist from Nice, France, is one of those artists.


    The young artist, who had his own original steps, developed his own blue paint in 1960 and patented it under the name IKB (International Klein Blue).


    The artist, who created nearly 200 IKB paintings and left before he died at the age of 34.


    There is a saying among art students. ''There is no same red.'' He created his own countless blues based on this saying.


    He said that the beginning of all his inspiration was the sky, and he expressed the color that was liberated from everything blue.


    It''s actually a transparent color, but the sea leads us to blue, and the sky that we can''t touch makes our eyes and hearts look up to the sky. He was also a person who thought that blue was the color that made the invisible visible.


    So what?


    Isn''t it just blue after all? You might think that. But the reason why Youngju wants to use this color is because of the influence that Yves Klein Blue had on the global fashion industry.


    When the world''s luxurypaniesunch new products, if they use blue, they always choose one of the shades of Yves Klein Blue, and this is a natural thing in the fashion industry. In other words, his blue is directly connected to fashion.


    -The second is cats. So I''m going to try to draw a cat with IKB.


    A blue cat. I''ve heard of a bluebird, but would a blue cat be pretty? I briefly imagined the shape in my head and nodded and answered.


    "That''s a good idea, the cat and the cool blue that fashion-sensitive people envy would go well together."


    -Yeah? Hehe.


    Youngju seemed to want to hear this from the beginning.


    It''s good to respond to questions that have a predetermined answer. There''s no need to make unnecessary trouble by saying something else, because it would only be a tackle.


    "Good luck."


    -I always work hard. You should work hard too. If you win this time, you might not just get the prize money and end it.


    "What do you mean?"


    -You might get to work with MG. Doesn''t it make your heart flutter just to hear it? MG appliance designer!


    Wow, do they offer such an opportunity?


    "There was nothing like that in the contest announcement, are you sure?"


    -Ah, of course not. They have to see a work that they like before they make such an offer. I think they might change their attitude after seeing the level of the contest.


    "Hmm."


    It''s a vain dream. There''s no way a bigpany would work with an unknown painter like us. Unless they coborate with a high-priced painter, there is no merit for thepany.


    But dreaming of such a hope can also be a catalyst for increasing the efficiency of the work.


    "Okay, let''s do it right this time."


    -Okay! Call for a drink after the contest submission?


    "Okay"


    I hung up the phone and tried to focus on the contest again and prepared to draw.


    I put the contest announcement on theptop, and checked the images of the refrigerators that MG appliances had produced so far as reference materials. But MG really only produces appliances that are only functional, and they only have basic refrigerators that are embarrassing to call design.


    I went to the Oseong Electronics website and checked the refrigerator designs. They are very impractical, but I also checked the designs of ''SMEG'', an Italian appliancepany that is popr among the young generation these days.


    But the only pictures I could find among the refrigerator designs were flowers and branches. I sat in front of the easel and looked at theptop and scratched my chin.


    "Refrigerators are usually ced where you can see them when you turn your head from the living room to the kitchen. That means it''s part of the interior. Then it shouldn''t be too shy."


    So they only put simple flowers or decorate them with pretty colors.


    I was lost in thought, scratching my chin.


    Youngju said that most of the people who buy refrigerators are newlyweds.


    What kind of refrigerator would a woman who just got married want?


    Women who have the opportunity to decorate their own house for the first time in their lives would look for interior examples with their dreams inted. There are many famous sites, so some people would just take the interior they saw there, and some people with a sense of style wouldbine various interiors and create their own style.


    What do they want?


    A pretty interior?


    A house that can make them hearpliments when they invite their friends for a housewarming party?


    What is it?


    If it were me, what would I want?


    I was staring at theptop and turned my head and saw the sketch-only painting. The painting I painted with Alphonse Mucha at the end. I smiled unknowingly at the happy family in the painting.


    Then, suddenly, I had this thought.


    ''They would want a pretty refrigerator. But is that really what they want, a refrigerator that is only pretty?''


    Let''s put aside the functionality, which is obvious.


    They just got married, and they buy things to use in their married life. Why do they buy those things? To livefortably?


    ''No.''


    To be happy. They want to build a happy family with this person they are marrying. That''s why newlyweds buy things.


    I looked at the painting I painted with Mucha and narrowed my eyes.


    ''Newlyweds dream of a happy family.''


    Mucha, who was alive, always drew the scenes of the users being happy with the product and achievedmercial sess. And the picture that suits the happy family that the refrigerator buyers want the most was right in front of me.


    ''But can I use this?''


    I colored it, so I have some stake in it? No way.


    I just filled in the colors as if I was studying coloring as an elementary school student, following his instructions. The design and small details of this painting, and the value contained in the painting, are all Alphonse Mucha''s.


    This is no different from stealing.


    But, what if this painting really doesn''t exist in the world?


    If no one can see this beautiful painting and I''m the only one who knows it, it will be buried. That might be a sin in itself.


    I reached out to the sketch-only painting and muttered.


    "Can I show this painting to the world, teacher?"

 Chapter 12 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 12 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    A weekter, at a tripe restaurant near Hongdae.


    The restaurant, located midway on the road leading to the club street from the subway, is always bustling. It''s not just its prime location; the food is exceptional too.


    I opened the door of the tripe restaurant and looked for Young-ju.


    I wasntte for our appointment, but since Young-jus finishing time and mine were different, I guessed she might have arrived first. And sure enough, there she was, sitting alone in a corner, drinking.


    I quickly went over to where my friend was and put down my tool bag, ncing at the table.


    Beef tripe was sizzling on the pan, yet untouched. She must have timed it to be ready when I arrived.


    Young-ju was drinking soju with theplimentary gopchang, already one empty bottle rolling around, and she was working on a new one.


    You never change, Seo Young-ju.


    Young-ju, who had finished a bottle of soju without a change in her face color, lifted her head. Her hair was neatly tied up in a, and she was wearing a pinkish dress.


    Are you going somewhere fancy after this?


    Damn, why are you sote, you bastard.


    Young-ju, pretty and feminine in appearance but with a manly way of speaking. Of course, we were school friends. I gestured towards the wall clock in the restaurant and said,


    I''m right on time.


    You know my finishing time. Finish your work early ande, you bastard. Its not like you have a fixed time.


    Well, thats true. But do you know what it feels like to live day by day? Young-ju shakes the soju bottle.


    First, three shots for beingte.


    When I heard this at the first drinking party with Youngju in college, I thought it was a joke.


    Turns out it meant theter has to start by taking three shots, using the characters  (after),  ing), and  (person).


    After three consecutive shots, I put down my ss and picked a piece of tripe, closing my eyes.


    Wow, how long has it been since Ive had tripe? Its melting in my mouth.


    Why? You like tripe. Havent had it in a while?


    Beef tripe is expensive.


    Young-ju quietly looked at me, then picked a piece of tripe with chopsticks, dipped it generously in sesame oil and salt, and put it in my mouth.


    Eat a lot, Im feeling generous today and will treat you.


    Haha, thanks.


    I was curious about the well-being of a friend I hadnt seen in a while.


    Hows it been? Do you like working at the art gallery?


    Young-ju sighed and shook her head.


    How could I like it? Im just babbling away when I should be drawing at times like these.


    Young-jus job at the art gallery, after returning from studying abroad, is that of a docent.


    A docent is a guide who exins the exhibits to visitors in museums or art galleries, and in some European countries, its also a professorial position.


    The term docent, derived from the Latin docere meaning to teach, refers to a guide with a certain level of knowledge.


    Not good? Still, isnt it the most straightforward path to go from studying abroad to starting as a docent and then bing a director of an art gallery?


    You need to see the path to walk it, you bastard.


    In my eyes, Young-jues from a rather affluent family, but in reality, her family is more middle-ss.


    Without being born with a silver spoon, bing a director of an art gallery is unattainable in the industry, so it seems Young-ju sees no way forward from her current position.


    Those bastards. People from the storage or preservation centers act like theyre some great technicians, always nagging. I have 30,000 followers on Instagram, for what its worth.


    She must have gained those followers by appealing to the visitors


    "Conservation and storage center staff are probably very cautious about everything. It''s natural for them to be wary since they have to ensure no harmes to the valuable paintings."


    Yeongju stared with tfish eyes and said,


    "Are you siding with those guys too?"


    "Ha, not really."


    "Ah, it''s so stressful."


    "Just drink some alcohol, let''s have a drink and go to sleep."


    We passed the drink back and forth, inquiring about each other''s well-being, and then shifted the conversation to the artpetition.


    "Did you finalize and submit the cat drawing from Eve ng that you mentioned before?"


    "Yeah, what about you?"


    "I... drew a family picture."


    "What?"


    Yeongju looked incredulous and said,


    "You drew a family picture? On a fridge? Are you crazy? Who would use something like that in this era? Ah! You''ve totally wasted thispetition, you idiot."


    "Stop cursing. How old are you to still be talking like that?"


    "Nobody at thepany knows I curse well."


    "But why do you only curse at me?"


    "Because you do things that deserve it."


    Even though she speaks like that, she probably thinks of me as someonefortable. Yeongju is the only friend who worries about me.


    Yeongju asked several times if I really submitted a real family photo and then sighed.


    "Well, it''s okay to do what you want for once. But don''t get your hopes up. A fridge with a family drawing on it. Just imagining it is dreadful."


    Haha, what if that was a painting by Alphonse Mucha? Of course, it might get rejected for not fitting the trend, or the judges might not understand the hidden meaning. Then, there''s nothing I can do about it.


    "Let''s just drink for now."

 Chapter 12 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 12 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Meanwhile, at MG Electronics'' meeting room.


    Employees from the marketing department working overtime were printing the entries from thepetition and cing them on the empty desks in the meeting room.


    "Hurry up, the new lead designer is known for being meticulous, so don''t mess up and make the team leader get scolded."


    "But, sir. I heard the lead designer came from Italy. Is that true?"


    "Yes, they brought in someone from the fashion industry for home appliance design. I heard she was the lead designer at a famous Italian luxury brand. She''s preparing her own brand now, and we snatched her up in the meantime."


    "Wow, I wonder how much they''re paying her?"


    "Don''t know, but it must be at least several billion won."


    "I''m jealous, my sry is just a few thousand."


    "Most people don''t even earn that much. If you''re not satisfied, you can leave. There''s plenty of people to rece you."


    ""


    Then, people from the design department entered.


    As they were colleagues, the marketing department staff bowed their heads to them and took their seats.


    After a while, the marketing team leader came in, checked the preparations, and said,


    "Mr. Lee from the design department, please take a seat there. Call the lead designer."


    After all the preparations werepleted, a design team member sent a message. The team members sat in silence for a few minutes.


    Then, the sound of high heels was heard from afar.


    As the sound approached, all the employees straightened up and looked tense.


    A shadow appeared from beyond the meeting room.


    Finally, the shadow entered the meeting room.


    A beautiful foreigner with brown, voluminous hair, wearing an elegant and sophisticated two-piece suit, walked in.


    With her blue eyes shining, she stood in the center instead of taking a seat and greeted everyone with a strong Italian ent in English.


    "Hello, I''m Monica Rossellini."


    The meeting was conducted in English, and although no employee at therge corporation MG Electronics was behind in English meetings, some sentences had to be thought over again due to her strong Italian ent. However, there were generally no major issues.


    Monica unfolded a thick steel folder and began speaking.


    "Design team, please review all materials and each of you select ten entries that you like. The marketing team should research the background information of the contestants corresponding to the entries selected by the design team. Let''s look at their portfolios based on that."


    Her reason for giving these instructions was not just to choose designs they liked, but to examine the contestants'' careers and see if they could be used as marketing points.


    This meant she was nning to primarily use paintings by fairly famous artists.


    After briefly scanning thepetition entries, Monica, with her file tucked under her arm, stands up.


    "Once you''re done, just put in one of any duplicates and send the sorted list to my office."


    Monica says this briefly and leaves her seat. A marketing team member, who is familiar with a design team member, whispers.


    "She''s got charisma."


    The design team member, checking their own file, responds.


    "She was the lead designer at the Italian luxury brand Alessandro Cucinelli until recently."


    "What? Really? The brand I''m thinking of?"


    "Yes, there''s been buzz in the industry since a lead designer from Italy came to Korea. It''s an opportunity for us. Getting to work with someone like her."


    Italy is a global fashion leader,parable to France.


    With brands like Prada, Armani, Versace, and others, holding immense prestige, and the Mn Fashion Week attracts the attention of world-famous designers.


    The weight of the title ''lead designer'' from a top-ranking Italian brand was significant.


    Moreover, rumors suggested she was only in her mid-thirties. Her ability was evidently extraordinary.


    "She''s really something."


    "Let''s hurry up, she doesn''t like waiting."


    "Okay! Let''s do this quickly."


    Meanwhile, in Monica''s room.


    Sipping coffee alone, Monica browses through thepetition entries, clicking her tongue and shaking her head.


    "Is this the level of art in this country? Tsk, what was I expecting? From a small Eastern nation."


    Half of the drawings were of cats. asionally, some decent drawings caught her eye. Monica, intrigued by one of the cat drawings, says with a spark in her eye.


    "This one''s not bad, a cat in IKB color. It''s fresh. But, of course, it''s a clich cat."


    If there were no better pieces, she might consider it for an award, but it still didn''t satisfy her. Monica sets aside a few of the better drawings, but then suddenly stops while flipping through her file.


    "This one."


    A vividly colorful painting that seemed unfit for a refrigerator design.


    Other contestants had submitted designs depicting a single creature or object, as overly ornate designs didn''t suit appliance aesthetics. But one contestant had submitted an excessively borate painting, filling a long rectangle canvas.


    "A Mucha style?"


    Monica, with her experience in the fashion industry, recognizes it instantly. But there''s something unusual in her gaze.


    Taking the painting out of the file to look at it properly, Monica murmurs.


    "This isn''t a mere imitation. It''s almost as if..."


    As if Alphonse Mucha himself had painted it.


    Many had been influenced by his art in the modern era, but none had produced a work that looked like his while being different.


    To ayman, they might look simr, but industry insiders like herself could discern the difference. This painting was unlike any she had seen before.


    Monica looks intently at the painting for a long while before cing it down on the table with a smile.


    "There are shining stars in this country too."


    Looking at the painting on the table, Monica murmurs.


    "Una mente felice  molto pi importante di un buon acquisto (A happy mind is much more important than a good purchase)."

 Chapter 13 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 13 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    At an Italian restaurant in Yeouido.


    Heo Il-Woo, the manager of MG Electronics'' marketing team, cautiously spoke to Monica.


    "Are you really going to choose that painting?"


    Monica, tasting the appetizer of goat cheese and pepper with onion soup, silently nodded her head.


    Team Manager Heo nced at a man sitting opposite her, who wore a serious expression.


    "What do you think, Department Head Kim?"


    In arge corporation, a department head might not be perceived as very powerful, but those with this title in a business division are among the most powerful and responsible.


    Department Head Kim, looking unperturbed, quietly observed Monica, who was focused on her lunch, and then spoke up.


    "Senior Designer Monica."


    Monica, still sipping her soup, responded.


    "Yes."


    At first nce, it might seem impolite, but the position of a senior designer is actually higher than that of a department head.


    After scanning the surroundings, Department Head Kim spoke in a low voice.


    "I''ve seen the painting you selected. I can understand the choices for the first and second prizes, but the grand prize is iprehensible. Are you really nning to award it to that painting?"


    Watching Monica only nod her head while eating her spoonful of soup, Department Head Kim touched his forehead and sighed.


    "The prize money for thepetition is not a waste. It''s a small amount after all. However, the manpower and time invested cannot be wasted. If such a painting, which is not even suitable for design, is selected as the grand prize, not only our internal staff but also the contestants who participated in thepetition will not understand."


    Finally, Monica put down her spoon, wiped her mouth carefully, and spoke.


    "It''s a simple problem to solve."


    Both Department Head Kim and Team Manager Heo looked surprised.


    "Excuse me?"


    With her beautifully manicured hands, Monica brushed her hair back and said.


    "Isn''t it a problem that can be solved if a wonderful design that everyone can understandes out?"


    ".................."


    "That''s why I''m here. Did you really think to ask the participating artists to design refrigerators?"


    ".................."


    The two men had no counterargument to her valid points.


    Apetition is just that. Even if the artwork of the entries ends up on refrigerators, it''s the role of MG''s design department to create a design thatplements the artwork.


    Monica pushed aside the ciabatta, eggnt dish, and sd served as pre-meal bread, wiped her hands, and said.


    "Since I am in this country, I should follow the rules of this country, right? In my country, it''s considered very rude to talk about work during a meal."


    Both men again became speechless. Monica looked at them and said.


    "Even if you''re not interested in art or design, you must have heard of Vincent van Gogh, right?"


    As both men nodded, Monica continued.


    "Do you know which of Van Gogh''s paintings sold for the highest price?"


    As the men shook their heads, Monica said.


    "There are two notable works. The first is ''Portrait of Dr. Gachet'' which was auctioned for $82.5 million (about 89.2 billion won) in 1990. Then, in 2018, a painting titled ''Orchard with Cypress'' from the collection of thete Microsoft co-founder Paul Allen was sold for $117.2 million (about 160 billion won), setting a new record."


    The amount was staggering, but the two men listening didn''t grasp the context of the conversation. Why was she talking about the prices of Van Gogh''s paintings in the middle of a conversation about thepetition?


    Reading their puzzled looks, Monica continued.


    "Let''s talk about the Portrait of Dr. Gachet, which sold for $82.5 million in 1990. It was bought by a Japanese paper tycoon named Ryoei Saito. So, how much do you think Van Gogh sold that painting for during his lifetime?"


    Both men, aware that Van Gogh was not recognized during his lifetime but not knowing the price of his paintings, remained silent. Monica, curling her fingers into a circle, said.


    "Zero."


    The men, surprised by this revtion, asked.


    "Are you saying he didn''t receive any money? For a painting that fetched such a high price in modern times?"


    Monica leaned on her chin andughed.


    "Van Goghmitted suicide with a pistol in Auvers-sur-Oise. The painting was made in lieu of medical fees for Dr. Gachet, who treated him."


    Department Head Kim asked in astonishment.


    "So... he painted that as payment for medical fees? A painting that''s worth $82.5 million?"


    Monica shrugged her shoulders and said.


    "Back then, it wasn''t even worth $8."


    "Because it wasn''t worth $8 at the time."


    Monica looked at the two quietly and opened her mouth.


    "It''s the same situation now."


    The two looked at each other and exchanged nces.


    ''What the hell is she talking about? Do you know?''


    ''I have no idea, sir.''


    Monica cleared her throat and said.


    "Let me ask you a question. Director Kim?"


    "Yes?"


    "Imagine you went back in time and met Van Gogh. There is his picture in front of you. Van Gogh is desperate to sell his paintings to make a living."


    ".?"


    "You saw Van Gogh selling his paintings in the market, such as Starry Night or Cafe Terrace at Night. The price of the picture is about $10. What would you do?"

 Chapter 13 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 13 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Director Kim said as if it was obvious.


    "I would invest all the money I have and buy them. It''s a business that makes a thousand times, ten thousand times more."


    Monica flicked her finger and said.


    "Auguri! (Congrattions) You made a lot of money."


    "."


    Monica pped her hands softly and said.


    "But this is a fantasy, right? People at that time didn''t recognize the value of his paintings, and we can never travel back in time. We have to solve one of the two to make this a reality."


    Monica spread two fingers and folded them one by one.


    "Go back in time, or recognize the value of the future in the present."


    Director Kim was the business director of MG Electronics. He didn''t sit in this position by grabbing thend. He realized the hidden meaning in Monica''s words.


    "Are you saying that the painter who painted that picture is the future Van Gogh?"


    Monicaughed and waved her hand.


    "No way, Van Gogh wasn''t just some guy from the neighborhood."


    Monica tilted her head for a moment and then said.


    "Well, now that I think about it, we can''t be sure about that. No one knows how great a person he will be. But what''s certain is that I, or rather we, are the only ones who have recognized his value right now. And I will not miss this opportunity. It''s a perfect chance to buy future value at a bargain price, as I just said."


    Although Department Head Kim was skeptical, he didn''t oppose her further, considering her artistic value recognized in Italy. Instead, he shifted the conversation to business matters.


    "But if that painting wins thepetition, there will definitely be talk about it."


    "Then don''t give it the grand prize, isn''t that simple?"


    "Are you joking with me now?"


    "No? Not at all. I''m just saying that the prize money for thepetition means nothing to him."


    "Most painters submitting to thepetition are poor. Well, some might bepany employees working in designpanies. But almost none of them want to work for apany. Most want to be frence designers or painters. Thepetition is very meaningful to them. It might not be worth much to Monica, but it''s an area where they''re putting everything on the line."


    Monica leaned forward slightly, resting her chin on her hand and smiling.


    "So what happens if they win the grand prize in thepetition?"


    Department Head Kim spoke as if asking out of ignorance.


    "Of course, it bes a part of the painter and designer''s career, and with it, they gain the qualification to receive orders frompanies..."


    Department Head Kim stopped speaking mid-sentence, his eyes widening as he stared at Monica.


    "You mean to say, give the grand prize to someone else and actually work with him? Is that what you want to say?"


    Monica shrugged.


    "Handing over ten million won in prize money might lead to more work, but if that doesn''t work out, we''ll have to go that route. If we end up making a personal contract, we''ll probably have to pay more than ten million won."


    Department Head Kim frowned and pondered for a moment, then nodded.


    "Let''spromise and go with that. But Monica, what if the refrigerator you designed with that painting doesn''t catch the business department''s eye?"


    Monica''s expression changed.


    Her face, which had seemed like flowers were about to bloom just moments ago, suddenly turned ice-cold as she red at Department Head Kim.


    Heo, the team manager, was stuck in the middle, unable to do anything, while Department Head Kim, realizing his faux pas, refused to back down.


    After ring at Department Head Kim for a while, Monica spoke.


    "If that happens, I''ll step down from my position as the senior designer at MG Electronics. Of course, I won''t take the promised incentive."


    Heo, the team manager, and Department Head Kim looked shocked. After all, she was the senior designer personally recruited by the president of MG Electronics. Department Head Kim waved his hands as if to calm her down.


    "There''s no need to go that far. I just meant to slightly reduce the marketing costs and production levels."


    Monica still wore a cold expression as she stood up from her seat.


    "Do as you please, I''ve lost my appetite. Sorry, but you two finish the meal. I''m leaving first."


    Monica grabbed her purse and left the restaurant.


    Outside the restaurant, she looked back at the building and muttered.


    "This is why thepany is in this state, with people like you in charge."


    MG Electronics, infamous for being called spies by the marketing and design teams of Oseong Electronics.


    The industry consensus is that although the quality of the products is excellent, the advertising and design are outdated and fail to properly recognize their value.


    Monica checked the time on her luxury wristwatch and then called thepany.


    "Hello. I''ming back now, so please make a contract for a frence designer and put it on my desk, and also the personal information and contact information of the painter who painted that picture. Oh, since Suyeong will go out with me as an interpreter because the other person may not speak a foreignnguage, please prepare."


    She gave simple instructions and hung up the phone. Monica shook her head as if to shake off the bad mood from the previous conversation, and her brown hair fluttered. She looked at the blue sky and smiled.


    "Then shall we go meet the star of the East?"


    || Next Chapter

 Chapter 14 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 14 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Ikseon-dong.


    I came out to draw portraits again today, but there are no customers.


    After spending two hours just wandering around the neighborhood without a single customer, I took out my phone and checked the MG Electronics website.


    "Today''s the day of the contest announcement."


    I probably didn''t make it. The picture I submitted doesn''t really match a refrigerator design.


    A refrigerator advertisement poster, maybe, but engraving a picture on the refrigerator itself is overly extravagant. I wasn''t expecting much, but clicked on the contest winners announcement out of curiosity, only to find my name wasn''t there.


    However, a name that makes me happy is listed.


    "Wow! Youngju won the Excellence Award!"


    It''s not the grand prize, but she won second ce.


    If she knew, she would have called me by now, but since there''s no call yet, she must be busy and hasn''t checked.


    Looking at the time, it''s 5:40 PM.


    The docent program usually starts at 11 AM, 2 PM, and 4 PM, so she probably just finished thest session.


    I call Youngju, and she answers right away.


    - Hey, Junghoon.


    "Youngju, congrattions."


    - ...Huh?


    "Haven''t you checked? You won the Excellence Award."


    - Really?


    "Yeah, check it out. Congrattions, my friend."


    - Really? Really? If you''re lying, I''ll rip out your guts and hang them on top of Namhansanseong!


    "Ha, crazy. What an analogy. It''s true."


    - Yessss!!!!!!!!


    Her voice fades away, but I can hear her shouting excitedly.


    Seems like she''s alone somewhere, maybe in a restroom. I feel happy hearing my friend''s joyous shouts.


    After a while, Youngjues back to her senses.


    - What about you? How did you do?


    "I didn''t make it."


    - Oh...


    "It''s okay, I didn''t expect much when I submitted that picture."


    - That''s why you''re an idiot. Why did you submit such a picture? Silly.


    "Ha, yeah."


    Why did I do it?


    Because I wanted someone, even just one person, to see it.


    I felt it was too precious to keep to myself.


    I congratte Youngju again and hang up.


    Then, I notice I have seven missed calls on my phone.


    I must have missed them because my phone was on vibrate in my bag. But what is this phone number? I''ve never seen it before. These days, even telemarketing callse from cell phone numbers, so I don''t usually answer unknown numbers.


    I throw my phone back into my bag, muttering.


    "Korea is such a great country. People are overflowing with offers to lend money."


    It''s funny because if you actually apply for a loan from those who call to offer, they check your ie level and situation, only to end up telling you that the loan is rejected.


    Why do they even call if they''re not going to lend money?


    As the evening approaches, bringing more people, I hope someone will ask for a portrait as I watch people passing through the alleyway.


    I love this time.


    The paper I use for customers'' portraits is too precious, so I usually sketch passersby in a small sketchbook I carry.


    An artist is a being who captures moments eternally.


    Kimon Nicides said this.


    Learning to draw is the same as learning to see things urately.


    To draw well, you first need to observe well.


    Artists are those who attribute more than just the visual meaning.


    During these times, I observe people and analyze the motion of the human body through quick sketches. Some artists even study the human body to the extent of looking up pictures with skin peeled off to reveal the muscles. This time is very important for an artist.


    Then, I spot an incredibly beautiful foreign woman while observing the people.


    "Wow, is she a person or a goddess?"


    She has the radiant beauty of Aphrodite herself.


    People who met her walked aside hesitantly. She was not only beautiful, but her eyes, fashion, and walk exuded a charisma that somehow intimidated people.


    I quickly started sketching to draw her.


    I looked at her, then at the sketchbook, then back at her, and I noticed that she started looking at me.


    Sometimes people get upset when I draw them without permission. It''s a shame, but it''s better to stop before I make trouble. I pretended to look elsewhere and watched her. She was with a Korean woman and said something to her, then came straight here.


    Damn, I''m caught. I quickly turned the sketchbook and started drawing the neighborhood.


    I thought she might say something if she knew I was drawing her. The ce where I was sitting was a little away from the route where people moved. The only people who came here were the ones who lived here.


    Therefore, the two peopleing to me meant they had something to do with me.


    ''Oh, this is a headache.''


    I had this kind of thing before.


    At that time, the police came and took away the picture I was drawing, and I had to write a pledge that this would never happen again before I was released.


    The two people who came to me in no time. I sighed and looked up.


    "I''m sorry."


    The foreign woman didn''t seem to know Korean, so she looked at the Korean woman.


    The Korean woman didn''t trante for the foreign woman, but spoke to me.


    "Are you Ban Jeonghoon?"


    Huh? How does she know my name?

 Chapter 14 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 14 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    "Yes? Oh, yes."


    "Your phone is not working."


    Wow, the seven missed calls earlier were from these people.


    But why? I don''t know them.


    "Yes, I had my phone in my bag. But who are you?"


    The woman handed me a business card and said.


    "I''m Lee Sooyoung, from the MG Electronics design team."


    I took the card and looked up in surprise.


    "MG Electronics?"


    I asked, looking at the two women alternately.


    Lee Sooyoung didn''t answer my question, but said something to the foreign woman. But it didn''t sound like English. Is that Italian? The foreign woman handed me her card and said.


    Monica.


    Huh? Monica? Isn''t that a snack name? Oh, that was Monaka, right?


    "Mo, Monica? Your name?"


    Monica nods her head. Wow, it''s like a goddess is speaking to me. Just exchanging names makes me feel good. Monica, seeing my easel and drawing paper as I sit in the alley, asks Lee Soo-young something.


    Then Lee Soo-young says,


    "She heard that you draw portraits. She''s asking if that''s what you are doing now."


    "Huh? How did you know I draw portraits?"


    "I couldn''t reach you by phone, so I went to your house. You weren''t there, so I asked yourndlord, and she said you''d be in Ikseon-dong drawing portraits at this time."


    Ah, thendy.


    That exins why they know so much about me.


    But Ikseon-dong is so big. Did they really search all over to find me?


    "Yes, I''m drawing portraits right now."


    Upon conveying my response, Monica sits down to be the portrait model. Lee Soo-young says,


    "She would like one drawn."


    "Um, I charge for these portraits."


    "We will pay."


    Hmm, they went to such lengths to find me.


    It feels a bit wrong to take money since it''s my fault for not answering the phone.


    As I prepare to draw the portrait and observe Monica''s face, I ask Lee Soo-young,


    "What brings you here?"


    I wonder why they came looking for me, especially after I failed the MG Electronicspetition.


    Lee Soo-young rys the question to Monica, then tells me,


    "She asks that you spare some time after you finish the portrait."


    "Time? But I need to work."


    Lee Soo-youngmunicates again with Monica, who then pulls out her wallet and offers money.


    "200,000 won. It should cover a day''s work for you."


    "..........................."


    200,000 won for a portrait.


    That''s more than I''ve ever earned in a day in Ikseon-dong.


    But should I take it?


    As I stared nkly at the money, Lee Soo-young ced it on my thigh.


    "It''s okay, take it. Let''s talk more after you finish the portrait."


    What''s going on?


    **


    Shortly after, at a traditional teahouse in Ikseon-dong.


    I sat dumbfounded in the expensive cafe I always passed by but never dared to enter. Monica, sitting opposite me, examined the portrait I had drawn. Such a beautiful person.


    Monica, pouting her lips, says,


    "Non sono molto bravo a disegnare ritratti."


    [T/N: Not so good at drawing portraits]


    What is she saying? I looked at Lee Soo-young, but she doesnt trante and instead gets to the point.


    "I''ve seen the picture you submitted to the MG Electronicspetition. Monica is our senior designer, invited from abroad."


    "Ah, yes."


    I''m curious about what she said earlier. It was about my painting, after all.


    "Sorry to interrupt, but what did she say about my painting just now?"


    "..........................."


    Lee Soo-young hesitates to respond, probably not good news.


    I wave my hand, not wanting to be hurt.


    "No, never mind. Please continue."


    Her face is so pretty, yet she''s so direct. Even if I don''t understand, it''s harsh to say it to someone''s face. Well, Westerners are generally direct and honest. I''ll chalk it up to cultural differences.


    Lee Soo-young rummages through her briefcase and ces a single-page contract on the table.


    "We came to ask if you''re interested in signing a frence contract with MG Electronics."


    "...........................Really?"


    Is this a dream? Did Lee Sooyoung just say a frence contract with MG?


    I was so surprised that I couldn''t even look at the document and froze.


    Monica looked at her phone and the portrait I drew for her, and tilted her head. Then she asked Lee Sooyoung something.


    Lee Sooyoung asked me instead of tranting.


    "She''s asking if you really drew the picture you submitted to the contest."


    I felt a sting inside.


    It''s a picture drawn by Alphonse Mucha. She has sharp eyes.


    She noticed that the touch of the portrait and the style of the contest picture arepletely different. Even if you draw different styles of pictures, an artist leaves their own color, but I used someone else''s picture, so it would show to an expert.


    But I have no choice but to lie now.


    If I say Alphonse Mucha drew it, she might think I''m weird.


    "Yes, I did."


    Monica listened to Lee Sooyoung''s trantion and stared at the picture again, thenpared it with her phone and said something.


    Then Lee Sooyoung said.


    "Please read the contract and sign it if you want to make a deal."


    Oh, there''s a contract in front of me.


    What are you hesitating for, sign it before they change their mind.


    But I have to check it. I''ve heard stories of seniors who ruined their lives by signing a wrong contract.


    I tried to read the contract carefully, but I widened my eyes when I saw the amount written in the middle.


    "Th, th, the contract fee is fi, five?"


    In my astonished gaze, I see a goddess smiling with a radiant glow behind her. She''s not just a goddess; she''s the goddess of money.

 Chapter 15 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 15 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    "It will be an incentive-based contract. As you know, Mr. Ban Jeong-hun is not well-known in the industry, so the incentive share will not berge."


    Hearing Lee Soo-young''s words, I didn''t even care about the incentives. I was frozen at the mention of an upfront payment of fifty million won. Just by signing, I would be getting an amount of money I had never seen or heard of before.


    "Incentives?"


    I reflexively repeated her words as a question, to which Lee Soo-young responded.


    "It''s a contract based on sales performance. There are no incentives if sales are under 300 units. However, if sales exceed that, 1% per unit sold will be paid as an incentive."


    How much is 1%?


    The average price of a refrigerator is around two million won. So, 10% would be two hundred thousand won, and 1% would be twenty thousand won... So I''d only get twenty thousand won for each refrigerator sold? Wait, is that the issue right now? The upfront payment is fifty million won.


    I need to sign this immediately.


    I rummaged through my pockets. It''s impossible for an artist not to have a pen.


    Instead of a fancy fountain pen, a pencil came out, but that''s okay. Ah, the contract should be signed with a ballpoint pen, right, of course.


    Not having a ballpoint pen, I looked up to borrow one from Lee Soo-young when Monica, who had been alternating between looking at her phone and the portrait, spoke.


    "Fermare (Stop)."


    I didn''t understand what she said, but I stopped moving and stared intently at Monica conversing with Lee Soo-young. They seemed to be discussing something serious, which appeared to be bad news.


    Casting nces at me and repeatedly confirming the same thing, Lee Soo-young cautiously said.


    "I''m sorry, but could youe to MG Electronics headquarters by 10 a.m. tomorrow?"


    "What...?"


    Why there?


    Lee Soo-young took the contract in front of me and put it back in her bag. It felt like fifty million won was flying away right before my eyes.


    "Why is that...?"


    As she was putting away the contract, Lee Soo-young said.


    "After the contract, you''ll need toe to MG Electronics for a while. Didn''t you see it at the end of the contract?"


    I didn''t see it.


    Nothing else registered in my eyes except the mention of fifty million won as an upfront payment.


    Lee Soo-young exined that participating in the design and receiving incentives meant being recognized as a refrigerator designer, and for that, participation in the design process was necessary.


    I understand that, it would be a good experience for me. But why is she taking the contract?


    Lee Soo-young nced at Monica, who was silently observing me, then said.


    "It seems the chief designer has something she wants to check. Can youe tomorrow?"


    I hesitated, fiddling near the pocket of my trousers, touching the two hundred thousand won I had received earlier.


    "Well, I live day-to-day, so not working andmuting is a bit..."


    When Lee Soo-young ryed my words to Monica, she smirked and responded. Lee Soo-young tranted.


    "If the contract is finalized, you''ll need toe to the headquarters for about a month, and we will pay you a wage for that. We''ll give you two hundred thousand won as a daily wage."


    Wow, a daily wage of two hundred thousand won? If I work 20 days a month, that''s four million won. I swallowed hard and nodded my head.


    "If that''s the case, I can."


    "Good, then we''ll see you tomorrow."


    The two people who got up from their seats. I looked at them nkly and got upte.


    Monica said something to me, but Lee Soo-young didn''t trante herst words and just said goodbye and left.


    I was left alone in the cafe and recalled Monica''sst words. I had no idea what she was saying in Italian, but I remembered the pronunciation.


    "Sei... sospettoso? Something like that."


    I turned on thenguage search on my phone and said the pronunciation I had heard. Then, the phone interpreted my pronunciation like this.


    ''You are suspicious.''


    I lost my words for a while as I looked at the sentence on the phone.


    ''The chief designer from Italy.''


    She must have a keen eye for art, as she noticed the big difference between the portrait I drew and the contest work. To be honest, I can count on one hand the number of times I lied to someone in my life. That''s why I feel uneasy.


    I want to confess now, but who would believe me if I say this?


    I clenched my fist and bit my lip.


    "This is not the time to do this, let''s study Alphonse Mucha''s painting style all night. Then maybe I can get through this."


    I have been fond of copying his paintings since high school, not even college. To be honest, I can copy some of his paintings exactly without looking at the original. I can copy them so precisely that no one would think they are forgeries unless they are experts.


    Of course, that''s assuming that she can pass the test with the existing paintings.

 Chapter 15 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 15 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Lee Soo-young, who took a taxi to return to thepany, asked Monica.


    "Chief designer."


    Monica said, still looking at her phone.


    "My name is not chief designer, but Monica, Ms. Lee Soo-young."


    "I''m sorry, Monica."


    "Yes, what is it?"


    "What part of Mr. Ban Jeong-hun do you find suspicious?"


    Monica looked at Lee Soo-young with a puzzled expression, as if she didn''t understand why she asked that, and said, holding both her phone and the portrait.


    "Do you still say that after seeing this?"


    ""


    Lee Soo-young was an interpreter, but she was also a member of the design team. She could also see the clear difference between the two paintings.


    "But it''s natural that there is a difference between a portrait drawn in 30 minutes and a contest work that took several days toplete. A carefully written text and a hastily written text can also look like different people''s handwriting."


    Hmm, that''s true. But this could be a big contract. If someone benefits from using anothers paintings, it could cause significant harm to MG Electronics."


    Its obvious, after all, if theres awsuitter on regarding unauthorized use of the design, it would be a major issue.


    For Ban Jeong-hun, going to jail would be the end of it, but MG Electronics would face astronomicalpensation and a tremendous blow to their brand image.


    Lee Soo-young nced at the portrait once again, smacked his lips, and nodded in agreement.


    "Understood, I''ll proceed as Monica wishes for now."


    As soon as Lee Soo-young acquiesced, Monica, looking out the window at Seoul''s skyline, muttered to herself.


    "I also hope he truly is a star of the East."


    **


    MG Electronics Marketing Department.


    Heo, the marketing team leader, ruffles his hair as if troubled.


    This is driving me crazy, I can''t find a single aspect that could be used as a marketing point."


    On his PC screen was Ban Jeong-huns profile.


    From the marketing teams perspective, they needed to gather materials to exin and promote the artistic value of an appliance coborating with an artist before theunch of a new product.


    But no matter how much they looked into Ban Jeong-hun, aside from his university graduation, all they found were a few awards frompetitions.


    How can we work with an artist who hasnt even had a solo exhibition?


    Heo clicked his tongue and red at the PC screen.


    At least he graduated from a good school.


    Then, one of the female staff members in the marketing department hesitantly raised her hand and said.


    "I contacted the school, and they said Ban Jeong-hun received a full schrship throughout his four years there."


    Heos face lit up briefly before he frowned.


    Ha, great. But how do we use that as a marketing point? Itsmendable that he worked hard in school to get a schrship, but that doesnt trante to professional sess. School is one thing, and society is another.


    The woman who had spoken lowered her hand. After all, the team leader was right. Even the junior member of the design team, a graduate of Seoul National University, struggles with using the copier and gets scolded daily.


    Heo pped his hands and said.


    Anyway, we need to find something, so lets learn more about Ban Jeong-hun.


    As Heo stood up to give instructions to his team, he saw Monica returning to the office with Lee Soo-young, and quickly approached her, asking in English.


    Did you meet Mr. Ban Jeong-hun?


    Yes, team leader.


    Do you have any more information about him? Any work history with otherpanies or participation in joint exhibitions if not solo ones?


    Monica stopped and turned to Heo.


    For now, put a hold on what youre doing.


    Heo asked incredulously.


    Pardon?


    Wait for my instructions.


    Monica turned and walked away. Heo then grabbed Lee Soo-young, who was following her.


    Soo-young! What is this all about?


    Lee Soo-young, lowering her voice so no one would hear, exined the situation, and a serious look came over Heos face. He looked around and whispered.


    So, you mean he might have enteredpetitions with someone elses paintings?


    Its more about confirming things before proceeding.


    Come on, in this day and age. Does that make any sense?


    I think so too, but it doesnt hurt to be cautious. Ill be going now.


    Mr. Heo stopped everyone. He was staring at his PC screen with a headache.


    "Stop! Stop everything you''re doing right now, and start looking for paintings that are simr to Ban Jeong-hoon''s painting that was submitted to the contest. If anyone finds a simr painting on the inte, report it to me immediately!"


    A strange order without any prior exnation.


    But no one asked why and immediately opened the inte window.


    That''s the fate of the corporate workers who live as cogs in the wheel.


    **


    On the way home from the cafe.


    Thanks to Monica, who gave me 200,000 won, I don''t have to work today.


    "Let''s go home and practice."


    I used to be confident, but I haven''t copied his paintings for a long time.


    Thest time I did a forgery job was four years ago, and the painting I drew then was The West End Review. It was a painting that Mucha designed for the British market in 1902, depicting a beautiful young woman in a gorgeous dress looking far away with a dreamy eye.


    ''Monica is suspicious of me.''


    Therefore, she will test me tomorrow.


    Can I pass the test?


    Can I get the 50 million won signing bonus and leave a record of coborating with MG Electronics?


    I have to go home and practice, but I wonder what difference it will make if I practice for a day.


    My fast pace slows down.


    ''Even if no one believes me, I know.''


    There is no one in the world who knows my lie. But I know. I''m lying right now.


    "Sigh..."


    Should I just give up?


    I had a phone number on the business card I received earlier. Maybe it would be cleaner to just say I don''t want to do it.


    I was lost in thought on my way home and stopped at some point.


    I came here again without thinking. A small sign of an art gallery hangs over my head.


    ''Lucid Dream Art Gallery.''

 Chapter 16 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 16 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Even though it was just a dream, I mourned for him who was about to face death.


    The perspective in dreams seems to change freely, but I wondered how I would feel seeing him in his youth? No, there''s Monica''s exam tomorrow, would it be helpful to see the sessful and thriving Mucha that I wanted to seest time?


    Or am I getting ahead of myself drinking the celebratory ''kimchi soup'' before having that dream again? [T/N:


    Dont drink the kimchi soup first (  )!


    ]


    The digital media art exhibition is still scheduled to feature Alphonse Mucha, and still, no one is there.


    Everything remains the same, yet here I am, feeling disoriented. I hesitated in front of the museum for a moment, then entered.


    I didn''t go there looking for hints or answers to the problems I''m facing.


    Maybe it was a kind of escapism chosen in a hopeless situation?


    As I familiarly bought a ticket and went downstairs, as always, the grand music was ying. It seems I entered in the middle ortter part of the program this time.


    The wall disying the fascinating women Alphonse Mucha always drew.


    The enchanting woman captures the viewer''s attention with her flowing hair, beautiful decorations, and fluttering clothing.


    Space beautifully illuminated with numerousmercial advertising posters he created during his lifetime, including biscuit ads, publishing house ads, bleach ads, beer, bicycles, etc.


    I chuckled to myself as I looked around the empty auditorium.


    ''It''s really going to fail here.''


    But it shouldn''t.


    I haven''te here often, but it''s a ce where my heart finds peace.


    Having such a ce of tranquility for only five thousand won is a great blessing for me. It would pain my heart to lose this ce.


    Sitting next to the rock sofa where I always sit, with my belongings ced beside me, I leaned my chin on my hand and watched the paintings adorning the walls and ceiling, waiting for the picture of the Zodiac constetions.


    ''Those constetions.''


    The lights of the constetions turn on and stop at one. And then I dream.


    ''The first time I saw the picture, it stopped at Leo.''


    If you list the twelve constetions in order, they are as follows: Aries, Taurus, Gemini, Cancer, Leo, Virgo, Libra, Sagittarius, Capricorn, Aquarius, Pisces. If this were a person''s life?


    ''When it stopped at Leo, I went to his 30s.''


    And the second time to his time just before death. That time, it stopped at thest position, Pisces. If there is a connection between them, maybe when I see the Zodiac picture, I could know which moment of the dream I would go to.


    I waited for the picture, chuckling and washing my face with my dry hands.


    ''I''m not crazy, what kind of imagination is this?''


    Yes, it was just a dream.


    I fell asleep looking at his painting and dreamt something rted.


    There''s no way the museum is talking to me and forcing me to dream, right?


    I shook my head from side to side and propped my chin, staring at the wall.


    Then, the image of the Zodiac constetions came to mind again.


    With a hopeful heart, I stared intently at the constetions as the lights started toe on again.


    Lights came on in each constetion one by one, and after thest Pisces constetion shined and flickered, all twelve lights came on and went out at once.


    Finally, the lightes on in one constetion.


    I narrowed my eyes and murmured.


    ''Pisces again.''


    If my hypothesis has credibility, I will dream again, and the Alphonse Mucha I meet in that dream will be him just before his death.

 Chapter 16 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 16 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    After a moment of dizziness, I opened my eyes that I had closed and looked around.


    The dark bedroom of the night.


    In one corner, there''s a wooden easel with a canvas on it.


    Instead of the dried paint I saw at first, there is a palette and a bucket full of recently squeezed paint, pencils, and charcoals neatly arranged in the corner, and next to an old but very luxurious wooden chair, there''s apleted painting. The very painting I colored recently.


    I reflexively checked the calendar.


    ''July 5, 1939.''


    More than a week has passed in reality, but I''vee to his bedroom again the day after myst visit.


    Nine days before Alphonse Mucha''s death.


    I walked out from the dark spot to where the moonlight faintly shone.


    "Cough, cough."


    The sound of coughing I had heard once.


    It sounds worse than a week ago, no, than yesterday.


    He looked at me nkly in the dark, put on his sses on the Bible, and smiled.


    You came back.


    .. Nice to see you again.


    Mucha gestured to the picture materials and canvas I had cleaned up and said.


    I thought I had a dream because you left the picture I said I would give you as a gift.


    You were right to think you had a dream, because I''m meeting you in a dream too.


    But isn''t this rude? It''s a picture I received as a gift. He might have felt bad after waking up and seeing the picture still there.


    I rolled up the picture and smiled with it on my side.


    I''ll take it today for sure.


    Hehe, did youe back because of the picture?


    Um, that''s not it.


    I guess it won''t work. This picture. Today, when Mucha falls asleep, I''ll have to hide it somewhere in this house and go. If he doesn''t see the picture, he''ll think I took it.


    I dragged an old wooden chair and sat next to the bed.


    How are you feeling?


    Cough! Cough! Well, it''s just like that. It''s because I''m old.


    He could have med them. The Nazis who dragged him away and tortured him cruelly. He could have cursed them with resentment. But he doesn''t me anyone.


    What if it was me?


    I really hated modern history lessons during my school days. The era when we were weak and opened upte, thus suffering under Japan. I couldn''t stand learning about our ancestors who were tortured and perished during that time. No, rather than saying I hated it, it would be more urate to say I was angered.


    Just hearing the stories of ancestors from a hundred years ago, whom I''ve never met, was enough to make me seethe. What would my reaction have been if I were them? Would I have cursed until my dying breath? Could I have waited for death calmly with such a benevolent face?


    He and I are different to begin with.


    Alphonse Mucha looks out the window with a raspy voice.


    "Will peace evere to this country?"


    "........................"


    It wille.


    1939 marks the time when Austria-Hungary ruled until 1919, after which Czechoslovakia gained independence. By 1993, it will be apletely independent nation after splitting from Slovakia. But he will not live to see it.


    As I tidy the nket, I say,


    "Surely that day wille."


    Mucha looks at me intently and asks,


    "Do you know what''s happening in this country?"


    "Yes."


    "Do you know what the people of this country are thinking?"


    Biting my lip, I told him about the things that happened in our country.


    The atrocities of Japan: assassinating the Queen Mother under the guise of fox hunting, usurping sovereignty, suppressing our culture with their policy of ethnic eradication, forbidding us from using ournguage and writing. The extinction of our native Jindo dog, used for clothing because it was cold in winter.


    As Alphonse Mucha listened to my words, he asked in surprise,


    "So, you can''t see that dog now?"


    "We''re working on a restoration project, so there are about 400 of them now."


    "That''s fortunate."


    "But the wild animals are extinct. There are almost no wild animals left in our country. We''re trying to repopte the endangered half-moon bears in Jirisan, but there are no predators like tigers."


    "Isn''t it good that there are no predators? But then, wouldn''t the number of herbivores increase?"


    ".........................."


    "That''s not the case. During the Japanese upation, the starving people wiped out the wildlife to survive. There are still some deer and wild boars, but their numbers are very low."


    ".........................."


    Of course, this is a story from over a hundred years ago, but to Mucha, living under oppression in another country, it doesn''t sound like someone else''s problem.


    He gently strokes my hand with his wrinkled hand and says softly,


    "It must be hard for you."


    ".........................."


    Not at all, not now.


    I live in an era where high school students go on trips to Japan.


    Look at me. Sitting here receivingfort from a man with only 9 days left to live, not over my hardships, but over ancestors from a hundred years ago. What am I doing?


    At a time when myfort would hardly matter, what am I doing?


    I pull up the nket and say,


    "Don''t overexert yourself, please lie down."


    "Heh, I''ve been lying down all day and just got up a while ago. I''d like to sit for a bit."


    "Let me know whenever you want to lie down."


    "Thank you, you''re a kind person."


    ".........................."


    Am I a good person?


    I''m a bit selfish, a bit self-centered, and a bit individualistic.


    I''m not like you, who invested 20 years for your nation and people, worrying even about the birds in winter paintings.


    Seeing my gloomy face, Alphonse Mucha asked,


    "There''s worry on your face."


    ".........................."


    ''I can''t say it''s because you only have 9 days left to live.'' I made up some excuse.


    "Oh, that''s. I''m in charge of designing a refrigerator, but it''s not going well."


    "What''s a refrigerator?"


    ".........................."


    You don''t know what a refrigerator is? I think it was first made in thete 1800s. Oh, since it was developed in the USA, it might not have been popr in Czechoslovakia in 1939.


    It wasn''t until 1965 with the Goldstar refrigerator that it became popr in Korea.


    I briefly exined the principle of a refrigerator and added that it''s a veryrge, kitchen appliance.


    Alphonse Mucha nods and says,


    "A machine that keeps food cold. Then you can eat fresh food for a long time. It''s like how fruit doesn''t spoil easily in winter."


    "Yes, exactly."


    "If you''re in charge of designing such a wonderful product, you must be very talented. Congrattions."


    ".........................."


    I nced at the picture tucked in my side.


    ''I stole your painting and won apetition with it, sorry.''


    Mucha asked me to bring a nk canvas, then handed me a pencil.


    "Could you draw what a refrigerator looks like? I''m curious."


    A refrigerator? Easy to draw. Just a rectangle and two, or four doors. I quickly sketched it, and Muhara asked with a face that said, ''What is this?''


    "Is this a refrigerator? The structure is simpler than I thought."


    "Yes, it is. That''s why we put a lot of design into it."


    "What kind of design do you usually put?"


    "Um."


    I recalled Osung Electronics'' refrigerator and colored the refrigerator door with colored pencils.


    "We use a hi-glossy finish to add color and make it look luxurious."


    Muhara looked at my drawing quietly and asked, "Where is the design in this?"


    ".................."


    The design is in the drawing itself. Perhaps from his perspective, simply adding color might not be considered design. Well, there''s a generational difference.


    Then, as Muhara was examining the refrigerator sketch, I heard him muttering something.


    "Product design is about seducing the emotions of others, but this..."


    I perked up at his muttering.


    Seducing the emotions of others?

 Chapter 17 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 17 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Alphonse Mucha asked, holding up the picture of the refrigerator.


    "Is this part painted in a different color the door?"


    "Yes, that''s right."


    "............"


    It must be because Mucha hasn''t seen the real thing.


    Actually, I also thought the refrigerator was pretty when I passed by. It''s hard to exin the modern design mindset to someone who was born in the 1800s.


    Mucha dropped his hand holding the picture and said.


    "Do you know what the five powers that make a good picture are?"


    It was a story that I had heard so often in college that my ears were sore. I answered right away.


    "Expression, style, self-world, idea, and immersion."


    Mucha nodded slightly.


    I answered well, but I wish I could do one of those five things well.


    Mucha looked at the sketch of the refrigerator and said.


    "There are masters of expression who make even theyman marvel at their pictures. They have such perfectposition that they create a universe of their own. Do you know who they are?"


    "Yes, sir."


    "Would you like to tell me?"


    I gauged the era for a moment.


    I was worried that I might mention a painter from the future that Mucha didn''t know. After a brief memory, I soon answered.


    "There is Jan van Eyck, who is known as a Dutch painter, but should be seen as a Belgian."


    Mucha smiled and said.


    "He was a painter who pursued extreme precision that did not shake no matter how much he erged it. Do you know his masterpiece?"


    "Yes, ''The Portrait of Arnolfini Couple''."


    "Ha ha, you studied hard."


    I''m a schrship student who graduated from a prestigious university in Korea. Of course, I wouldn''t be able to hand out a business card in front of you.


    Mucha asked again.


    "Who else is there?"


    "There is Diego Velzquez of Spain, who was a royal painter. His masterpiece is ''The Maids of Honor''."


    "Ah, he was a painter with excellent spatial control."


    "There is also Johannes Vermeer of the Nethends. His masterpiece is ''Girl with a Pearl Earring''."


    Girl with a Pearl Earring is a work that was made into a movie based on the painting in 2003.


    I was too young to see it when it was released, but I remember looking for itter because Scarlett Johansson, who is still active, was in it.


    Mucha nodded again.


    "You are indeed an art student. He was a master of touch who perfectly captured the warmth of the fabric and the texture of the air on the canvas."


    I immediately added.


    "Next, I can mention Leonardo da Vinci. He was a genius who created impossible time and space on the canvas in reality. His masterpiece is the Mona Lisa."


    Mucha, who had been looking at me with perfect theory, flicked my sketch with his finger and said.


    "You know a lot. But where is the expression in this refrigerator design?"


    "................"


    There is none, because that''s not a picture, it''s a design. Ha, I don''t know how to exin this to him.


    Mucha looked at me quietly and asked.


    "Can you exin the second of the five powers that determine a good picture, style?"


    I never missed an A+ in art history sses. Of course, most of the others were A+ too.


    I confidently spoke about what I knew.


    "Yes, sir. There are people who have established their own style through the core of the art world. Examples include ude M, Pierre-Auguste Renoir, Paul Czanne, Henri mile-Benoit Matiss, El Greco, and Marc Chagall of France."


    Mucha blinked his eyes and looked at my face.


    "I know the others, but I''ve never heard of Marc Chagall and Henri Matiss."


    I freeze for a moment. Did I make a mistake? No, wait a minute.


    ''Chagall was born in 1887, Henri Matiss was born in 1869. It''s 1939 now. They''re both alive in this era.''


    I said with a good-natured face.


    "They may not have been heard of in Czechoslovakia. They''re both young."


    "Hehe, I didn''t know there were such painters. I really want to see their paintings, cough cough."


    You probably won''t have a chance to see their paintings.


    In an era without the inte, you have to go to the museum to see the paintings, but you are not very mobile right now.


    When I stopped talking, Mucha sighed after coughing and said.


    "Yes, M was a painter who captured light, not objects. Renoir was a painter who overwhelmed with beauty by capturing the lively and cinematic beauty of women on canvas. Czanne was a person who drew a great presence beyond reality. El Greco was a person who drew dramatic effects of distortion and distortion."


    Mucha gestures for me to exin the two painters he doesn''t know. I coughed and said.


    "Um, Chagall was a painter who captured the world of dreams on canvas. Matiss is evaluated as creating another reality in a ce that is detached from reality."


    Mucha leans towards me, interested.


    "Tell me more."


    "Hmm."


    I wondered how to exin it and recalled what I had heard from my professor.


    "When you fall asleep, you dream and if you have something you wanted or a feeling left in it, it bes a thought in us. A love that you couldn''t confess to your favorite person also bes a thought. The person who expressed the thoughts that remained like regret in a fantastic way on canvas is Marc Chagall."


    "What are his masterpieces?"


    "There is a picture titled Birthday."


    "Birthday, what kind of picture is it?"


    "It''s a picture that Chagall drew thinking of when his lover Vera came to congratte him with flowers on his birthday. A ghost-like man who is floating in the air and bending his body kisses a woman who is holding flowers and heading towards the window."


    "That''s an interesting expression."


    "Yes, those who see his paintings don''t care about the face of the dove or the fish jumping and ying the violin. He literally drew the residual thoughts that remained after dreaming."


    "Ha ha, I really want to see that picture. You said he was young, how old is he?"


    "................"


    For a moment, I couldn''t calcte. I hated math since I was young, so I gave up on math subjects since elementary school. Marc Chagall was born in 1887, so it''s 1939 now... uh... and... fuck, I don''t know.


    "He must be about 50 years old."


    "Hehe, that''s not a young age."


    "Ha ha, that''s right."


    "Then what kind of painter is Henri Matiss?"


    "He is a painter who escaped from the colors of nature."


    "Hmm?"


    "If you look at the picture he painted with his wife as a model, you can see that it doesn''t look like a person at first nce. It looks like a tool for expressing color. He is a painter who can draw freely without paying attention to the details of the other person."


    "Just hearing it makes my heart beat."


    I talked with Mucha for a very long time that day.


    Stories about many painters who existed in history. What they wanted to express. I looked back at myself as I listened to their thoughts.


    ''Have I ever drawn a picture thinking of the five elements that determine a good picture?''


    No.


    Rather, I only tried to imitate the skills of the great painters. Because entrance exams andpetitions are a feast of skills. In the life I have walked and lived so far, skills were more important.


    As I stopped talking because of the thoughts that came to mind, Mucha quietly waited for me without saying anything. He knew that this moment was the most important moment for a person to grow, because it was what he had walked and experienced.

 Chapter 17 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 17 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    The next day, 9:40 a.m. in front of MG Electronics headquarters.


    I came to Yeouido for the first time.


    Unless you''re a celebrity, a politician, or someone who works here, there''s only one reason to visit Yeouido. Cherry blossom festival. But I''ve never been to a cherry blossom festival in my life. I didn''t have the luxury.


    I took the bus that came to Yeouido by searching the inte and arrived a little early. I looked up at the MG Electronics headquarters building that seemed to pierce the sky. I feel overwhelmed just by looking at the building.


    Then, someone called me from behind.


    "Mr. Ban Jeong-hoon?"


    I was surprised by the sudden appearance of my name and turned around. Lee Soo-young, who was on her way to work, was wearing a suit, a coat, and a bag.


    "Hello."


    "Ah, you came early."


    "I happened toe a little early."


    "That''s a good habit. Well, shall we go in together?"


    Lee Soo-young got my temporary pass from the information center and said as we got on the elevator.


    "The design department is on the 8th floor of the new building. Your pass only allows you to enter the 8th floor, so keep that in mind."


    "Yes, but what should I call you?"


    "Just call me Deputy Lee."


    Deputy. She looks like my age, but she''s a deputy in this bigpany. I''m a little jealous.


    We got off the crowded elevator and came out to the quiet 8th floor corridor. Lee Soo-young knocked on the door of the chief designer''s office and said.


    "Monica, sei stata alvoro?(Monica, are you at work?)"


    Monica''s voice came from inside.


    "si entra.(Yes,e in.)"


    Lee Soo-young pushed the door and looked at me.


    "Let''s go in."


    The office was huge, about 30 square meters, with only one desk.


    There was a sofa and a small cafeteria in the empty space, and pictures were neatly hung on the wall. I saw it briefly yesterday, but Monica had a very sophisticated taste and decorated her office cozy, chic, and clean.


    Monica, who was wearing a red suit and drinking coffee by the window, saw me and smiled.


    "Do you speak English?"


    What, you only spoke Italian.


    "Yes, I do."


    "Good, sit down. Coffee?"


    "No, I''m fine."


    I sat down on the sofa next to Lee Soo-young and straightened my back. I can''t help but be nervous because there''s a huge amount of money at stake depending on what I do now.


    Monica went to the desk and brought two papers. I swallowed my saliva as I saw the papers she was bringing from afar.


    One is the picture I submitted to the contest, and the other is the portrait I drew.


    Monicaid the two papers in front of me and looked at me sharply and said.


    "Let me be blunt, I can''t believe that these two pictures are by the same painter."


    || Next Chapter

 Chapter 18: The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 18: The Mysterious Art Museum


    Monica holds thepetition drawing with a dazed expression.


    "When I first saw this painting, I thought it represented a strong personal world through one''s own paradise. It seemed like a painting rooted in the pursuit of happiness, a fundamental human essence, amidst the superficialities of modern society and urban life."


    Monica sets aside thepetition drawing and picks up the portrait I drew.


    "This portrait shows a strong adherence to fundamentals, likely the result of diligent study during your school days. It''s a wless sketch that anyone would find faultless, especially impressive considering it was done in just 30 minutes. This indicates a solid foundation of skill."


    Monica lifts both paintings together.


    "Firstly, every artist has a style. Especially, the use of lines, both straight and curved, seemspletely different between these two paintings. Thepetition drawing mostly uses curves with few straight lines, but the portrait expresses curves through multiple divided straight lines. They arepletely different styles."


    Of course, they are different.


    It''s another person''s painting.


    Even if I redrew it in reality after dreaming it, the fact that it''s someone else''s work is clear. I just can''t say it.


    I feigned calmness while internally panicking.


    Maybe I had anticipated such a question and was able to respondposedly.


    "So, what do you want me to prove?"


    Monica looks intently at my expression, then sets the painting down and leansfortably against the sofa''s backrest, observing my face for a while. It''s quite a rude action among Koreans, but maybe not in Italy? Or is it just her unique way?


    Thankfully, Soo-young helps me.


    "Monica, in Korea, it''s considered rude to stare at someone like that."


    Monica raises her index finger and says,


    "Oh, if you pass the test, I''ll have to apologize for my rudeness so far. Let''s save the apology for then."


    While talking to Soo-young, Monica doesn''t take her eyes off me and says,


    "Mr. Ban."


    "Yes."


    "You don''t have to take my test. If this is truly your painting, I''m currentlymitting a grave mistake. Therefore, you deservepensation."


    "?"


    "If you pass the test, I''llpensate for your effort and the injustice with additional incentives and an increased down payment."


    The talk of money weakens me.


    I really wanted to ask how much more she could offer, but it seemed too desperate, so I swallowed the words.


    "What''s the test?"


    Is it to replicate thepetition submission without seeing it? That would be ideal. Since it''s a recreation of a painting I saw in a dream, there''s no reason I couldn''t replicate it.


    Monica looks at me intently and asks,


    "I''ll ask again. You can get a greater reward if you pass the test. Will you take my test?"


    "What happens if I refuse?"


    Monica shrugs her shoulders.


    "We won''t do anything. But then, you''ll leave me with the impression that you''re a suspicious character with unclear motives."


    We won''t do anything. Meaning, no contract either.


    I pondered for a moment and then said,


    "I''ll take the test."


    It was the obvious choice.


    If the contract wasn''t going to happen anyway, it''s better to take the test and let people decide not to contract with me due to disappointment in my limits, rather than avoiding the test and arousing greater suspicion.


    Monica ps once, then smiles with a satisfied look.


    "Then, this way."


    Monica stands up and goes to a door different from the one we entered. The office is big, huh? There''s another room inside.


    When Monica pulls open therge, double doors, the interiores into view.


    "This is..."


    A studio. The room is about five pyeong, even with a bathroom inside. It seems about the size of my studio apartment.


    "What is this ce?"


    Monica stands with her hands on her hips, smiling.


    "This is my personal studio. Think of it as a space for hobbies and ice-breaking."


    "This is the test location?"


    "Yes, that''s right."


    Monica walks into the room, touches the easel set up there, and looks at me.


    "You cannot leave this room until the test is over. To prevent searching, I''ll hold onto your phone for a while."


    ""


    Monica asked again.


    "What do you think? Are you up for the challenge?"


    Without a word, I stepped into the studio.


    "May I use the tools as I wish?"


    Monica smiled broadly and said, "Of course."


    "Then please leave."


    "Of course I should. I wont even hold meetings in my room today to avoid disturbing you. Feel free to paint."


    "...................."


    Monica knocked on the door with her fist and said, "The moment you open this door and step out, the test is over. Regardless of the result, that will be the end, you understand?"


    "Yes."


    As Monica left with a smile, Lee Soo-young sent a nce full of apology and nodded her head. It wasntforting at all, but I nodded politely in response, and the door closed.


    Now, I am alone in this small room.


    Well, it doesnt matter much since it''s about the size of where I live, but feeling trapped due to someone elses will is suffocating.


    I first took off my coat and hung it up, then sat in front of the empty canvas, cing the portrait I had drawn of Monica beside it.


    Alphonse Mucha painted numerous portraits in his lifetime.


    The most frequent subject was Sarah Bernhardt.


    The reason she appeared in many paintings is that she had an exclusive contract with him for six years after the ''Miracle of Christmas.'' From that moment, for six years, Alphonse Mucha painted all the posters for the ys in which Sarah Bernhardt performed.


    Monica''s test isn''t particrly difficult.


    I could just mix and match various works of Alphonse Mucha. Flowers from this painting, a window from that painting, the face from the portrait I drew, and the dress from a gorgeous one I remember seeing somewhere.


    "But can I really say I passed the test with that?"


    It''s not a test with a predetermined answer.


    I have to think about what Monica would focus on.


    I gazed at the portrait I had drawn, lost in thought.


    "Monicapared my two paintings and said they couldnt be recognized as from the same artist. That''s probably a technical aspect. But she wouldn''t have called me here just for a technical assessment."


    Though she mentioned the use of lines and curves, that''s just a skill. I recalled the time when I heard about Alphonse Mucha''s thoughts while painting.


    "As a child, I always longed for a family like this. Having nothing, I didn''t have a family until well into my thirties. But now I have it all. The people in this painting represent my family."


    "Why is the sunflower blue?"


    "Why not? The word ''blue'' originates from the idea of growth. I hope the children''s time is used for proper growth."


    Embedding one''s wishes into a painting.


    That''s something only someone who knows exactly what they desire through introspection can do.


    Alphonse Mucha was probably such a person.


    "What kind of wishes did Sarah, who loved Mucha''s paintings, have while waiting for them?"


    I thought about the portraits of Sarah Bernhardt in Mucha''s paintings.


    In Gismonda, she portrayed a cold and ruthless goddess. The ys in which Bernhardt starred, for which Mucha created posters, mostly belonged to the revived Romantic drama and the popr Boulevard theatre of thete 19th century.


    These posters advertised not only the ys starring Bernhardt but also effectively created and highlighted the public image of the popr actress known as ''Saint Sarah.''


    When my thoughts reached this point, my eyes suddenly opened wide.


    "Creating the image of the subject."


    What does someone expecting a portrait want? A highly realistic portrait? Unlikely. If that were the case, it would be easier to just take a photograph.


    People expecting a portrait want to be portrayed more beautifully than they are. Why?


    "Its the desire within, the longing to be seen as the person they aspire to be."


    Sarah Bernhardt must have liked the poster for the y Gismonda not just for its aesthetic beauty but also because it perfectly matched the image of the role she had to y.


    And that would have influenced her inner self as an actress, repeatedly recalling the image in the poster and immersing herself deeper into the role.


    The conversation we had yesterday, the five powers of a good painting: expressiveness, style, personal world, ideas, immersion.


    Imitating Alphonse Muchas style ensures a solid style. Although mastering just one of these five elements can earn recognition as a great painting, having adopted Mucha''s style, I feel the need to have my own strength.


    Expressiveness is rted to skill, but it''s not entirely technical. Personal world and immersion don''t happen in an instant. So, what''s left is one thing.


    "Ideas."


    The best thing I can do now is to ponder what kind of self-portrait Monica wants and how to express that idea.


    I pursed my lips and stared at the canvas.


    "Waiting for inspiration is for amateurs."


    My pencil began to dance across the canvas.


    And at some point, I forgot whether the pencil was moving me, or I was moving the pencil.


    Tomorrow Ill post chapters till the end of <b>Reasonable Doubt. </b>Afterwards it will be alternate day releases.

 Chapter 19 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 19 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    ''It was a curious experience for me.


    It felt as if objects and I became one.


    I became the pencil, and the pencil became me.


    I became the paint, and the brush became me.


    The paint and brush became part of me.''


    I drew more than seven pictures already.


    After drawing each one, I crumpled it up and threw it on the floor. A strange urrence indeed. I hadnt even thought about what to draw, but the pencil moved on its own.


    An easel, a canvas on it, sketch paperyered on the canvas, and the pencil.


    It felt like these things were sucking in my consciousness.


    In the midst of frenzied drawing, I suddenly stopped.


    I nkly stared at the crumpled sketch papers on the floor.


    None of the paintings satisfied me, but I had progressed in this moment.


    Before, I used to think about what to draw, how topose it, and whether it would be beautiful if I drew it. Never before had my hand moved before my mind like now.


    It doesn''t matter if I draw and crumple them up.


    What''s important is that I had this experience.


    ''But right now, I am being tested.''


    Somehow, I must draw something. But what?


    It''s not a simple test of drawing a portrait.


    A photorealistic portrait? If I''m given a photo, I can draw it any time.


    During my school days, I was obsessed with hyper-realistic works, striving hard to produce lifelike paintings. I was amazed at the skills demonstrated in those almost photographic paintings.


    Then, a thought urred to me.


    No painting can be more beautiful than nature,


    But no nature can be more beautiful than a painting.


    Nature is beautiful in itself, but paintings express what nature cannot.


    Since then, I''ve given up trying to create realistic paintings.


    No matter how realistic, it cannot be more beautiful than nature. But realizing this didn''t mean I had made progress. Creating a painting more beautiful than nature was an incredibly difficult task.


    I need to know what Monica''s inner self desires. But currently, I don''t even have a phone to do a basic search about her. I immersed myself in thought, recalling the information I knew about her.


    **


    Lunchtime in the MG Electronics cafeteria.


    Monica, with her tray of food, noticed Soo-Young sitting alone at a corner table, eating while looking at her phone.


    Monica gestured to the seat opposite Soo-Young and asked,


    May I sit here?


    Soo-Young put down her phone and nodded.


    Of course, Monica.


    Is today''s menu Japanese?


    ''Yes, it seems so.''


    After Monica sat down, she rubbed her palms looking at the food on her tray.


    I''m not particrly fond of raw fish, but I can eat sushi. What''s this?


    Udon, Monica."


    "Ah, I''ve heard of it. Is it good?


    "Oh, I''ve heard of it. Is it good?"


    "It''s not too strong in vor, so most people like it."


    "Hmm, let''s try it, whatever."


    The MG Electronics cafeteria is known for its delicious food even outside thepany. Although it was unfamiliar Japanese food that didn''t suit her taste, Monica''s refined pte seemed to be somewhat satisfied, as her expression was not bad.


    Soo-young looked at Monica and asked cautiously.


    "Um, Monica. What about Ban Jeong-hoon''s meal?"


    "Oh, I asked for it. Can you pick up the packed one and bring it to him after the meal?"


    "Yes, but are you sure? You''ve locked him up."


    Monica chuckled and said.


    "Do you call it confinement when he can leave anytime he wants?"


    "But still..."


    Monica didn''t care about Soo-young''s worries and enjoyed her meal. Soo-young seemed to have no appetite, thinking that she had given Jeong-hoon a rude test.


    She fiddled with the sushi with her chopsticks and asked.


    "Ah, Monica."


    "Yes?"


    "About the test, you ordered a portrait, but what are you trying to see?"


    Monica wiped her mouth with a tissue and smiled with crescent eyes.


    "What do you think I should see?"


    Soo-young thought for a moment and said.


    "To be honest, I don''t know. That person, did you see where he graduated from? He went to an art college that is one of the top three in Korea. And that college doesn''t look at the college entrance exam scores and selects students based on 100% practical skills, so thepetition rate is also tremendous. I don''t think it makes sense to test the technical skills of a student who received a schrship for four years and graduated from there."


    Monica nodded without losing her smile.


    "That''s right."


    "Then, since you want to check the gap between the portrait and the contest entry, are you trying to see if he can draw a picture that looks like a contest entry?"


    Monica smiled brightly and said.


    "Soo-young."


    "Yes?"


    "The truth is, the test is already over."


    Soo-young looked at Monica with a nk face.


    "I don''t understand what you mean."


    Monica smiled and picked up her fork again.


    "He didn''t run away, that person. Doesn''t that prove his innocence already?"


    ""


    He didn''t run away.


    Ban Jeong-hoon came knowing that there would be a test from MG Electronics today. And he is taking the test in the studio inside Monica''s office.


    If he had submitted someone else''s picture to the contest, he would have run away at the stage of giving the test. Soo-young sighed and lowered her head.


    "You''re cruel, Monica."


    "Oh, I''ll definitelypensate him. I''m not the type to let go of something that bothers me, so I did this, and I have to take responsibility."

 Chapter 19 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 19 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Soo-young remembered that she had said that she would raise the incentive and contract money earlier and asked.


    "About the additionalpensation conditions you offered earlier, don''t you need the director''s permission?"


    "Why do we need the director''s permission?"


    "Isn''t there a limit set by thepany for the contract amount and incentives?"


    "There is."


    "To change that, obviously..."


    Monica interrupts Soo-Young as she puts down her fork.


    "Soo-Young."


    "Yes, Monica."


    "It was entirely my own decision to suspect Ban Jung-Hoon and put him on trial, wasn''t it?"


    "Right, so we need to discuss it with the higher-ups."


    "No, why should someone higher up take responsibility for a mistake I made?"


    "Excuse me...?"


    Monica smiles as she speaks.


    "If a mistake is made, the person responsible should bear the consequences."


    Confused, Soo-Young blinks and then frowns.


    "You''re not suggesting sharing your incentive with him, are you?"


    Monica nods.


    "Of course, thepany did nothing wrong. And I will also cover the increased contract amount with my own money."


    "........"


    Soo-Young finds herself at a loss for words.


    She looks at Monica quietly and suddenly thinks how admirable she is. Despite having the wealth to afford such a stance, Monica''s willingness to take responsibility herself is incredibly attractive, especially to someone living a cog-in-the-machine life.


    Soo-Young, while watching Monica eat, finally speaks.


    "If Ban Jung-Hoon''s trial is already over, perhaps it''s time to stop this."


    "Why should I?"


    "Because it''s not polite. We can''t judge the value of an artist."


    Monica tilts her head.


    "Then who does?"


    "........................"


    "That''s an interesting point. No one can decide the value of an artist. Of course, it''s problematic if it''s just one person, but all artists are evaluated by the public. Even those old Renaissance paintings are constantly being judged by the modern public. Is there any artistic value in a painting that the public doesn''t want?"


    ".................."


    Soo-Young is speechless again. Monica''s point is valid, but she cleverly evades the main issue.


    "That''s not what I mean, Monica. If the trial is over and his innocence is proven, I suggest we end it here."


    Monica rests her chin on her hand andughs.


    "Let it be, who knows? Maybe an interesting painting wille out."


    "But to keep a person locked up like that..."


    "Oh, that expression is a bit upsetting. That studio is my reflection space."


    "That''s not what I meant."


    "If you''re so worried, go check on him while delivering food. If his condition is bad or something, report it to me."


    "... It seems I should."


    Soo-Young immediately gets up, throws away the leftovers, and heads to Monica''s office with packed food.


    Monica, still eating, watches Soo-Young with a twinkle in her eye.


    "ragazza di buon cuore (good-hearted girl)."


    **


    It''s already been 30 minutes, and I''ve been lost in thought. Without any information about the other person and just knowing their appearance, I can''t possibly know what someone''s inner desires are. No, this is normal; I''m not a psychic.


    At that moment, a knock apanied Soo-yeong''s voice.


    "Excuse me, Mr. Jung-hoon."


    "Yes,e in."


    Soo-yeong cautiously opened the door and peeked in. She held packaged food in her hand.


    "I brought lunch."


    "Thank you."


    "It''s from the cafeteria menu, but it''s Japanese cuisine today, so it might spoil soon. It''s better to eat it right away."


    "Is it sushi?"


    "Yes, it''s sushi."


    "Oh, great. Thank you for taking care of it."


    "I''ll leave it here."


    "Sure."


    Soo-yeong ced the sushi down and nced at the scattered canvases on the floor. Then, she looked at me and asked.


    "Are you not doing well?"


    "Oh, well. Haha."


    Thinking about it, she''s been kind to me, but she''s also part of the group testing me. It wouldn''t be wise to easily expose my weaknesses.


    Soo-yeong looked at me in a dilemma, as if wanting to say something. However, after hesitating, she shook her head and asked a question.


    "Is there anything I can help you with?"


    All artists, whether creating writing, drawings, or music, fight with themselves. But that doesn''t mean they shouldn''t ept help from others.


    While creating with their own hands, in the process of creation, they can listen to and absorb others'' thoughts.


    Soo-yeong offering help wasn''t about the painting; it was about this aspect.


    "Well, there is something you could help with. Can you do it?"


    "I''ll listen, and if it''s something I can do, I''ll help."


    Hmm, this person. It''s a sincere look, wanting to genuinely assist me. Of course, rushing to conclusions is prohibited.


    "I want to know about a person named Monica."


    "Yes?"


    "I have no idea who she is."


    Soo-yeong made a perplexed expression. It seemed she couldn''t understand why she needed to know who that person was when she was asked to draw a portrait. I chuckled, scratching my head.


    "Well, it''s not difficult."


    "Then, I''ll ask a favor."


    Soo-yeong unfolded a folding chair and sat beside me.


    "Her name is Monica Rossellini. She''s from Roseto Valfortore in Puglia, southern Italy, born in 1989."


    Hmm, she''s a bit older than me. Looks quite young, though.


    But where is Roseto Valfortore?


    It''s a vige I''ve never heard of. Although I know most famous cities in Italy, this is unfamiliar.

 Chapter 20 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 20 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Suyeong continues to exin.


    "She graduated from the Florence University of Arts, and immediately joined the Italian luxury brand Alessandro Cucinelli after graduation. She rose from a low-level employee to a senior designer in record time. She is an elite."


    The rest of the exnation does not register in my ears.


    "Wow, the Florence University of Arts."


    Florence is the true jewel of European culture.


    A city that is like an open-air museum of Renaissance monuments. The city where Machiavelli, Michngelo, Dante, Leonardo da Vinci, and Medici lived.


    The Florence University of Arts epts students under the age of 12 from all over the world every year, but its teaching method is unique.


    It does not make students sit at desks and study, or spend more time on practical skills training. Instead, it gives them more time to see and learn by visiting museums and historical sites.


    No wonder she has such a keen eye for art. She was from that school.


    Suyeong''s exnation continues.


    "Alessandro Cucinelli is a rtively young brand that started in 1979. However, it is famous for the fact that the chairman of the same name as the brand travels to Mongolia every year to find good cashmere and collect the best fabrics. It is now a concentration of Italian fashion and has grown into a brand that has reached the pinnacle of perfection."


    Honestly, I have never heard of this brand.


    I don''t know much about luxury brands. I barely know Chanel, Dior, and Louis Vuitton.


    If I only look at Italian luxury brands, maybe Versace, Bottega Va, Bulgari?


    "Is that brand a women''s fashionpany?"


    "No, it''s a men''s fashion brand."


    "Oh, I see."


    "Don''t you know?"


    "Yes, I''m sorry."


    "You don''t have to be sorry for not knowing something."


    "Haha."


    I appreciate his kindness to make me feel less embarrassed. Suyeong exins again.


    "The start of Alessandro Cucinelli was essential."


    Essential.


    In the fashion industry, this word means casual wear.


    In other words, it was a brand that had a casual feel, without any special design, made of good quality fabrics. Suyeong continues.


    "Monica changed that into the brand image it has now. She adopted a timeless design and warm colors to create a dandy image, and used elegant colors of cashmere and sophisticated items to create a graceful look."


    I see. Monica was a very impressive person.


    "But why did such a great persone to MG Electronics, which is not even a fashionpany?"


    Suyeong answers this question without hesitation, as if he had heard it many times.


    "Monica left thepany and was preparing to establish her own brand. As you know, creating a brand is not an easy task. It costs a lot of money, from factory contracts tond purchases, store contracts, and hiring craftsmen. Many people in the fashion industry who knew her talent promised to invest, but Monica wanted to create apany with 100% of her own shares. So she needed the huge amount of money that MG Electronics offered during the brandunch."


    Hmm, so she came out to work part-time because she didn''t have enough money for her own business.


    Wow, but does a 100% sharepany even exist?


    Suyeong sped his hands neatly and said.


    "That''s all I know. Actually, I''m also working as an interpreter with her, but I don''t have any personal friendship with her. I only told you what is known to the public."


    That was enough for me to get some help.


    What she wanted to be was the CEO of her own brand.


    And that too, a boss who wields absolute power with 100% of the shares.


    It would be easy to express her confidence in a portrait.


    ''But strangely, I keep feeling uneasy.''


    What is making me hesitate?


    I reviewed Suyeong''s exnation again.


    There are viges in my country that I don''t know the name of, so it''s natural that I don''t know the name of a vige in another country. But why do I keep remembering the name of the city that Suyeong mentioned?


    ''The vige that produced such a talented person who could enter the Florence University of Arts. What kind of ce is that?''


    Is it just simple curiosity? If so, I don''t have to ask Suyeong, I can find out after the test.


    Then, Suyeong asked.


    "Do you have any more questions?"


    Just ask. You never know what will happen.


    "I''m sorry, but can you tell me more about the vige where Monica was born?"


    Suyeong took out his phone as if it was not difficult.


    "I''ll search it up quickly, I don''t know the vige either."


    Suyeong searched for a few minutes and showed me a picture.


    A beautiful and cool vige in the mountains. The nature harmonized with the houses built in the medieval Italian style of architecture. It was very beautiful.


    "This is the vige, and the poption is about a thousand people."


    Huh? The poption is only a thousand? It looks like there are quite a lot of houses for a small vige.


    "Is the census wrong? It seems like there would be more than three thousand people if there were only two people living in each house in the picture."


    Suyeong lowers his phone and nods.


    "They say there are a lot of empty houses."


    "Why?"


    Suyeong searches for another picture. It is a picture of farnd in the hignds, and the viges built there.


    "This is Roseto, a vige in Pennsylvania, USA."


    Huh? USA? But why is the vige name the same? Suyeong read my expression and said.

 Chapter 20 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 20 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    "They say it''s a vige where the people of Roseto, who had no way to make a living, immigrated to the US and lived together."


    "The vige must have been poor."


    Suyeong nodded and said.


    "It is one of the most beautiful cities in Italy, and it is 54 km away from the city center. It has a beautiful scenery that preserves the medieval appearance, but the poption has been declining for 50 years. In 2022, the Italian Ministry of the Interior allocated 500,000 euros as a settlement fund for the returnees, but the decline continues."


    I don''t know how much 500,000 euros is. Suyeong continues.


    "There were so many empty houses in the vige that anyone who wanted toe in could buy a house for a symbolic price of 1 euro. But after the poption fell below 1,000 in 2022, they are now giving away houses for free. But there are still more than 60 empty houses in the vige."


    I see. Oh, how severe must the poption decline be for houses to be given away for free? I''m a bit envious, having given up on buying a house in this lifetime.


    I briefly indulged in escapism, imagining myself immigrating to Italy and painting in the beautiful countryside of the vige.


    Then, it suddenly urred to me that the information I had heard about Monica wasing together.


    "Wait."


    A subsidiary with 100% ownership.


    Part-time jobs for covering the costs ofnd acquisition and other expenses.


    A hometown vige disappearing due to poption decline?


    I furrowed my brow in thought. Suyeong asked me, noticing my expression.


    "What''s wrong?"


    "Suyeong," I said.


    "Yes?"


    "By any chance, do you know the area Monica is considering for buying as a factory or business site?"


    "That... might take some time to find out."


    "I can wait as long as it takes. The test won''t end unless I leave this room."


    Suyeong seemed momentarily flustered by the strange request, then stood up.


    "This isn''t something I can check with a search. Let me call a contact."


    "I''m sorry to trouble you."


    "No problem."


    Suyeong left with her phone.


    I could hear her talking outside in Italian, suggesting that her contact was Italian. She''s more connected than I thought. She knows people in Italy too. Maybe she studied abroad in Italy. With her career in MG Electronics'' design department, studying abroad must have been part of the course.


    After a short while, Suyeong came back in with a slightly surprised look.


    "Mr. Jung Hoon, did you know this when you asked?"


    It seems my guess was correct.


    "Is the factory site near that vige?"


    Suyeong nodded.


    "Yes, Monica boughtnd near Roseto Valforte Vige, about 2km to the southwest for the factory site."


    That''s it, this is it.


    I clenched my fist in triumph and bowed to Suyeong.


    "You''ve been a great help. I''ll get back to the test now. I''ll take good care of the meal you provided, thank you."


    Suyeong hesitated as if she wanted to ask or tell me something, but eventually left without saying more.


    Left alone, I hung a new canvas and stared at the nk paper, smiling to myself.


    "Got it."


    Alphonse Mucha once said to draw pictures that tempt the heart. To seduce people, one should paint a happy image of what they desire.


    Monica wants to establish her own brand.


    She wants to build a factory in her hometown.


    She wants apany with 100% ownership.


    Putting all this information together, I can form a hypothesis.


    "If she wants to build a factory in a ce far from fashion sanctuaries like Florence, Rome, and Mn, she needs apany with 100% capital initially."


    Of course, as thepany grows, investment will be inevitable.


    But by then, the factory would have already been established.


    She wants to put the factory site in her hometown vige to provide jobs for the vigers, who otherwise would have had to immigrate to the U.S. due to ack of employment, ensuring they could live well without having to leave.


    And ultimately, what she wants is for her beautiful hometown vige not to disappear but to be a prosperous and livable ce.


    I quickly sketched the buildings of the vige from the photograph Suyeong showed me earlier, before I forgot them.


    The vige appeared to be carved out of a in in the middle of a forest, with woods below, on either side, and at the back, and the vige buildings gave a warm feeling with their brown tones and light red roofs.


    Although I was drawing from memory, I''m quite good at remembering brief moments, often sketching passersby during idle times in my usual portrait painting sessions.


    Comparing thepleted sketch with the lingering image of the vige in my mind, I smiled and muttered.


    "I''ve decided what to draw. Now, the remaining part."


    How to draw it? That''s the only thing left to solve.


    Going back to my initial thoughts when conceptualizing, what I need to focus on as my winning move is the ''idea.'' Looking at the sketch of the vige, lost in thought, I contemted.


    "Artists who constructed a new world beyond the framework of the canvas with bizarre ideas."


    The first artist thates to mind is Salvador Dal.


    He was not only an artist but a true entric in every aspect of life. Saying such a thing from an art student''s perspective might sound odd, but my initial thought when seeing his paintings was that he must be ''mentally troubled.''


    Next, the painter thates to mind is Ren Magritte.


    A person who jumbles up the viewer''s mind and creates paintings that evoke new impulses. He was so shocking that it made me rethink surrealism when I saw his painting "The Son of Man" during my school days.


    And then, Paul Klee.


    A painter leading into the world of richly colorful abstraction based on meticulous theories. However, applying his paintings as ideas for portraits is too challenging toprehend.


    Who else could there be?


    Marcel Duchamp, who pioneered a different artistic world through creative naming?


    Hieronymus Bosch, a medieval painter more modern and entric than contemporary modernists?


    Ogata Krin, who pioneered the flow of decorative design leading into the modern era in Japan?


    Or even Katsushika Hokusai, known for saying that he can draw anything that exists in the world?


    Joan Mir, the master of modern abstract painting who liberated art from the narrow confines of the canvas?


    Andy Warhol, the rebel of the masses who elevated vulgarity to the realm of art?


    The history of art is long, and there were many geniuses.


    Geniuses, like meteors that I need to steal from and learn from, stir up my mind.


    || Next Chapter

 Chapter 21 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 21 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    I noticed amon element in all the paintings of Alphonse Mucha I had seen.


    It was the circle.


    He often incorporated many circles into his paintings, filling them with meaningful content, creating an effect simr to thought bubbles in modernics.


    The piece I colored for apetition entry also featured three circles.


    In these, he depicted flowers and vines visible outside the living room window, and instead of a clock, he painted a blue sunflower. Thest circle contained a beehive pattern encapsting all of the family''s memories.


    "I need a circle for the Mucha style."


    I set aside the previously used drawing paper and picked arger sheet, cing it on the canvas. Then, I drew arge circle in the center of the screen.


    Alphonse Mucha typically filled these circles with the images of beautiful women, embellishing the outer areas with tree vines or flowers.


    People think it''s hard to draw a perfect circle without apass, but it''s not really that difficult. By folding another sheet of paper into a square, sketching lightly, rounding the corners, and then erasing the outer lines, you can easily create a circle.


    There are other methods too, like sketching a rough circle and refining it, using cross points and central axes, or drawing half-circles and joining them, but these can make the drawing somewhat messy.


    The giant circle, covering 80% of the entire drawing. I adjusted the height of the canvas and stood up, as the paper was toorge to draw on while sitting.


    I drew thisrge circle because I was inspired by one of the artists I thought of for borrowing ideas.


    "Katsushika Hokusai''s Bishufujimigahara."


    Ate Edo period Ukiyo-e artist in Japan.


    Along with Toshusai Sharaku and Utagawa Hiroshige, he is considered one of the figures who ushered in the golden age of Ukiyo-e. Some argue that Sharaku was actually Sin Yun-bok from Korea, but this is not confirmed.


    His most famous work in Korea is one of the "Thirty-six Views of Mount Fuji," specifically "The Great Wave off Kanagawa," which is not only famous as a painting but also as the motif for ude Debussy''s symphonic work "La Mer."


    However, the painting that inspired me today was Bishufujimigahara, which depicts Mount Fuji as seen from Fujimigahara near Nagoya.


    In his painting, there''s a naked man creating arge, hollow cylinder.


    Through the open space between the cylinders, Mount Fuji is visible in the distance.


    There are theories that this huge cylinder was used for brewing sake or that it was a bathtub.


    The small depiction of Mount Fuji within the circr frame.


    I n to fill this circle with the vige of Roseto Valfortore instead.


    **


    At eight o''clock in the evening.


    The time when some are leaving for home and others are staying for overtime.


    Monica, having finished her work, sat on the office sofa with Suyoung, waiting for Junghoon. Creating a painting can take a lot of time.


    Some paintings can bepleted in an hour, while others may take a month. Although a person undergoing a test wouldn''t spend so much time, Monica had no set deadline, so she had no choice but to wait for Junghoon after work hours.


    Sooyoung peeked at the studio door and whispered, "Junghoon has been in the studio for ten hours now, Monica."


    Sooyoung lowered her voice not to disturb Junghoon, who was concentrating. Monica replied in a simr tone.


    "Yes, I know. Let''s wait another 10 minutes, and if he doesn''te out, we''ll have to get him dinner."


    "I''ll look for a ce that does takeout."


    "Do that in 10 minutes."


    "Okay, Monica."


    In fact, Monica had already decided during lunch to pass Junghoon''s test.


    If Junghoon hade out within an hour or two, she would have just smiled and informed him of his passing.


    But contrary to expectations, Junghoon hadn''te out of the studio for ten hours.


    "I''m starting to get excited."


    A painting done in a day.


    And a painting drawn to prove himself. She hadn''t expected much, but a paintingpleted after ten hours of work was a different story. She felt a hint of anticipation.


    After about 7-8 minutes, just as Monica was about to order dinner, the studio door silently opened.


    Monica and Sooyoung almost simultaneously turned their heads to look. They saw Junghoon''s pale, tired face.


    Discovering them, Junghoon checked the wall clock and gave a weak smile.


    "I''m sorry, it''s past closing time."


    Monica and Suyeong got up together. Suyeong quickly approached Junghoon and checked hisplexion.


    ''Hisplexion is too pale, he needs to rest now.''


    Suyeong''s worried gaze. Monica crossed her arms and approached Junghoon and said.


    "What kind of picture did you draw for ten hours?"


    Junghoon smiled faintly and then opened the studio door wide.


    Arge picture on the canvas.


    The picture, which still had some paint that had not dried, filled Monica''s eyes.


    Suyeong was also curious, so she leaned her head behind Junghoon and brightened her expression.


    "It''s such a beautiful picture!"


    It is a very beautiful picture even from the perspective of Suyeong, who had seen the beautiful paintings drawn in the Renaissance period.


    If this was not a picture of a nameless painter in Korea, but a picture of a person who left a name historically, it would be unimaginably beautiful how much it would be worth.

 Chapter 21 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 21 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Hi guys! This is thest mass release, from now on the updates would be on alternate days. Advance chapter subscriptions are now avable on Ko-fi! Bonus chapter releases on every 10$ on Kofi, and also for every 5 reviews until 20 reviews and every 25 ratings upto 100 ratings on NU!


    Suyeong wanted to use the expression that it only took ten hours instead of the evaluation that it took ten hours. That''s how high thepleteness was.


    Suyeong, who knew how seriously Junghoon had taken the test, grabbed his arm and rejoiced.


    "If this painting, instead of being by an unknown Korean artist, had been by a historically renowned artist, its beauty is unimaginable.


    Sooyoung wanted to describe the painting, which took ten hours toplete, as ''a painting that only took ten hours''. Its perfection justified such a statement.


    Sooyoung knew how seriously Jung-hoon had taken the test and clung to his arm, rejoicing together.


    You''re amazing!


    Jung-hoon stares at the hand Sooyoung has on his arm. Then, realizing her mistake, Sooyoung quickly withdraws her hand.


    Oh, I apologize.


    No, it''s not really rude.


    Grateful for Jung-hoon''s generosity, Sooyoung smiles again and speaks to Monica, who is nkly staring at the painting.


    Monica, isnt it beautiful?


    The bold outlines and numerous circles. And the beautiful scenery within. What more proof is needed? This painting proves itself as a contest entry.


    Monica?


    Monica does not respond despite Sooyoung''s repeated calls. More urately, she is unable to respond.


    Her long eyshes flutter, and tears well up in herrge, blue eyes.


    Before the tears fall, Monica quickly wipes them away with her fingertips and looks back at the painting.


    There she is, inside a giant circle.


    Not in a sophisticated suit, nor in a fancy dress suitable for the Mn Fashion Show.


    A simple, knee-length dress, red but toned down with pastel shades, fluttering in the wind. Her brown hair, let down in abundance, also billows in the breeze.


    Its not the wind.


    In the painting, she is lifting a small child with both hands, looking into their eyes.


    The dress and hair fluttering because the painting''s subject  herself  is joyfully spinning around with the child in her arms.


    The child,ughing with pure joy. And herself, smiling along while watching the child.


    Behind them, in the center of the painting, stand people.


    People without eyes or noses, only mouths drawn. Some dressed like a butcher, others like a grocery store owner, and a newspaper boy running among them.


    All these mouth-only people are smiling happily.


    Tears well up in Monica''s eyes again.


    Because of the background behind theughing people  the depiction of her childhood vige.


    Ah


    Monica finally breaks into tears.


    Then, something is suddenly offered to her.


    As she looks through tear-blurred eyes, Jung-hoon''s face, wearing a tired smile,es into view.


    I''m not the kind of gentleman who carries a handkerchief. But here''s a tissue.


    Wordlessly looking at the tissue, overwhelmed by tears, Monica finally takes it to wipe her eyes.


    As her vision clears, she sees the beautiful scenery of her hometown vige in the painting.


    The small alley she used to y in as a child, Mr. Rudolphs general store.


    Monica''s feet move on their own.


    A longing for her dear hometown vige.


    Standing in front of the painting, Monica instinctively reaches out to touch the familiar scene of her hometown in the painting.


    But startled, she refrains from touching the still wet paint. Of course, Monica, knowing the value of art, would not casually touch a painting, even if the paint were dry.


    Regaining herposure, Monica says with a choked voice.


    The church where I got scolded by the priest for breaking a window while ying ball at five years old is also here


    Sooyounges up beside her, hugs her, and pats her back.


    Your hometown is truly a beautiful ce.


    Monica is a person of exceptional intelligence.


    At first, she was lost in the beautiful painting of her hometown vige. But soon, she wondered how Jung-hoon, who didnt even have a phone, could have known and painted her hometown vige.


    But as soon as she saw Suyeong next to her, she realized that she had helped him by going into the studio at lunchtime.


    Monica, who had been standing in front of the picture for more than 10 minutes as if she remembered every line in the picture, turned around. Her eyes were ckened by the mascara, but she was still beautiful.


    Monica leaned against the door and stood in front of Junghoon, who could not hide his fatigue.


    And she bowed her head slightly and bent her knees like a noblewoman in the Middle Ages.


    "I''m sorry for being rude, Mr. Ban."


    ""


    Her sudden change of attitude. Junghoon looked at Suyeong with a slightly confused face, but she nodded her head with a smile.


    Her bow was not just a moment, but it became more and more bent as time passed.


    Her greeting had already changed from the etiquette of the nobility in the Middle Ages to expressing respect and reverence.


    Monica, who straightened her back after a while, smiled at Junghoon. Junghoon, who saw for the first time that a woman who had tears smeared with mascara could be so beautiful, was staring nkly at her face.


    Monica reached out her hand.


    He reflexively held her hand and heard a beautiful voice in his ear.


    "Let''s sign a contract with MG Electronics."


    He stiffened for a moment and saw Monica smiling brightly and holding his hand and turned to look at the picture.


    "And that picture. I''ll buy it."


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 Chapter 22 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 22 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    I was confident.


    Confident that the painting I created could captivate Monica''s heart.


    Seeing her moved by the painting did indeed fill me with pride. But after a grueling 10-hour marathon, I was exhausted, my eyes heavy, my mind foggy.


    I can''t even remember how our conversation ended.


    I fell asleep in the taxi Monica had called for me as soon as I got in, as soon as we started moving.


    Thanks to the driver waking me up when we arrived at my ce, I barely managed to get up and reach for my wallet, only to find out that MG Electronics had already covered the charge. I was grateful, but at that moment, sleep was more pressing.


    I copsed on my mattress as soon as I got home, falling asleep without even changing my clothes. I slept for a whopping 12 hours.


    No morning sunlight, no sound of birds. That''s impossible in a semi-basement room.


    My room, where I can only tell it''s daylight through the small sunbeam sneaking through the curtains.


    Iy on my mattress, blinking at the ceiling.


    Yesterday''s events felt like a dream.


    That thought made me bolt upright.


    "Could it have been an actual dream?"


    Recently, visiting that art gallery and experiencing such vivid dreams made me worry that yesterday might have been just another dream. Frantically, I searched around and found the bag I had taken with me yesterday.


    "Could it be, could it be?"


    The bag was nowhere in sight.


    Could it really have been just a dream?


    Then, spotting the strap of my bag peeking out beside the mattress, I pounced onto it, clutching it like prey.


    Apparently, I had thrown it to the opposite side of the mattress while sleeping in my clothes.


    Rapidly opening the bag, I sighed in relief and smiled.


    "It wasn''t a dream, haha."


    Inside was the contract I had signed yesterday, carefully preserved. Even though a wrinkle wouldn''t nullify it, I unfolded it as if not to allow even the slightest crease, smiling broadly.


    "A signing bonus of 100 million won and a 2% incentive! Haha!"


    Both the signing bonus and the incentive had doubled. Rubbing my eyes, I looked again at the amount for the signing bonus. Although a professional painter would care more about the RS (revenue sharing), for someone like me who had never even seen such arge sum, the upfront money was more thrilling.


    Iy back on the mattress,ughing like a madman.


    "100 million won, 100 million won."


    It never gets old, no matter how many times I look at it.


    I read the contract over and over again.


    Then, noticing a slight misalignment in the pages, as they were stuck together, I realized there was another page. Hastily, I separated the two sheets with my fingernail.


    "Huh...?"


    It was an art sales contract.


    Ah, I vaguely remember that too.


    I quickly reviewed the sales contract.


    My name and signature were in the seller''s section, and Monica''s in the buyer''s.


    The price for the painting was a whopping ten million won.


    The person who bought my painting, which I used to draw for 25,000 won per portrait, had paid ten million won for it.


    I recall what Monica said when buying the painting.


    "I''ll buy a nice frame and hang it in my office to look at every day."


    The greatestpliment and joy for someone who makes a living off painting is knowing someone finds sce in viewing their work every day.


    Although I was too tired to fullyprehend at the time, I had perked up at the mention of ten million won.


    "But ten million is too much. You know what kind of person I am."


    MG Electronics is a conglomerate with the resources to track me down in the crowded streets of Ikseon-dong.


    It was only a matter of time before they learned how much I charged for a portrait and about my family''s financial situation. Fearing they mightterin about the price being too high, I had tried to lower it.


    But Monica just smiled and said.


    "I''m in the art business, but I''m also a businesswoman, Mr. Ban."


    At first, I didn''t understand what she meant. She looked at me nkly and said.


    "Do you know the cheapest way to buy a valuable artwork?"


    "I guess at an auction or a private sale?"


    Monica flicked her index finger andughed.


    "No, the cheapest way is to ''buy it today.''"


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 Chapter 22 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 22 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    The value of a talented painter''s work increases over time.


    If someone gave me a time machine and I could go back to the time of Van Gogh, I''d probably empty my studio deposit to buy all the paintings he put out on the street. Even if not right away, I could sell themter for tens of thousands of times their value.


    Hugging the sales contract to my chest, I smiled happily


    I stared nkly at the six yellow bills inside the ATM machine and then burst intoughter.


    Without realizing it, I started to wiggle my hips when I caught the bank security guard giving me a strange look. Hurriedly gathering the money without even counting it, I ran out of the bank and sat on a nearby bench, where I recounted the 300,000 won five times.


    "Uhaha, uhaha."


    The person whoes to mind in my happiest moments.


    I wanted to see my dad''s face smiling down from heaven, so I looked up. The harsh sunlight made me squint, but it didn''t matter. I was too happy today.


    "Dad! You''re watching, right?"


    Your son has finally done it.


    I don''t know if I can keep it up, but I''ve taken the first step.


    Mom would be happy, right? You too, Dad?


    I kept my promise to you, Dad. Will you praise me?


    All I want is a word from you.


    Good job, my son. You''re brave.


    Just to hear that. But I''ll never hear my dad''s voice again. A somber mood briefly surfaces, but is soon suppressed by my joy.


    I called my mom first.


    "Mom! Your second son."


    -Oh, our Junghoon. What''s up? You sound cheerful.


    "Mom, let''s have dinner together tonight."


    -What? Sure. What time will you be home?


    "Not home, let''s go out."


    -Why spend unnecessary money? Let''s just eat at home.


    "I''ll buy beef today."


    -What? How do you have money for that?


    "Ha ha, anyway! I''ll see youter with my brother. I have to bring him, so I''lle to the house!"


    -What? Junghoon, what''s going on?


    I quickly told a rough story to my mom, who sounded worried, to avoid her fretting over the possibility of me getting into dangerous or illicit activities for money.


    -Oh my! Really? You really signed a contract with MG Electronics?


    "Yes! I start working at the headquarters from tomorrow."


    -Oh my, hallelujah! Thank God.


    Mom was genuinely happy.


    I felt again that my family is the only one who can truly rejoice in my sess without any jealousy.


    Momughed happily for a while and then hung up, saying she would see me in the evening.


    Actually, I wanted to give my first big earnings to my mom.


    But the reason I live separately is to maintain my mom and brother''s eligibility for basic living assistance. If arge sum of money goes into Mom''s ount, we could lose that eligibility.


    There will definitelye a time when I can pull my family out of this quagmire with a stable ie, not just a one-off. Hearing Mom''sughter-filled voice makes me happy.


    Just wait a little longer, Mom. I''ll make sure to treat you well.


    The next person I thought of was my only friend, Young-Ju.


    But I hesitated to call her.


    I didn''t win a prize in the contest, but Young-Ju did. If she knew that I was the one who got the contract, she might feel disappointed. She''s a friend who wishes me well, but I didn''t want to brag over the phone.


    In the end, I couldn''t call Young-Ju and while searching for someone else to share my joy with, I suddenly thought of that art gallery.


    Such a foolish guy.


    I had forgotten the person who helped me the most.


    I''m not sure if I can dream again, but if I''m a human being, I should at least try.


    After carefully cing the cash in my wallet, I ran to the art gallery.


    It took no time to arrive at the art gallery, which is quite close to our house. After checking the gallery''s sign and opening status, I immediately bought a ticket and ran downstairs.


    The underground gallery was still deserted.


    Since I didn''t have any baggage today, I satfortably on the central rock sofa and waited for the paintings of the twelve constetions. Suddenly, I realized I had slept for a long time.


    ''Will I fall asleep again, even though I''m not tired?''


    The gallery wouldn''t force me to dream.


    The moment when the constetions of the twelve zodiac signs stop could also be a kind of hallucination that I created myself.


    Perhaps it''s a process to justify the dreams I want to have?


    Anyway, everything I''ve experienced is probably the desire hidden within my subconscious.


    Most of the time, I came here exhausted from painting portraits all day. So, it''s natural to doze off.


    But today, I''m not sleepy at all. I was tense yesterday, so my body feelsnguid, but I don''t want to sleep more.


    I was gazing at the program, resting my chin in my hand.


    Then, the Zodiac paintings began to appear on the wall.


    It seems I wont dream today. There will be another chanceter, right?


    As I looked at the Zodiac paintings with a half-resigned expression, the lights started toe on in the constetions. It seems it wasnt an illusion; I must have fallen asleep watching them.


    Then, all the lights blinked, and Pisces lit up.


    At that moment, I dropped my head slightly, like dozing off while studying.


    What? Sleepy again after 12 hours of sleep?


    When I raised my head and looked forward, I found myself standing in Alphonse Muchas bedroom.


    Here again.


    Surely, this isnt real, right?


    The vitamins Youngju gave me to eat werent just nutrients but hallucinogens, were they? No, that cant be it, right?


    "Cough! Cough!!"


    Harsh coughing sounds.


    Awakened by the rough coughs that seemed to nearly choke the breath, I quickly checked the calendar in the dark room. Seeing the date on the calendar, I scrunched up my face and clutched my forehead.


    July 13, 1939.


    It''s the day before Alphonse Mucha''s death.


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 Chapter 23 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 23 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Have you ever smelled death?


    Im not talking about the foul stench of decaying flesh.


    Those with family to care for them dont usually emit such odors, as their bodies are frequently cleansed.


    However, death has a smell. It''s an unfamiliar scent you can''t perceive under normal circumstances.


    I know this smell because I witnessed my grandmother''sst moments.


    I was very young at the time.


    The unfamiliar scent emanating from my grandmother, whoy in her deathbed, as opposed to her usualforting smell, has long stayed in my memory.


    Of course, this might be a kind of hallucinatory olfactory symptom because I know that Alphonse Mucha is going to die tomorrow. I approached him slowly.


    His face, much thinner than a few days ago.


    His cheekbones protruded, his lips dried and turned white. His eyes were open, but the color of his pupils had discolored.


    As Mucha, breathing like a growling beast, saw me approaching, he moved his parched lips and said,


    "Who... are you?"


    "..."


    He cant see.


    I clenched my fist as I watched the death of a figure I respected.


    "It''s me, teacher."


    "..."


    Though Mucha couldnt see, his eyes seemed to flutter as if they could. He seemed to try to sit up, but it was impossible.


    "I''m... sorry. I am not well."


    "It''s okay, teacher. Just lie down."


    Following his direction, I pulled a chair over to the bed, sat down, and held his hand. His hand was very cold. Silently, I watched Muchas face, trying to see something invisible with his wide-open eyes.


    Whatfort could I offer at this moment?


    The Bible he always ready beside the bed.


    Was he praying at this moment?


    If so, what prayer would he be offering?


    Then, Mucha opened his mouth.


    "Looking back, I was truly a talentless person."


    Who would dare say you have no talent?


    Of course, I understand why he would say that.


    In Alphonse Mucha''s time, there were many remarkable people.


    He lived in an era filled with geniuses, with many painters who opened the Art Nouveau period born in the same era as him.


    The painting of Jesus he drew at the age of eight is extraordinary, but Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec''s painting at the age of five was even more remarkable.


    He lived during a time when many geniuses emerged.


    I held his hand tightly and said,


    "You were a painter of genius talent, I can vouch for that."


    Who am I to vouch?


    I am hardly someone to guarantee such a thing, but this was my way offorting him.


    Alphonse Mucha still opened his mouth, staring into space and continued.


    "I was rejected in just five minutes at the interview for the Academy of Fine Arts in Prague. The interviewer said to me, ''There are countless people who can draw well, and the market''s money is limited. You should choose a job that makes more money.''"


    I knew the story. But the talent I see in this man is not merely in his artistic skill.


    "But teacher. Regardless of how others judged you, you earnestly pursued what you loved until the end. That sincerity was your most shining talent."


    A slight strength returned to his hand.


    Perhaps it was the response he wanted to hear.


    "Thank you."


    "You''re wee, teacher."


    Mucha released my hand and sped his own. Noticing that he was about to pray, I quietly observed.


    His rough, unpolished voice filled the room.


    An autumn day.


    Lord, the time hase.


    The past summer was truly great.


    ce your shadow on the sundial


    And release the wind in the fields.


    Command thest fruits to ripen;


    Grant two more southern days,


    Rushing thepletion of the fruits,


    And letting the final sweetness seep into the strong wine.


    Those without a home will not build now.


    Those alone will remain so,


    Awake, reading books, writing long letters,


    And wandering restlessly among the rustling leaves.


    He was praying, but in reality, it wasnt a prayer. It was a poem by Rainer Maria Rilke, a native of Prague.


    A prayer befitting of him, whose works are always considered poetic.


    "Do you have a religion?"


    Mucha, with his hands together, said,


    For me, the concepts of painting, going to church, and music are so intricately connected that I cannot tell if I love churches for their music or if it''s the mystical nature of churches that makes me love music.


    I smiled slightly.


    Many might not know, but ironically, this painter who made history had dreamt of bing a singer as a child. His dream ended when he joined a church choir and his voice changed during puberty.


    You seem to have a fondness for poetry.


    Poetry is... it''s because it''s both concise and symbolic.


    Why do they say Mucha''s paintings are poetic?


    In his works, even a single leaf is not just a leaf; it symbolizes something and carries a metaphorical meaning. When he depictedurel leaves, in one work, they symbolized victory in the Olympics; in the "Waverley Cycles" poster, they symbolized fame; and in another, they recalled the ancient Roman custom of crowning great poets withurel wreaths, imbuing them with poetic inspiration or prophetic meaning.


    He was a great painter who used the same elements to convey different symbolic meanings in his various works.


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 Chapter 23 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 23 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Many know that he painted the theater poster for Sarah Bernhardt. They also know that hecreated many promotional posters for advertisements.


    I especially liked his promotional poster for a printingpany.


    He depicted the god Faunus for the printingpany''s promotion, a deity who in ancient times governed forests, procreation, livestock, and agriculture.


    Why would he depict such a deity for a printingpany''s promotion?


    The paper used by the printingpany came from pulp. Pulpes from forests.


    All printed materials continually multiply, thus rting to procreation.


    It''s an incredible thought.


    Moreover, he drew several eyes surrounding the poster, representing the eyes of readers absorbing and amodating the information disseminated by the printingpany.


    I looked at thest appearance of the painter I loved and asked,


    May I ask you one question, teacher?


    Cough, cough. Yes, go ahead.


    I hesitated for a moment before speaking.


    Teacher, you spent thest 20 years depicting the history and identity of the vic people through your paintings. Having been one of the topmercial artists in France during your youth, why did you switch to apletely different style of painting in yourter years?


    I had always been curious about this.


    Was it because he feared being remembered only as amercial artist?


    Or did he want to leave a legacy as a pure artist? These were just spections.


    Mucha stopped praying and fumbled near where my hand was. Sensing his desire to hold it, I firmly grasped his left hand with both of mine.


    Relying on the warmth I provided, Mucha began to speak.


    Many have asked me that question. They ask if I was scared as I got older. If I painted those pictures using the pride of the vic people as a weapon because I wanted to leave a legacy.


    People in modern times think this way, so those of his era probably thought even more so. Mucha slightly gripped my hand and said,


    What is art?


    ............................


    Could anyone answer that question easily?


    Its not that I had never thought about it, but it was always a question to which I couldnt easily find an answer.


    Waiting for my silent response, Mucha continued.


    Art should never be far away. It is art when the ce within my sight bes beautiful. I wanted art to be integrated into people''s lives, to give them the opportunity to shape their own lives.


    A resonance and echo formed in my heart.


    It felt like someone was striking arge bell hidden near my heart.


    So that''s why he chosemercial art.


    To convey the richness and beauty of life to people.


    With a trembling voice, I asked,


    For whom and for what did you create art?


    Mucha smiled faintly.


    I always did what I loved. But I wanted to live a life of service to others with the talent I had. I always wanted to do something that would be of help to the world.


    Hearing his words, I held his hand tightly and closed my eyes.


    You have helped people sufficiently.


    Is it because of his vic Epic, through which he left a legacy of national pride and identity?


    No, it''s more than that. The Germanic nationalism that emerged around that time was violent.


    However, Mucha''s nationalism portrayed victims and sufferers, appealing for peace through the depiction of war''s agony.


    And such efforts contributed to the advent of a peaceful era.


    Strength gently fades from Mucha''s hand.


    Myst works aimed not at destruction, but at rebuilding and uniting. I hoped humanity would lead each other through this and gain a deeper understanding of one another


    Mucha''s hand slips away.


    Did my life truly help mankind?


    ............................


    I watched Mucha, now fallen into sleep, quietly.


    Of course, your life was of great help to mankind.


    It wasn''t just about unifying his country by making known the identity of the vic people.


    I am Korean. Every Korean has been helped by this man, but many do not know it.


    Alphonse Mucha wasmissioned by the Austrian royal family, which was ruling Czech at the time, for a national promotional poster for the 1900 Paris World''s Fair, from April to November.


    Being one of the oppressed people, it must have been unbearably hard for him.


    Four yearster, he left all his sess behind and went to America to find a sponsor for his vic epic.


    That''s when he met Charles Richard Crane.


    He was a very wealthy businessman and a friend of Woodrow Wilson, the 28th President of the United States, and thus held high social status.


    Mucha approached him and conveyed the spirit of the oppressed vic people, and Charles Richard Crane, moved by this, decided to sponsor him.


    What does this have to do with Koreans?


    Having learned what life was like for an oppressed nation, Charles visited our country during the Japanese upation era.


    There, he met and spoke with Ye Un-hyung, a Korean independence activist, and received the Korean Deration of Independence, which he then delivered to President Wilson.


    In a way, he contributed to the independence movement.


    Additionally, Charles Richard Crane was pivotal in bringing global attention to Korea''s sovereignty.


    And it was Alphonse Mucha who elevated his national consciousness.


    Standing beside Alphonse Mucha, now deeply asleep, never to awaken again, I bowed deeply.


    "Thank you."


    Hisst words keep echoing in my ears.


    "Did my life truly help mankind?"


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 Chapter 24 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 24 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    As Dvok''s grand funeral march crescendos, I open my eyes and deeply mourn the death of a hero in my heart.


    And when my consciousness fully returns, I feel that the things happening to me are extraordinary.


    Upon opening my eyes, I gaze at the paintings shining on the walls and ceiling.


    "This art gallery is making me dream."


    But why?


    Why does this art gallery, which appeared out of nowhere one day, force me to dream?


    Why does this art gallery, where I am the only visitor, continue to operate?


    I sit for a long time on the stone sofa, admiring the artworks I hadn''t noticed while lost in dreams.


    Though I''ve visited several times, this is the first time I''ve watched the entire program.


    At times, my heart flutters, sometimes I feel sad, and sometimes Iugh; only after watching the entire program do I stand up and bow.


    "Well done, and thank you."


    I check the time and hurry up. I have a dinner appointment with my family.


    My mother and brother live in Onam-ri, Namyangju.


    It''s not the house we lived in when we were young. Our family lived in Busan when we were children.


    It was also our parents'' hometown and close to the sea where my father worked on deep-sea fishing vessels.


    But after my father passed away, we left the beloved house and moved up to Gyeonggi Province.


    My mother chose a ce where the sea that took my father away couldn''t be seen.


    After a long bus ride, I walk towards home, familiar with the vigendscape where I''ve lived for over 10 years.


    Despite the slight mncholy from witnessing Alphonse Mucha''s death, thinking about earning a good sum and having a delicious meal with my family lifts my spirits.


    Our home, amidst newly built apartmentplexes, couldn''t possibly be one of those nice apartments. I climb the hill and wind through alleys to stand in front of a small house with a gray stone wall.


    Rusty iron sheets on the roof to prevent rainwater signal our persistent poverty  this is our family''s home.


    When I push the green rusted iron gate, it creaks annoyingly, perhaps because my mother, knowing I''ming, has left it open.


    A water pump is visible in the small yard.


    We don''t use it now, but when I was young, we had to use it for water.


    Even now, we still have to bathe in this yard during the winter.


    And in the middle of the yard, my mother has neatly dressed my brother Ji-hoon in a wheelchair, ready for an outing.


    "Brother."


    He doesn''t really need the wheelchair, but uses it for convenience when moving with family.


    Born without sight, my brotherpensates with highly developed hearing, touch, and smell.


    He''s been turning his head towards me since the gate noise and smiles brightly when he hears my voice.


    "Jeong-hoon."


    My brother extends his hand. I walk over, take his hand, and ask,


    "Have you been well?"


    "Yes, thanks to you. How about you?"


    "Me? I''m doing very well."


    "That''s good to hear."


    Our conversation differs greatly from that of other siblings.


    We''ve been close since childhood, as I''ve lived as my brother''s eyes.


    However, during adolescence, we did grow apart briefly.


    For a moment, I med our poverty on my brother.


    Although blind, he wasn''t otherwise sick, so medical expenses weren''t high, especially with government subsidies.


    But with our father gone and our mother needing to be with my brother 24 hours a day, it seemed impossible to escape poverty. During my teenage years, I often spoke harshly to my brother.


    But he never got angry with me, being the kind-hearted person he is.


    Holding onto my long-unseen brother''s wheelchair, I asked, "How''s mom?"


    "She''ll take a while, she''s getting ready after dressing me," he replied.


    Mom was always like that. My brother always came first. And so did I, the child who couldn''t see ahead even more than himself. As a child, I thought such a mother was foolish and hated it, but as I grew up, I came to understand how great her love was.


    I leaned on my brother''s wheelchair, bringing my face close to his.


    "Hey, you even put on lotion. Got a girlfriend, bro?"


    "Ha-ha, what girlfriend? Mom did it."


    "Right, take care of your skin. It''s all about the skin for men."


    "You too?"


    "Me? Of course, I''m quite the catch, you know."


    "Sure, even when we were kids, a lot of girls in the neighborhood liked you. Are you still good-looking?"


    "Of course, I''d cause a stir in Hongdae."


    "Got a girlfriend?"


    "No."


    "What? Ha-ha."


    "This body is meant to be loved by the world, can''t be tied down to just one woman."


    "You''re silly, ha-ha."


    It felt good tough with my brother after such a long time. Ironically, my brother loved paintings. How could he like paintings he couldn''t even see? Because I was there.


    We never went to art galleries due to our poor circumstances, but I would take him to murals painted by unknown artists and exin them to him. Listening to my descriptions and dreaming of the paintings, he always said, "That must be a beautiful painting, I''m lucky you''re exining it to me. Lucky to have you."


    When I wasn''t around, he spent his time in bed listening to the radio or reading Braille books. But he always greeted me happily when I returned from school.


    Now that I was not around, he would spend his time just with mom. There are things you can share with parents and things you can only share between siblings. He must be lonely.


    My brother asked with a smile, "Heard from mom that your work went well?"


    Grinning broadly, I replied, "Yeah, Inded a great contract this time. It''s not just a contract; it''s going to be a significant line on my resume."


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 Chapter 24 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 24 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    "Congrattions, my brother."


    "Thanks, bro. I''m treating today! How about beef?"


    "Wow, did you really make a lot of money?"


    "Why? Want something?"


    "No, if you have money to buy me something, buy what you want. Mom gets me what I need."


    "Ah, I can buy expensive stuff too."


    I wanted to press further to really buy him something but held back.


    What would guys our age want? A cellphone, tablet, big TV, motorcycle, or car. My brother couldn''t enjoy any of those because he couldn''t see.


    Then mom ran out to the yard.


    "Oh, my second son. You''re early?"


    I looked closely at mom''s face, which I hadn''t seen in a while.


    Her face was full of deep wrinkles. Our mom was really pretty when she was young.


    "Our pretty mom. You look even prettier today. No men bothering you in the neighborhood?"


    "Oh, what are you talking about?"


    Mom''s face turned red. My mom, still like a young girl, and my brother.


    The three of us ate so much that day. Of course, I had to visit the bathroom all night because of the beef fat, but I had no regrets. It was such a joyful time.


    **


    The next day, at MG Electronics headquarters.


    As per the contract, I would be working at MG Electronics for the next 30 days.


    Arriving at thepany in time for work, I handed over my temporary pass at the desk. My name was already in the system, and a kind employee gave me a regr employee badge.


    "Go to the Design Department on the 8th floor."


    "Thank you."


    Having been there once before, I arrived at the 8th floor and stood in the empty office, hesitating. It was my first day, and I didn''t know where my ce was, and since no one else had arrived, I wasn''t sure what to do.


    "Did Ie too early?"


    Worried about loitering near someone else''s spot and being mistaken for a suspicious person, I waited in the hallway for a while. The design team members who arrived for work looked at me strangely, but none of them spoke to me. More precisely, they didn''t seem to have much interest.


    Just then, the elevator doors opened and a familiar face appeared. It was Su-young.


    I waved my hand high in the air.


    "Su-young!"


    Su-young, who had been looking at her phone, lifted her gaze and smiled warmly upon seeing me.


    "You''re always early, Jeong-hoon."


    "Oh, well. It''s be a habit."


    "You don''t know where your seat is?"


    "Yeah, that''s why I was wandering around, haha."


    "Jeong-hoon, your seat isn''t within the design team area, it''s this way."


    Following Su-young, I discovered an empty conference room right next to Monica''s senior designer office.


    It was a small conference room, capable of holding about four people, equipped with a desktop and various art tools.


    I was surprised to see only oneputer in the office, converted from a conference room, and asked,


    "Am I really going to use this as my personal office?"


    Su-young grinned.


    "You''re positive. I thought you''d be upset about being shoved into a corner of a meeting room. Sorry, it was hastily set up yesterday due to Monica''s wish to have you push forward with your ideas without shing too much with the design team people. It''s a bit makeshift."


    Makeshift? Even though it''s a small conference room, it''s bigger than my studio apartment, with an air purifier, bright lighting, and a great view of downtown Seoul from the window. I''d be grateful to live here.


    Su-young tapped the desk and said,


    "Leave your bag here and let''s go to Monica. She wanted me to bring you to her as soon as you arrived."


    "Ah, okay."


    Monica''s office is right to the right as you exit the conference room door.


    Su-young knocked and asked for permission before opening the door, revealing Monica in sses, looking at a blueprint. Wow, she''s even beautiful with sses. Did she save a country in her past life? The term ''national beauty'' must be for people like Monica.


    She was sketching something on the blueprint with a triangle and pencil. It seems to be a design blueprint. Upon noticing me, Monica took off her sses and stood up with a radiant smile.


    "Wee."


    Her treatment waspletely different from before.


    She seems to highly respect me after receiving the painting I drew yesterday.


    I nodded and nced around her office.


    The painting I sold her yesterday is not here.


    Did she just say that as lip service?


    Monica invited me to sit with a smile.


    "Have a seat."


    Sitting on the sofa with Su-young, Monica joined us in the main seat and said,


    "The painting is quiterge, so it''s taking some time to frame it, but I''m really looking forward to it. If I work while looking at that painting, my work efficiency might increase by 200%. It''s different having an ideal inspiration beside you."


    Ah, so it''s not that she didn''t hang it; she''s having a frame made.


    I thought it would be easy to buy a frame for a standard-sized canvas, but it seems she really liked the painting since she''s having a custom frame made. It''s a delightful moment for me as an artist.


    I received about an hour''s training onpany life guidelines from Su-young and Monica.


    After the training, Monica brought arge blueprint she had been working on and handed it to Su-young.


    "Su-young, please convert this into a digital file. The dimensions are all written there."


    "Understood."


    As Su-young took the blueprint, I glimpsed at the drawing on it and my eyes widened.


    ''Refrigerator design blueprint.''


    But is that really a refrigerator drawn on the blueprint?


    Can a refrigerator even look like that?


    I looked at Monica in surprise. Noticing that I had seen the blueprint, Monica spoke with a seductive smile.


    "I didn''t want your beautiful painting to just remain a simple design."


    I appreciate the thought.


    But will a refrigerator like that really sell?


    No, can it even be manufactured?


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 Chapter 25 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 25 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Thirty days flew by in the blink of an eye.


    The dream coboration with a major corporation.


    Honestly, until that strange dream in the art museum, my dreams were more modest.


    I hoped to get a chance for a small personal exhibition, sell a few paintings there to support myself, and work more on my art, taking on designs for smallpany booths at expos or small decorative items.


    But this is something else.


    From the start, it felt like I had reached the top of my dreams.


    So, these past 30 days felt like a dream to me.


    It was my first time realizing howplex designing home appliances could be.


    Thinking about it, it seems obvious. Why had I never considered it before?


    Art designs going into home appliances.


    Not like painting directly on a real fridge,


    Not just printing my painting and sticking it on like a sticker.


    A separate process is created for the part of the fridge where the design goes, making the painting an integral part of the fridge, produced automatically.


    It was the fruit of tremendous effort and sweat, not just from designers but also from numerous factory workers, technicians, andputer programmers.


    Myst day at work.


    Today, I have a prototype demonstration in front of MG Electronics executives in the morning, and in the afternoon, in front of thepanys major shareholders. Monica handles the executive report alone, but for the shareholder event, the entire design team and I must be present.


    Of course, Monica or Sooyoung will lead the presentation, not me.


    The venue for the shareholder demonstration is in Cheongdam-dong''s West Grey Hotel lobby.


    Ive been nervously gulping and sitting on a corner sofa, trembling my legs. I''ve been to thepany for 30 days, but I only know Sooyoung and Monica, so there''s no one to be with when they''re not around.


    ''I wonder how the executive report went? What if the major shareholders react negatively?''


    I havent heard the results of the morning''s executive report.


    Since Monica and Sooyoung didnt return to the office and went straight to the hotel to prepare for the afternoon event, I could only be nervous, biting my nails.


    Then, a robust man''s voice is heard.


    Artist Ban Jung-hoon.


    Is he calling me? Its an honor to be called an artist.


    I turn my head and see a well-dressed, middle-aged man standing there, with a decently protruding belly and an imposing presence.


    His sharp eyes seem to hold charisma fitting for his position.


    Yes, I am Ban Jung-hoon.


    The man offers a handshake and says,


    I''m Kim Shin-il, the Domestic Business Manager at MG Electronics.


    Wow, the business manager  I heard hes quite powerful. Ive heard about him from Sooyoung. I shake his hand and bow.


    Nice to meet you.


    Ha ha, you are much younger than I thought.


    Kim Shin-il holds onto my hand andughs.


    It''s awkward having a stranger hold onto my hand like this.


    "I saw the executive demonstration."


    Wait, does the business head also attend the executive demonstrations? I thought it was only for vice-presidents and directors.


    "Ah, you saw... it?"


    "Yes, it was very impressive."


    ""


    Honestly, I wanted to ask right away.


    How was it?


    What are people saying?


    Is it okay?


    Was there anyone who criticized it?


    But I forced myself to swallow the questions screaming to get out of my throat. It would look too desperate. I tried to appearposed and naturally released my hand with an awkward smile.


    As Kim, the business head, watches middle-aged men and women, who appear to be major shareholders, enter the hall, he continues speaking.


    "To be honest, I was opposed to this project initially."


    ""


    "Oh, don''t get me wrong. It''s not that I disliked your design, I was against it from thepetition stage. But after seeing the design drafts brought by Monica, I became an absolute supporter of this project."


    Phew, I thought he was a viin, but thankfully not. Manager Kim continues.


    "To be honest, it''s my first time seeing it."


    "Excuse me?"


    "The sight of the president giving a standing ovation after seeing the prototype."


    "..."


    For a moment, my thoughts froze.


    With a smile, Kim-bujang pats my shoulder and then heads towards the hall, saying,


    "I have high expectations for you. Well then."


    As Manager Kim''s figure fades into the distance, I just stand there, nkly staring at his back.


    ''The president of MG Electronics pped at the design?''


    Is it just lip service? No, why would a major corporate division head say such a thing if it weren''t true? Really? Did the executives actually praise it? A standing ovation means high praise.


    Then, I hear Sooyoung''s voice.


    Ladies and Gentlemen, major shareholders of MG Electronics, please make your way into the hall. Soon, there will be a demonstration of MG Electronics'' new product.


    I quickly gather my thoughts and hurry into the hall.


    ''Wow, there are so many major shareholders?''


    In dramas, you see about thirty people sitting in a major shareholder meeting. But in real life, there are so many more. It looks close to a hundred.


    I couldn''t dare to sit at the same table as them and instead stood at the back wall in a posture simr to the security guards. On the stage, there is a huge object covered with a ck cloth, much bigger than a refrigerator. Of course, I know what it is.


    For appliances like refrigerators, a mock kitchen is set up during the demonstration, and the refrigerator is installed to look like it''s actually in a house. So under that ck cloth is a mock kitchen set.


    ''Gulp.''


    A refrigerator that underwent numerous design revisions.


    Of course, it wasn''t my drawing that was revised, but the design team, including Monica, spent a lot of time adjusting the size of the refrigerator slightly, changing the design of the edges, or changing the color of the door to highlight my drawing.


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 Chapter 25 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 25 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Then, Sooyoung takes the stage on the right.


    With her elegant and clean image, Sooyoung fits perfectly in such events, resembling a famous broadcaster''s announcer.


    Sooyoung bows slightly at the microphone and begins.


    Thank you, major shareholders of MG Electronics, for taking time from your busy schedules to attend the new product demonstration. Now, let us showcase the refrigerator that will define the next five years for MG Electronics.


    There''s a loud apuse.


    The people are watching the ck cloth with a strange sense of anticipation.


    The reason for their expressions is that the oue of today will change the value of their shares for the next five years.


    Sooyoung looks towards the stage and says,


    For the presentation of the new product, I''d like to introduce Monica Rosellini, former chief designer at the luxury Italian brand Alessandro Cucinelli and currently the chief designer at MG Electronics.


    The apuse grows even louder.


    The major shareholders seem more pleased with the arrival of a renowned and trustworthy chief designer than with an uncertain new product.


    As the beautiful Monica ascends the stage, gasps and murmurs from the shareholders can be heard. They must be surprised by Monica''s beauty.


    "Uh...?"


    Standing at the back, I am taken aback by Monica''s appearance on stage.


    I expected her to be dressed in high-end clothes, stylish and elegant. But Monica''s current look is entirely unexpected.


    A slightly muted red dress.


    Her hair, lush and let down.


    Neat Mary Jane shoes.


    No earrings or ne, a clean look.


    Even minimal makeup.


    Of course, that doesn''t diminish her beauty, but it''s not the attire you''d expect for such an event.


    ''In the painting, Monica''s look.''


    Yes.


    Monica is standing on the stage, exuding a gentle smile, just like the portrait I drew of her.


    If her usual image is that of a charismatic, sexy career woman, hard to approach, now she gives off the vibe of a goddess from the Swiss countryside.


    Monica deliberately speaks in a refined Italian ent.


    Her words are tranted for the major shareholders through Sooyoung. She could speak in English, but she chooses Italian to emphasize the elegance.


    Monica, with a leisurely smile, walks slowly across the stage, making eye contact with the major shareholders. She begins to speak.


    I have always believed that good ideas or technology are universally valued. In other words, what is good is appreciated anywhere in the world. Take, for example, the top-quality cashmere produced in Mongolia, less than 1% of their total output. It''s very thin and light. Yet, it''s warmer than heavier woolen fabrics. But do only Mongolians seek this cashmere? No, right? Exactly, it''s sought after worldwide.


    True to her fashion industry background, Monica gives an example rted to fashion.


    One of the sectors that is sensitive to changes in poption and lifestyle is home appliances, including white goods, brown goods, and small appliances. If you look at the recent home appliance market, you can see that the scope of changes in technology and design is increasing. This evolution is to satisfy the aesthetic desires of consumers whose tastes and discernment are bing more refined.


    Some of the major shareholders nod their heads.


    It seems they quickly understand Monica''s point, being sensitive to changes in business trends.


    Monica smiles and adds,


    However, not only good ideas and technology are universally valued. There''s another thing - art.


    There is no need for further exnation on this; it''s a universally understood concept.


    I remember visiting a house once, where the interior was so fantastically antique, but the appliances did not match at all. For example, in a house with antique interiors, there would be a modern refrigerator designed primarily in metal or stainless steel. Some people even remodel their kitchen because of the refrigerator. This doesn''t fit with the Korean environment where living rooms and kitchens are often designed to be connected. If so, the living room would have brown appliances, and the kitchen white.


    Again, the major shareholders nod in agreement. I watch their reactions, taking a tense breath.


    It''s finally time to reveal the product.


    Enhancing each experience to be better is the role of modern appliances. But our aesthetic desires in modern living are very strong. Consumers are no longer satisfied with products that only perform well functionally.


    Monica closes her eyes and says,


    Let''s all close our eyes for a moment, shall we?


    The major shareholders look around at each other and then slowly close their eyes. Monica slightly furrows her brow and continues,


    Imagineing home exhausted, opening the front door. Far ahead, you see your beloved spouse sitting at the dining table. Behind them, what do you see? Of course, a refrigerator. But do you want the image of your spouse to be framed in a cold stainless steel frame? We desire something warmer and cozier when we return home after a day''s work to meet our spouse.


    Monica spins around, raising her hand high.


    We find peace of mind and psychological fulfillment in art. It''s the greatest gift that art can offer. Now, the time hase when appliances need not just functionality and mobility, but also art.


    At Monica''s signal, the ck cloth is suddenly removed and flies away.


    Introducing MG Electronics'' new appliance, Belle poque, that will satisfy your aesthetic desires and fill the warmth missing in your home!


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 Chapter 26 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 26 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    The new refrigerator from MG Electronics is named "Belle poque."


    I''m modest, but this name reflects my suggestion.


    Initially, Monica proposed the name "Art Nouveau."


    Given that my painting resembled the style of Alphonse Mucha, who opened the horizons of the Art Nouveau era, I presented this suggestion, conscious of his influence.


    However, through my conversations with Alphonse Mucha, I came to understand the era he longed for.


    "Belle poque," a French term, means "beautiful era."


    It typically refers to a golden age in Europe, from thete 19th century until the outbreak of World War I, marked by peace and rapid advancements in economy and culture.


    It was a time when technological and artistic developments urred simultaneously.


    No one imagined that the pinnacle of technological progress would lead to war, an era of peace.


    Teacher always longed for that era.


    When I unveiled hisst painting, I wanted to name it after the era he yearned for throughout his life.


    Fortunately, both Monica and Sooyoung liked the idea.


    Moreover, its name coinciding with the end part of O-Sung Electronics'' main home appliances'' names made it a strategicpetitor, positively reviewed and eventually chosen.


    As the ck curtains were drawn and all lights in the hall turned off, ceiling lights illuminated the previously veiled kitchen, making people look around in wonder.


    A warm-feeling wooden ind kitchen table.


    And behind it, a deep green Scandinavian kitchen.


    The space where wallpapers might have been was adorned with rustic beige tiles.


    And then, my painting visible behind therge table at the center.


    Arge painting in an opulent, ornate golden frame.


    It was a beautiful kitchen, but the major shareholders murmured in confusion.


    "Where is the refrigerator?"


    "Wasn''t today''s prototype supposed to be a refrigerator?"


    "I don''t think MG Electronics is entering the kitchen interior business."


    I smiled shakily, realizing Monica''s intention was hitting the mark.


    Monica had said this when creating this kitchen set:


    "The point is to make people unable to find the refrigerator. It emphasizes that a cold-feeling fridge no longer disrupts the kitchen interior."


    She is indeed remarkable.


    Everything was proceeding just as she had nned.


    Frankly, aside from my painting, I didn''t do much for this project; Monica''s contribution was significant.


    As Monica slowly walked towards the kitchen, everyone''s eyes followed her.


    Monica, slightly tossing her hair back, sat on a dining chair and smiled at the audience.


    "How about this? Imagine opening your front door to find your beautiful spouse within such a beautiful picture."


    I chuckled.


    "Ordinary people''s spouses don''t look like you, Monica."


    The major shareholders still looked confused, but due to the prestige and weight of Monica''s name, they hesitated to ask questions.


    Monica stood up and circled the kitchen, performing a simple contemporary dance.


    She opened trays with turns, and made washing-up gestures with her back turned.


    The kitchen looked beautiful from any angle. Of course, Monica''s beauty contributed to it.


    Monica took out a wooden cutting board and a knife, pretending to chop parsley, making the sound of the knife hitting the board. Then, she pped her hands, speaking to herself.


    "Ah, he''ll be back soon, I must hurry. Where did I put the onions?"


    Monica spun around and stood in front of the painting behind the table.


    As Monica leaned against the painting with a seductive smile, the male shareholders'' faces turned red.


    The women started to notice the beautiful painting, each expressing their admiration.


    "What is that painting? I''ve never seen it before, but why does it feel so familiar?"


    "Such a beautiful family painting, it looks like something from a Tarot card. So pretty."


    "I''d love to hang a painting like that in my house. It feels like it would bring harmony to my family."


    Hearing theirments about the painting, I rxed slightly and smiled naturally.


    "Teacher, are you watching? Even after 100 years, your paintings still receive such admiration."


    When Monica turned around to look at the frame, the major shareholders craned their necks, not understanding what she was doing. Then, as Monica pulled on the bottom part of the frame, the painting split in half.


    Some of the shareholders were so surprised they even stood up.


    "That, that was a refrigerator?"


    "I thought it was just a painting! There was a fridge!"


    Monica had suggested making the upper two doors of the refrigerator look like a frame.


    The lower two doors of the freezer, matching the color of the wallpaper, seemed to merge with the wall, making it appear as if only a framed painting hung there.


    The built-in refrigerator, designed in Kitchen Fit style, blended perfectly with the wall.


    Monica continued her act and opened the lower freezerpartment. As the seemingly empty wall split in half to reveal the freezer, the number of major shareholders who stood up to take a closer look increased.


    Monica then took a few prepared food props from the refrigerator and ced them on the table, then closed both the upper and lower doors. As if by magic, the refrigerator disappeared, leaving only the wall with the beautiful picture in the frame. Monica had erased the refrigerator from the kitchen with this design.


    Finally, the major shareholders fully understood the intention behind the new product.


    A middle-aged female shareholder started pping.


    "It''s perfect! I want to buy one right away!"


    The major shareholders, initially stunned by the revolutionary design, regained theirposure and began to p.


    Everyone, whether they were already standing or seated, stood up and gave a standing ovation. Monica then stopped her act, performing a turn reminiscent of a ballerina''s final dance move at the end of a performance, and came to the center of the stage, slightly bowing her head and knee.


    "The Belle poque is not just a term for an art movement, but a word that describes an era. With our new product, MG Electronics will usher in a new era of revolution in the design industry."


    The apuse from the major shareholders grew louder.


    Those present were individuals highly sensitive to the flow of money.


    Their reaction indicated that the sess of the business was imminent.


    Monica, pping along, reached out to the major shareholders, acknowledging their apuse.


    This achievement was thanks to their support.


    As the apuse grew louder and reached its peak, Sooyoung''s closing remarks signaled the end of the meeting.


    "This concludes the demonstration of MG Electronics'' new future, the Belle poque. We thank our major shareholders for gracing this asion. MG Electronics promises to continue innovating in design and maintaining high-quality technology to remain a leader in the industry."


    The stage goes dark.


    The apuse from the audience continues for a while.


    I stand alone in the dark corner of the conference room, smiling slightly.


    ''I''ve crossed one mountain.''


    I had heard that it''smon to be rejected in major shareholder or management presentations and to have to redo the design. But Monica, a talented designer, seeded on her first try.


    ''She''s remarkable.''


    I want to be like her.


    I want to shine like that too.


    Today, I felt my inner desires grow a bit stronger.


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 Chapter 26 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 26 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    After the major shareholders'' meeting.


    Even though the meeting has ended, no one leaves their seat.


    It''s customary to provide time for the major shareholders to chat and share opinions over light refreshments.


    Monica and Sooyoung move among the major shareholders, greeting them and listening to their critiques of the new product. Elderly shareholders seated at arge round table.


    Sooyoung whispers to Monica as they approach the table.


    "I''ll introduce you starting from the man with the thinning hair on the left. He''s Jung Ju-won, Vice Chairman of Jungwon Interiors, the industry leader. Next to him is Kim Sun-ja, a real estate magnate who owns six 42-story buildings in Cheongdam-dong. And next to her is Lee Chi-won, President of Chiwon Trust Investment, known as a big yer in the stock market."


    As Monica nods slightly and approaches the table, offering handshakes and calling their names, they respond with big smiles, appearing very pleased.


    "Oh, this, this! It was a big hit. At first, I kept wondering where the refrigerator was."


    "Oh, the president felt that way too? I did as well."


    "Madam Kim too? Haha, MG Electronics made fools of us all. But I wee being treated like a fool if it means making big money. Who would mind being called a fool for that?"


    The people were all praises.


    Most are satisfied with the innovative design of the new product.


    Some, as major shareholders, even inquire about the possibility of getting the product in advance.


    Sooyoung takes down their contact information separately, as instructed by the president of MG Electronics.


    Monica carries a satisfied smile on her face as she observes the reactions of the shareholders.


    Then, reaching one table, Monica spots a young woman and opens her eyes wide in surprise.


    "Oh my, Anna?"


    Monica, who knows no one in Korea, calls someone by name, and Sooyoung quickly steps in to whisper.


    "Monica, thatdy''s name is Yoo Min-young. She''s the youngest daughter of the chairman of the W Tree Hotel chain."


    But Monica, unphased, approaches the woman and sits next to her, grabbing her hand.


    "Anna! What are you doing here?"


    Sooyoung, sensing the awkwardness, observes Min-young closely. As expected of the youngest daughter of one of South Korea''s top 1% conglomerate families, her appearance is not overly shy but everything she wears is of the highest quality.


    Min-young, with her ck straight hair and beautiful features, responds with a smile.


    "It''s been a long time, Monica."


    Quick to correct the mistake, Sooyoung hastily retreats, realizing that the foreign name Monica called might be Min-young''s English name and that the two have a close rtionship.


    Monica speaks with delight.


    "How long has it been since west met?"


    "It''s been about 10 years since you graduated from school, right?"


    "No! You came to Mn for our brand event in 2019."


    "Oh! Right. We did meet then, didn''t we?"


    "So, it''s been 5 years?"


    "Yes, that''s right. Time flies, doesn''t it?"


    "It sure does."


    "But you''re a major shareholder of MG Electronics too?"


    "Yes, my father gave me some shares."


    "Wow, truly Korean nobility."


    "Ah, people will criticize, don''t say that."


    Min-young, noticing Sooyoung standing awkwardly due to Monica settling down, gives her a slight nod.


    Surprised, Sooyoung bows, and Monica introduces her.


    "Sooyoung, this is my friend, Anna."


    Sooyoung, carefully asks,


    "You''re friends with Yoo Min-young?"


    Min-young interjects with a smile.


    "We attended the Florence Academy of Art together."


    "Ah..."


    Being the youngest daughter of the chairman of one of South Korea''s top hotel chains, it seems natural that she would have studied abroad. However, the Florence Academy of Art is a school where admission is difficult to secure based on talent alone, and with no system for admission through donations, it seems she did not get in through financial means.


    After the introductions, Min-young again holds onto Monica.


    "Monica."


    "Yes?"


    "I have just one question."


    "About the new product?"


    "Yes."


    "Of course, it''s fine. You''re our major shareholder, after all."


    Min-young, gesturing towards the Belle poque revealed after the event, quietly asks,


    "Who painted that picture?"


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 Chapter 27 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 27 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    [A text message appears on the phone screen: "97 million won has been deposited into your ount from MG Electronics."]


    The most wee message in the world pops up on the phone screen.


    I was happy even though it didn''t amount to exactly 100 million KRW, as I had already been told by Sooyoung about the 3% withholding tax deduction.


    Of course, it would have been nicer if the amount matched exactly.


    After the event, Sooyoung, who was tidying up the venue for the major shareholder demonstration with other team members, found me grinning and asked with a smile.


    "Did the settlemente in okay?"


    Ah, I must have looked incredibly materialistic.


    I hurriedly stuffed my phone into my pocket and replied.


    "Yes! It came in just fine. Is there anything I can help with?"


    "Oh, do you think we''d make our external invited designer clean up? Just stay put. You must be tired since this morning."


    You must be more tired than me, having been unable to leave the office until dawn yesterday, attending meetings since this morning, and preparing management reports for the morning.


    Moreover, I feel energized after seeing the settlement text.


    "No, I''ll help with the chair arrangement."


    As I reached for a chair nearby, Sooyoung adamantly blocked me with her body.


    "Mr. Jung-hoon, you''re not even an employee of ourpany. It''d be a big issue if we made you work. Please put it down and go rest."


    "Ah..."


    Well, now that I think about it, that''s true.


    Better to retreat than to help and inadvertently cause trouble for Sooyoung by catching the eye of someone higher up.


    Feeling guilty for just hanging around, I scratched my temple and quietly slipped out of the hall, sitting down on a sofa in the hotel lobby.


    The view of downtown Seoul was visible from the lobby outside the cafeteria, and the scenery was impressive even from the first-floor lobby of the hotel on the mountainside.


    I reflected on the past two dreamlike months.


    From holding apetition, testing Monica''s design, creating refrigerators, and finally producing a shining moment with the product - what stood out more in my memory was the moment that strange museum appeared before me.


    I rested my chin on my hand and thought about the museum.


    "If I think of the Zodiac paintings, it forcibly drags me into a dream. At first, I thought I was just dozing off due to tiredness, but on further thought, that wasn''t the case."


    I dreamed even when I wasn''t the slightest bit sleepy.


    Perhaps, instead of sleeping, it would be more urate to say I was immersed in meditation with my eyes closed.


    Yet, I still dreamed.


    "I met Alphonse Mucha at the moment when the Zodiac constetions stopped."


    There won''t be any more dreams of Mucha. I had seen him even the day before he died.


    I narrowed my eyes and tilted my head in thought.


    "Wait a minute, what happens if the Zodiac constetions stop at a different ce?"


    Dream time can be chaotic, different from real time. So, my meeting with the teacher might not be the end, right?


    If it stops at another constetion, I might meet the teacher again in his younger days.


    "I''ve been too busy to visit recently, I should go after work today."


    Everyone was busy today, so my farewell party was scheduled for tomorrow evening.


    Since today is myst day at work, I cane near thepany in time for the evening off work tomorrow.


    Then another text message arrives.


    ["4,000,000 KRW has been deposited into your ount from MG Electronics."]


    As expected, Monica''s work is thorough. Well, I''m not sure if Monica handled this or if Sooyoung requested it from the ounts department, but the daily pay agreed upon in lieu ofing to work was also urately deposited. But why didn''t they deduct the withholding tax on this? Eh, who cares. It''s good to receive more money.


    Unaware that this was money personally given by Monica, I just grinned like a madman, seeing my bank bnce finally exceed 100 million KRW.


    **


    Inside Monica''s luxury car.


    Minyoung, who is sitting in the back seat with Monica, looks around the car and asks.


    "Did you buy this car?"


    Monica taps the front seat and signals the driver to put up a partition.


    Then, a partition rises between the driver and the back seat.


    Minyoung, having grown up in a chaebol family, is not at all surprised by this.


    Monica shrugs her shoulders and says.


    "Why would I buy a car for the little time I spend in Korea? It''s apany car."


    "That''s a nice one they gave you."


    "It''s nothingpared to the car you ride."


    "I came here in a taxi, though.


    "Why?"


    "Just didnt feel like driving."


    "Really? You drive yourself?"


    "Yeah, having a chauffeur is too cumbersome."


    Monica narrows her eyes and scrutinizes Minyoung.


    She is the youngest daughter of a chaebol family.


    A driver isn''t just someone who drives; they often double as a personal assistant and bodyguard.


    Yet here''s a woman of such status moving around all by herself. Are there really chaebol families that allow this?


    Minyoungughed and said, "You know I''m a bit unusual."


    Monica smiled back and nodded. "That''s true. Even in school, on rainy days, you used to lie down on the ground outside the dormitory. I thought you were crazy when I first saw you doing that. Do you still do it?"


    "Only on days when I feel like it."


    Monica shook her head, disbelieving that Minyoung still did such things at her age.


    Then Minyoung asked, "But what kind of painting is it that you''re taking me to your office to see? Is it worth it?"


    Monica grinned at Minyoung''s question. "il mio ritratto."


    Minyoung, having studied in Italy, immediately understood and asked, "A portrait? He painted that?"


    "Yes, I got it for a steal at ten million won."


    Monica nonchntly mentioned paying ten million won for a portrait, but Minyoung wasn''t surprised. It wasn''t a shocking amount for her.


    "What kind of painting is it? Just a face?"


    "Come and see it yourself, we''re here. Let''s get out."


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 Chapter 27 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 27 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Following Monica, Minyoung stepped out in front of the MG Electronics headquarters and headed to her office. Arriving in front of the office on the 8th floor, Monica turned around and asked, "Remember I told you about my dream? Do you remember it?"


    Minyoung hesitated as if she couldn''t recall, but then quickly remembered.


    The rebuilding of your hometown vige?


    Monica nods her head happily.


    I wanted to show it to you too. My beautiful hometown vige.


    As Monica opens the door to her office, arge painting in a modest yet elegant frame is visible behind her desk.


    Minyoung, thinking it was just a simple portrait, is surprised to see that it''s actually a grand piece. She widens her eyes and blinks.


    That''s... your hometown vige?


    Yes, Roseto Valfortore. mia dolce casa (my sweet home).


    The incredibly beautiful Italian vige.


    The unmodernized rural vige resembles a medieval town.


    If it weren''t for Monica, depicted holding a child and smiling in the center, and the contemporary attire of the surrounding people, one might think it''s a Renaissance era painting.


    Minyoung closely examines Monicas portrait in the painting.


    Monica, already a great beauty, didnt need any embellishment for the portrait, shining radiantly beautiful.


    But what shone brighter than her looks was her dazzling smile.


    The face of Monica, not just smiling butughing heartily with crescent-moon shaped eyes.


    In fact, Minyoung found it a bit unfamiliar, as she had never seen Monicaugh like that.


    Youugh like this?


    Monica, crossing her arms and smiling, looks at the painting with Minyoung and shakes her head.


    No, but I''m going to try tough like that from now on.


    Minyoung looks at her friend''s profile. The face of her friend smiling.


    A painting of a person is changing a person.


    It''s not just as she is, but as she will be in the future.


    Depicting her friend, joyous as she rebuilds the vige. This is a future yet toe.


    Monica, looking at the painting with a happy face, says,


    On days when I''m so tired and want to sleep for about ten hours after returning to the hotel, looking at this painting gives me strength. It makes me eager to return to my vige and smile happily like that. It gives me energy I didn''t know I had.


    ............................


    Minyoung, who is several years younger, has known Monica as a senior from their school days.


    They became close because they used adjacent rooms in the dormitory, even though they only spent a little over a year at school together.


    Minyoung feels that the Monica she knew then and the Monica now are different.


    Monica always used to get sad when talking about her hometown.


    But now?


    Shes beaming as she looks at the painting of her hometown vige.


    She says it gives her strength just by looking at it.


    She wants to work towards creating such a future, not just dream about it.


    Minyoung looks again at the painting.


    The beautiful painting resembling the style of Alphonse Mucha.


    It might be called a derivative work of Mucha when it goes out into the world, but the value of art is determined by the satisfaction of the owner.


    To Monica, this painting is worth far more than the ten million won she paid for it.


    Minyoung wonders about the person who created such a painting.


    What did you ask for when you ordered the painting?


    Monica thinks back and says,


    I didnt like the portrait that was drawn for me on the street, so I asked to have it redrawn.


    Is that it?


    Yes.


    A painting containing her hometown, her dreams, and a happy future.


    She simply asked for a portrait to be drawn and got this?


    Minyoung looks at the painting again and asks,


    What''s his name?


    Ban Jung-hoon.


    How old is he?


    I think he said he was twenty-six.


    Monica, not too concerned with age as a Westerner, only roughly remembers the age, but coincidentally tells the correct one.


    Minyoung thinks for a moment and asks,


    Can you give me his contact?


    Monica looks surprised.


    Annas style?


    Hmm, Jung-hoon is handsome. He''s the best-looking guy I''ve met sinceing to this country. Of course, he''s not as good-looking as celebrities on TV.


    Its not about that.


    Monica narrows her eyes and looks at her friend, who is again looking at the painting.


    Then, amission for a painting?


    Minyoung nods slightly.


    The product demo is over, so the external designers wont have anything to do, right?


    Well, thats true.


    Do we need his face for marketing after the official productunch?


    Well, nothing has been decided yet.


    "If needed, Ill let you have him. Until then, I want to use him."


    "Hmm."


    Monica pondered for a moment, then shrugged. "Okay, should be fine. Youll pay well, right?"


    "Of course."


    "Alright, but Ill ask Jung-hoon first before giving you his contact."


    Minyoung nodded and looked at the painting again. ''I still need more information.''


    She nned to instruct her secretary to research this painter, Ban Jung-hoon, on her way out. If he didnt have a proven career, further verification would be needed.


    Monica, admiring the painting again, asked, "But what job do you have in mind for him?"


    Minyoung, staring intently at the painting, replied, "My father has just given me the management rights to one of our hotels."


    "Oh? Where?"


    "W Tree Ambassador Hannam."


    "Wow, congrattions. You''re a business executive now. Can I visit sometime?"


    "Anytime."


    Monica nodded in satisfaction, piecing together her friend''s words and smiling knowingly at her intention.


    "Interior decoration, right?"


    Monica had quickly figured out Minyoung''s n to employ Jung-hoon for the hotels decorative art. She appreciated having a friend who didnt waste time.


    Without a word, Minyoung nodded and stepped closer to the painting.


    "Of course, if hecks experience in this field, it might be difficult to entrust him with the job. I''ll have to verify first."


    Monica smiled with her eyes.


    She had done the same verification before entrusting work to him.


    Jung-hoon, still unknown in the art world, would likely face such tests for a while.


    "Jung-hoon is about to face another test in his career."


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 Chapter 28 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 28 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Wow.


    I stand there, utterly bewildered, staring nkly.


    There was nothing else I could do.


    On my way home from work, I made a deliberate detour to the art gallery.


    I had rushed there, hoping to see another time period of the teacher and, although not understanding, to say a bted greeting.


    The exhibition... is over?


    Where my gaze rests.


    The sign of the art gallery, and next to it, the phrase announcing the current exhibition bears an unbelievable message.


    Lucid Dream Art Gallery, closed for internal renovations for the next exhibition.


    This damned art gallery.


    It''s basic to write when an exhibition starts and ends if you''re going to have one.


    I mistook the continuous same exhibition forck of information.


    With a sense of regret, I loitered around the stairs leading downstairs, but with all the lights off and no sound, Icked the courage to go down into the dark basement alone. So, I loitered around the first floor.


    I wanted to ask an employee when the next exhibition starts, if I saw one.


    But even after waiting for 30 minutes, no employee appears.


    Who on earth is the boss that runs a business so irresponsibly?


    I kicked the ground in vain, cursing the unknown owner for a while before heading home.


    Actually, I wanted to call Yeongju for a congrattory drink rather than going straight home.


    When should I tell her?


    I still haven''t confessed the truth to Yeongju.


    Of course, Yeongju is busy with her life and hasn''t contacted me.


    Still, it felt a bit wrong to keep a secret from my only friend. Maybe I should just mention it casually, not boasting?


    As I sat on the sidewalk in front of the art gallery, pondering, I received a call from Monica.


    Yes, Monica.


    - Ban, have you finished work?


    Yes, I''m near home.


    - You worked hard today. You''reing to the drink tomorrow, right?


    Of course.


    Naturally, I should go.


    I saw Sooyoung making a reservation at a restaurant earlier.


    It was a top-grade Hanwoo beef barbecue ce. Only a fool would turn that down.


    But maybe because I''ve been working with Monica for a month, my English seems to have improved a lot.


    I once studied English when preparing for a job at a designpany, where it was a mandatory requirement. I stopped studying after getting the necessary TOEIC and TOEFL scores, so my English didn''t improve for a while.


    Indeed, conversation with a native speaker is necessary... Ah, Monica isn''t a native English speaker, right.


    I will definitelye tomorrow.


    - Alright, see you tomorrow then. Oh, Ban. And one more thing.


    Yes, Monica.


    - There''s someone who wants to meet you. They are asking for your contact information, can I give it?


    Huh? Suddenly someone wants to meet me?


    You have to tell me who it is.


    - A friend of mine, Korean, and probably will offer you a job. Attended the major shareholder meeting too.


    My eyes lit up.


    I had sessfully coborated with MG Electronics, but just overcame one hurdle and was wondering how to earn money in the future.


    I have over a hundred million in the bank, but it feels odd to keep going to Ikseon-dong to paint portraits. I still need to earn a living to dedicate more time to art activities, so this news is like rain in a drought.


    Of course, that''s great!


    - Can I give your contact?


    Certainly!


    - Alright, my friend''s Korean name is Yoo Min-young. Please take the call when ites.


    Yes, yes! Yoo Min-young. I''ll remember that. Thank you, Monica.


    - Haha, no problem. See you tomorrow.


    Yes, goodbye!


    Even though no one was watching, I bowed while ending the call and clenched my fist.


    Aja!


    I''ve heard that sessful painters have schedules filled up for three years. It means they have many clients.


    I used to envy that life, but now I feel like I''m living it as work starts to follow.


    Yoo Min-young? Let''s see, if they attended the major shareholder meeting, that means they must have money, right?


    What kind of job will it be?


    It won''t be on the scale of MG Electronics, but I hope it at least coversbor costs. I''m still building my career, so I shouldn''t be too greedy.


    Regaining my spirit, I put my phone back in my pocket and looked at the art gallery sign with a smack of my lips.


    Will I never dream again? Thats a pity...


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 Chapter 28 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 28 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    One weekter.


    I''ve been groaning outside my mattress for a week now.


    The drinking party Monica arranged was more incredible than expected.


    Not in terms of the food.


    The people who were there were the problem.


    I never thought I would have a drink with the president of MG Electronics in my life.


    And then the high-ranking executives like directors and the head of the business department I metst time appeared one after another, praising my paintings.


    It was nice to be praised, but with such high-ranking people around, I couldn''t tell if the meat was going down my throat or my nose.


    The problem came after that. The drinking culture of this cursed conglomerate.


    Female employees like Monica and Sooyoung were excused, but not men like me.


    It was a drinking party of ''pour and drink''.


    I lost my senses almost before an hour had passed since the start of the party.


    Every time we toasted and emptied our sses, they were immediately refilled.


    I used to be known as a drinker since my college days with Yeongju, but I couldn''t hold a candle to them there.


    Eventually, I cked out, and when I woke up, I was on my mattress in my room.


    I had no memory of who brought me home or how I got there.


    The effects of the alcoholsted a whopping six days.


    I didn''t want to eat anything and starved for two days, but I kept vomiting and having diarrhea.


    On the third day, feeling like I might die, I cooked a pack of ramen, but then I wasid up for another two days after eating it.


    Usually, I would cure hangovers with ramen, but that time it felt like taking poison.


    After a week since the farewell party, I finally regained some strength and was about to cook some porridge, but then I remembered I had enough money in my ount and went to a local porridge shop to buy abalone porridge to take home.


    "Phew. Employees go to work the next day after such drinking? Ugh, just thinking about it makes me want to throw up. How do they live like that?"


    I express my respect to all employees in South Korea.


    After drinking the pickled radish soup that came with the porridge, I felt refreshed.


    "Wow, I almost died."


    I decided never to attend MG Electronics''pany dinners again.


    Of course, three dayster, I heard from Su-yeong that the management had drunk excessively due to the sess of a new productunch. Some of the executives even took the next day off, which is not typical for them.


    Then, I hear a faint vibration sound.


    After sleeping for days, even spam text notifications annoyed me, so I had shoved my phone under the mattress. The sound was my phone ringing. It rang several times, indicating a call. I put the spoonful of porridge in my mouth and reached into the mattress gap to get my phone.


    It''s an unknown number, but it''s a mobile number.


    These days, I get spam calls on my mobile, but it feels ufortable not to answer.


    "Hello?"


    -Hello, is this Ban Jeong-hoon''s phone?


    "Yes, speaking. Who is this?"


    -The call is from the Hotel W Tree Ambassador...


    Click.


    I hung up and threw the phone on the mattress. Damn, another spam call.


    It''s probably about investing thousands in the new resort in Sokcho, Gangwon-do, promising to multiply my capital several times in rent. I''ve heard it so often I know it by heart.


    I ignored several more calls from the same number.


    "If they hang up, they usually don''t call back, but this one is persistent."


    I kept ncing at the ringing phone and focused on eating my porridge. For now, I just need to survive.


    It''s been days since I''ve had a proper meal. Oh, I threw up the expensive beef I ate, what a waste of protein.


    After a few more rings, the phone goes quiet, then alerts me of a text message. I just finished the porridge and sighed, fumbling for the phone.


    "Alright, let''s see what it says."


    [Hello, Mr. Ban Jeong-hoon, artist. This is the secretary''s office of Hotel W Tree Ambassador. Contacting you on CEO Yumin Young''s instructions, who was introduced by Ms. Monica. The call quality seemed poor. Please call back when you see this message.]


    I almost threw the phone in shock. Such a foolish mistake! There are other things to forget.


    I pushed away the porridge and called back immediately.


    "Ah, hello?"


    -Yes, is this artist Ban Jeong-hoon?


    "Yes, that''s me. I was in an elevator earlier."


    I made up ame excuse, but luckily the other person didn''t seem to care much.


    -Oh, I see. Our CEO would like to meet you to set up an appointment if possible.


    "Of course."


    -When would be a good time for you?


    "Anytime is fine."


    -Do you have a preferred time or day?


    "Uh, preferably in the afternoon, any day is fine."


    -Okay, one moment please.


    I hear keyboard typing, probably checking the CEO''s schedule. After a moment, the secretary speaks.


    -Where are you located?


    "Jongno."


    -Could youe to Hannam-dong?


    Of course, I have to go. He''s my client.


    "Of course, I cane."


    -Then, how about tomorrow at 3 PM? Pleasee to the hotel lobby and state your name.


    "Yes, I''ll do that. Thank you."


    After hanging up, I hit the back of my head several times. No matter how drunk I get, I should handle my business properly, you idiot.


    It''s 1 PM now.


    The appointment is tomorrow, so I need to clean my house today. It smells like soju, probably because I''ve been detoxing alcohol through breathing for a week.


    The window, which only opens halfway and directly faces the shoes of pedestrians walking outside, is still opened for venttion. After putting the mattress cover and clothes I wore that day in the washing machine and doing a quick clean-up, I remember that the only time I''ve been out this week was to buy porridge today, so I take a short walk around the neighborhood.


    Dressed in training clothes and slippers, carrying only my wallet and phone, I walk around to recover. Then I realize I''m not far from the art gallery.


    "Ah, what happened to the gallery?"


    Please, just do some internal repairs and reopen it. It cant go under. I still have so many dreams to chase.


    I walked a bit faster towards the art gallery.


    As I turned down an alley, I couldn''t help but smile.


    It wasnt dark yet, but the lights of the art gallery sign were on since it was the afternoon. Last time I was here, the sign was off.


    Theyve reopened!


    Seems like I came in slippers for no reason. I want to run, but its ufortable with the slippers ttering.


    Running as fast as I could in my slippers, I arrived in front of the art gallery and looked at the sign with a joyful heart.


    And then I froze.


    What the...?


    The peculiar art gallery that always stood there, which had taken me to the 1900s with Alphonse Mucha, now had a strange phrase on its sign.


    Today''s Exhibition: Gustav Klimt Gold in Motion


    Damn it! Damn!


    This cursed art gallery. Why couldnt they just do some internal repairs and not change the exhibition?


    Will I never be able to meet the teacher again?


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 Chapter 29 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 29 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    <i>Mass release for the year end, see you all next year.</i>


    The next afternoon, two o''clock.


    In front of the W Tree Ambassador Hotel in Hannam-dong.


    Having descended from the subway and walked uphill for about 15 minutes, I marveled at the twone road leading up to the hotel.


    "Wow..."


    Surprised, you ask?


    Because the path up was so luxurious?


    Or because it was shy?


    Not at all.


    The road to the hotel was like a mysterious entrance to a secret forest, winding and twisting.


    Young green leaves hung from the tree branches, covering the sky, but the sun filtering through the leaves brought a warm feeling.


    Could this be a reflection of the hotel owner''s taste?


    Walking on the sidewalk at the edge of the road, the unexpectedly steep and long road made me stop and rest, leaning on the guardrail.


    Having walked uphill for about 20 minutes, a splendid view of Seoul city unfolds before my eyes.


    Despite the cool weather, a single drop of sweat trickles down my back due to the unexpected ''hike,'' but it quickly evaporates in the cool breeze from the mountains.


    "Phew."


    As I catch my breath, admiring the view, the phone conversation I had with Soo-young in the morninges to mind.


    Information I had asked Soo-young about the client over the phone because I felt it wasn''t right to go without knowing anything.


    Her Korean name, Yoo Min-young.


    Completed a doctoral program in humanities at the University of Florence in Italy.


    She is twenty-eight years old, two years older than me.


    The W Tree Ambassador Hotel chain started in 1996 with a hotel in Jongno and now operates ten hotels nationwide, including in Jeju Ind. The current chairman, Yoo Chang-hyun, has two sons and a daughter, all of whom are managing the hotels.


    Wiping sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand, I muttered to myself.


    "So the chairman is giving all three children an equal chance to take a session test."


    I couldn''t have predicted this with my limited perspective.


    Of course, it was a tip-off from Soo-young.


    Chairman Yoo isn''t the type to hand over the group to the eldest son or a son just because they are that. He''s observing which child to pass on the management rights to after having each manage a part of the hotel''s operations.


    "The life of chaebols, huh."


    It''s hard enough in this world to get by even when siblings give and help each other, let alone being pitted against each other inpetition.


    I now understand why chaebol siblings are always at each other''s throats, fighting tooth and nail in dramas.


    While walking towards the still distant hotel, I start walking again.


    As a child, I often daydreamed while walking, usually imagining myself as a famous ser yer or a Major League pitcher, throwing a fantastic 160 km/h fastball to dominate batters.


    Of course, that was a child''s story.


    Growing up, I dreamt more about making lots of money, driving a G-Wagen, and going to department stores saying, "I''ll take everything from here to there," a crude and shallow dream.


    Lost in thought, I find myself facing the hotel entrance.


    I swallowed dryly at the sight of the immense and expansive hotel building.


    "Is this really a hotel?"


    It looks like a medieval castle.


    Or a magnificent theater somewhere along Vienna''s Ringstrasse.


    The hotel, about 40 stories high, seemed capable of swallowing a ser field with its immense size.


    How much money must it take to build a hotel of this size in the expensive Hannam-dong?


    "The forest and parking lot I saw on the way up must also be part of thisnd?"


    A lowlife like me, unfamiliar with such massive expenditures, ponders the management rights battle among siblings to run these ten hotels.


    What if it were me?


    Would I fight with my brother over money? Nah, probably not.


    Having grown up in such a family and facing an unrealistic concern, I straighten my clothes before entering the hotel.


    A male staff member in a bellboy uniform smiles and opens the door for me.


    Hmm. I should have just nodded coolly and entered, but I found myself awkwardly bowing more than the staff member, feeling embarrassed for a moment. But then, snap out of it, Jeong-hoon. You''re here for work.


    I approach the information desk and say I have an appointment with the CEO. They ask for my name.


    I state my name with as much confidence as I can muster and wait. After a few phone calls, the staff member hands me a card key and points to the right.


    "Take the elevator at the far right, and ce this card on the internal card sensor."


    "Ah, yes. Thank you."


    The ck card given by the staff member.


    What is this for?


    I remember that the staff already exined to use the card inside the elevator, so I go to find it.


    There were six elevators next to the information center, but there must be a reason they specified the one at the far right.


    Wow, this hotel is really huge. The lobby is as big as a school yground.


    I walked to the right for a while, but the elevator was not in sight.


    I showed the ck card to a passing staff member, who immediately changed his expression and respectfully gestured for me to keep going.


    Hmm, I don''t know what this card is for, but it seems to get me special treatment.


    After searching for about three minutes more, I found two elevators tucked away in a corner. I pressed the up button and stepped back, lifting my head out of habit.


    "Huh?"


    Don''t elevators usually disy what floor they are currently on and how close they are to arriving? Why doesn''t this one show anything?


    However, my confusion didn''tst long because the elevator doors opened immediately. But as I hesitated and nced at the elevator, which epitomized luxury, I stepped in and was bewildered again.


    There are no buttons.


    There''s no button for open, close, not even for the floor I need to go to.


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 Chapter 29 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 29 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    "Ah, the card."


    Scanning the surroundings with a flustered gaze, I spotted the card sensor and quickly ced my card against it. Then the door closed, and I felt the elevator ascend.


    It feels like I''m entering a castle of the Demon King, making me increasingly tense.


    I wish this damned elevator had a disy showing which floor it''s on, something to look at while waiting. But there''s nothing inside this elevator to indicate where I am.


    Trembling with just my legs, I waited for the elevator to stop, feeling a slight pressure on my spine and instinctively knowing I had reached my destination.


    The doors opened, and the interior was revealed.


    Of course, the CEO''s office in a conglomerate hotel would be decked out with expensive furniture. When I lifted my head, imagining the high value of everything, I was shocked once again.


    "Wow, is that really an original?"


    The first thing you see when you step out of the elevator is a wall with green wallpaper.


    On it hangs a painting asrge as a person.


    The problem is that it''s a painting by Jason Pollock.


    This tragic icon of Abstract Expressionism, born in 1912, revolutionized modern American painting with his drip and action painting techniques.


    Up close, the texture of the paint is alive.


    "Wow, it really is an original."


    Crazy, a painting I should be seeing in a museum, why is it here?


    How much would this even be?


    Standing in front of a painting rumored to be worth several hundred billion, my legs tremble. Then, a beautiful andposed female voice is heard.


    "Mr. Ban Jeong-hoon?"


    I whip my head around with eyes wide as if caught peeking in a women''s bath, and a beautiful woman in a sky-blue suit with shoulder-length hair enters my view.


    "Oh, yes."


    The woman approaches and extends her hand.


    "I''ve heard a lot about you from Monica, I''m Yoo Min-young."


    Her hand, with thin white fingers.


    Clean hands without any trace of nail art, yet they seem too luxurious to shake.


    After rubbing my palms on my trouser legs, I awkwardly shake her hand in a mortifyingly humble posture.


    "I''m Ban Jeong-hoon."


    Damn, this isn''t right.


    I''m not some subcontractor here to get orders, I''m an artist. Get a grip, man.


    Fortunately, she seems unbothered, releasing my hand and gesturing to a seat.


    "Please sit here, would you like something to drink?"


    "Just water is fine."


    "Alright, one moment."


    I nced around and reluctantly sat on a sofa that looked more expensive than what I could afford even if I sold my studio''s security deposit. Suddenly, I realized that Min-young, who had been talking to me, had disappeared, and I looked for her.


    "Huh?"


    Min-young appears in the distance, carrying a tray with a cup of water.


    Don''t CEOs in ces like this usually press an inte and ask someone to bring things? Why is this preciousdy fetching water herself?


    That''s when I realized that there''s no secretary in this room.


    What''s going on? Is she a conglomerate who doesn''t want to appear like one? But even the chair in this luxurious room seems too expensive for me to afford.


    Min-young ces the ss of water on the table in front of me and sits opposite.


    She looks at me for a moment and then speaks.


    "Monica was right, you''re very handsome."


    "Ah.. thank you."


    "You probably know, but I''m the major shareholder of MG Electronics."


    "I''m aware."


    "The refrigerator they''re about tounch, I was very impressed."


    "It''s all thanks to Monica being such an amazing designer. Honestly, I didn''t expect my paintings to be designed that way."


    "Ha, everyone knows Monica''s capabilities. Did you know? During her school days..."


    Min-young shares stories of Monica''s school days, dripping with charisma, stories so funny that I couldn''t imagine them with her current image, melting away the tension I felt from meeting a person of a wealthy family.


    As I listened to her jokes, I smiled, realizing the change in my heart.


    ''This is her ability.''


    An impressive ability.


    A boss who can thaw a frozen heart and allow it to perform at 100%.


    If she were my boss, maybe working would be a bit more enjoyable.


    After chatting andughing for over 30 minutes, I naturally connect the conversation to Monica and this job.


    Monica mentioned that you were going to entrust me with a job.


    Ah, yes, right. Look at me, all lost in other stories.


    Min-young, pretending it was her fault to save me from embarrassment, is somehow likable.


    She smiles lightly and says.


    There are two things I would like you, Artist Ban, to take care of.


    Oh! Two opportunities? That''s great.


    What are the tasks?


    Min-young extends a finger on each hand and exins.


    Well, technically, it''s just one task for now. Depending on how the first one goes, we''ll decide whether to proceed with the second.


    I bite my lip slightly, realizing the hidden meaning in Min-young''s words.


    A test.


    A rtively easy task to verify my capabilities before entrusting me with the real job.


    Monica had done something simr with me.


    Of course, given my current reputation, this is still an opportunity.


    At least it''s not like I have to walk the streets again, painting portraits with no other opportunities.


    What''s the first task?


    Min-young smiles and nods her head.


    Don''t worry, it''s in your area of expertise.


    Ha, it seems like its another portrait.


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 Chapter 30 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 30 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    The next day, in Buam-dong.


    This area, lined with mansions behind walls thrice my height, feels so distinct from other regions of Seoul that it could be mistaken for a posh neighborhood in San Francisco.


    The street, built on a hill, is eerily quiet, not even a dog in sight.


    It''s clearly a wealthy neighborhood, but something feels off  perhaps theck of warmth or neighborly connection?


    As I adjust the backpack I always carry and ascend the hill, I recall yesterday''s conversation with Minyoung.


    The client for the portrait is my mother. I''ve informed her, so please visit this address by two o''clock tomorrow afternoon. How long will it take?


    It depends on the quality you''re expecting.


    Minyoung''s mother, the wife of a major hotel chain owner.


    She wouldn''t be asking for a quick pencil sketch like those I do on the streets of Ikseon-dong.


    If it''s for disy at home, a canvas size between 60 to 80 should suffice, and since acrylic paint dries fast, it wouldn''t take long.


    But given who the client is, I can''t rush it.


    To produce a satisfactory painting, I''d need at least two weeks, and that''s if I dedicate all my time to it. Minyoung readily agreed when I asked for three weeks.


    She''s a pleasant client, but such people require caution; generous time and payment often mean high expectations.


    Ah, is this it?


    The dauntingly high wall.


    It''s a warm, light orange brick, but its height imposes.


    Standing in front of the house, I check my face with my phone camera and, with a nervous heart, press the bell.


    Dressed in my only suit, I hope to make a good impression on this first meeting with the wife of a chaebol owner.


    After ringing the bell, an inte sounds.


    -Yes, who is it?


    Hello, I''m the painter sent by President Yu Minyoung.


    The door opens silently after a beep, without a word. Hesitant to enter, I peek inside, realizing the interior leads to a garden.


    I push the door and step in, astonished at the sight.


    The chaebol house, only seen in dramas, is real.


    Upon entering, the first sight is a stone staircase. Not a single tree in the garden seems carelessly nted, all meticulously maintained.


    As I ascend the steps, ady in an apron appears.


    Hello, I''m Ban Jeong-hoon.


    Wee.


    Her voice is not what I expected of a haughty chaebol wife. Looking up, I meet the eyes of a kindly smilingdy.


    Don''t be nervous, I''m just a staff member here. Come in.


    Iugh at my misunderstanding and follow her through the garden to the house, unable to stop looking around like a country bumpkin.


    The garden''s vastness, the pond with koi fish jumping under a stone bridge, a stone pagoda, and beautiful trees - it''s irresistibly captivating.


    Inside, I''m led to a sofa in the living room, still in awe.


    The living room ceiling is as high as my entire apartment building.


    The ceiling appears three stories high. More astonishing is the giant window matching this height, offering a full view of the beautiful garden through the floor-to-ceiling ss.


    And this sofa I''m sitting on, made of lime green velvet, feels luxurious.


    As thedy leaves to call the hostess, I quickly examine the sofa and am shocked.


    Is this sofa Gi?


    I thought they only made clothes, but they produce furniture too. And the wallpaper in front  is that Herms?


    Just selling the wallpaper might fetch millions.


    Our mother always said not to touch wallpapers in others'' homes, but when will I ever visit a chaebol house again? Lost in admiration, I''m brought back to reality by the sound of slippers.


    Not the dragging sound of someone going to a local store, but a light scraping of indoor slippers. I stand up and stretch.


    A middle-aged woman appears from a corridor, looking in her fifties though I heard she''s 68.


    Mrs. Kang, with brown hair, unlike the typical permed hair of mothers or ajummas, her waves elegantly reaching her shoulders.


    Her in blue dress, slightly loose, hides a surprisingly slim figure, not fitting her age.


    Her beautiful face, though wrinkled, doesn''t look 68. When she speaks, her voice is deep and dignified.


    Are you the painter Minyoung sent?


    Yes, I''m Ban Jeong-hoon.


    I''m Kang Yoojung. Please, sit. Ma''am, could you bring some coffee?


    Mrs. Kang sits gracefully on a single-seat sofa across from me.


    Even sitting in her own house, she does so with such elegance. Do people like her sprawl on the sofa when alone


    But she quicklyposed herself and said,


    "I heard from Minyoung that you are an artist who participated in the refrigerator design of MG Electronics."


    "Ah, I was lucky."


    Mrs. Kang smiles with her eyes.


    Then, behind her, a fantasy of flowers blooming appears.


    Crazy, get a grip. Thisdy is older than my mother.


    Mrs. Kangughs while drinking coffee.


    "What kind of child is Monica? It''s not just a lucky artist she would work with."


    "Haha..."


    Suddenly, I felt something strange. Mrs. Kang drinking coffee.


    She is holding the teacup with her left hand.


    But from her first appearance until now, I have never seen her right hand.


    She is deliberately hiding it.


    ''What is it?''


    Mrs. Kang nces at me, puts down her teacup, and says,


    "Minyoung asked me to share my unreserved thoughts about your portrait. I heard it''s a test to decide whether to entrust you with the decoration art of a hotel in Hannam-dong she''s running."


    Huh?


    I knew it was a test.


    Was I to be entrusted with hotel decoration art?


    Wow, if it''s hotel decoration art, how much money is involved?


    I must get this job.


    While I''m rolling my eyes, Mrs. Kang, smiling at me, speaks.


    "But what to do?"


    "What?"


    Was it my illusion that her face, which had been blooming with smiles like flowers, now seems a bit cold?


    Mrs. Kang looks me straight in the eye and says,


    "Until now, there hasn''t been a single portrait that satisfied me."


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 Chapter 30 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 30 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    "............."


    A portrait of a conglomerate owner''s wife.


    Regardless of who tried before, it must have been painters with some reputation.


    Not a single picture pleased her? How picky could she be?


    But what can I do?


    It''s hotel decoration art. An enormously profitablemission.


    Knowing that I must get this job to avoid falling back to a street portrait artist, I exuded confidence.


    "I have some experience with portraits. Over a thousand people have taken portraits I''ve drawn."


    Of course, there''s no need to mention that these were twenty-five-thousand-won street sketches.


    Alright, I''ll draw an impressive portrait that satisfies this demanding conglomerate wife and get the hotel decoration artmission. It''s a big job and not something I can do alone, so let''s set up a corporation. For employees... Yes! I can ask Yeongju for help?


    Lost in these thoughts, I watched Mrs. Kang quietly, whose right hand now moves.


    I was concerned about it and followed her right hand with my eyes, and my eyes widened.


    ".................."


    Mrs. Kang shows her right hand and says,


    "Will it still be easy?"


    ".................."


    If the counterpart wasn''t a conglomerate, the emotion that crossed my eyes would have been sympathy or pity, or perhaps sadness. But knowing her position, the emotion that crossed my eyes was surprise.


    Her middle and ring fingers are missing.


    Those two fingers should be on that white and slender beautiful hand.


    Seeing the w that should not exist in a beautiful wife living in luxury in a conglomerate house, I froze and lost my words.


    Mrs. Kang, seeing my surprised eyes, hides her right hand again and says,


    Confidence is a privilege of the young. So, when do we start?


    Ah, that


    I hade today to greet her and arrange a schedule, so I didnt bring my tools. Struggling to keep my scattered thoughts together, I replied,


    Please let me know a convenient time for you. I think I will need about two hours a day.


    Mrs. Kang nodded and stood up, still hiding her right hand behind her back.


    As you can see, I have plenty of time, just tending to the garden at home. Let''s meet 5 days a week, only on weekdays, at this time.


    Yes


    Then Ill see you tomorrow. Take care on your way out.


    Mrs. Kang slightly nodded and left through the corridor she hade from.


    Did I just make a mistake?


    No, what was I supposed to say? Your hand is injured, but you are still beautiful? That would be like mocking her.


    It felt wrong to pry about how it happened during our first meeting.


    I feel like I didnt do anything wrong, but why does it feel so awkward?


    As Mrs. Kang''s footsteps faded, the workingdy I had seen earlier approached.


    Here, let me show you out.


    Ah, thank you.


    I awkwardly stood up and followed thedy outside. My mind was still in turmoil all the way to the main gate, but I couldnt figure out how I should have reacted.


    Finally at the main gate.


    I bowed to thedy, expressing my gratitude. She looked around cautiously and then spoke in a low tone.


    It must be shocking.


    Everyone reacts that way when they first see madam''s hand. It''s okay, she''s used to it and wont take it to heart.


    There''s no offense taken, so go homefortably and prepare well for the painting.


    Phew, thisdy is a lifesaver.


    If it weren''t for her, I would have gone home and spent the night kicking my nkets without understanding why.


    Excuse me, ma''am.


    Yes?


    About madams fingers. May I know what happened?


    Thedy nced around nervously as if mentioning this was a big deal, then pushed me away.


    Dont go around asking such questions, or I cant keep my job. Go now. Come back tomorrow, tomorrow.


    Pushed out of the house, I stood outside, dazed, staring nkly at the high wall.


    Is it that hard to exin? Of course, its problematic to spread personal information, but how am I supposed to catch what the subject wants in the portrait if I dont know this?


    Haah


    I sighed involuntarily and then furrowed my brows.


    Wait, why does it even matter for the portrait if shes missing fingers?


    I just need to paint her face, right? It should be simple.


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 Chapter 31 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 31 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    W Tree Ambassador Hannam, 38th floor Italian restaurant.


    Holding a half-filled wine ss, Minyoung looked at Monica, who kept sipping her wine, with concern.


    "Monica, that''s Amarone. You might end up being carried out of the hotel if you keep drinking it like that."


    Monica smiled broadly, lifting her ss.


    "I know, it''s my beloved country Italy''s wine. Thanks, Anna. Ah! I should call you Minyoung here in Korea, right?"


    "Whatever you prefer, call me by anyfortable name. But put the ss down now."


    Minyoung''s nagging made Monica put her ss down on the table. She admired the beautiful color of the wine and said,


    "Amarone, produced in the Verona region of Vo, where the city of water, Venice, is located. Originally, this area was known for producing sweet wines from dried grapes. But ''Amarone'' is a full-bodied wine with a distinctive bitter taste."


    Minyoung chimed in.


    "The name means ''bitter,'' right?"


    "Giusto! Correct. Oh, did you know? This wine was created by ident."


    Min-young nodded with a faint smile.


    "I heard that in the early 1900s, a winery''s head of fermentation missed the timing to stop fermentation because he was spending time with his girlfriend. As a result, a wine with no sweetness and a high alcohol content was created, and that was the beginning of Amarone."


    Monica pped her hands lightly and added,


    "Exactly, Min-young. Although there were concerns that a dry wine wouldn''t sell well in a region known for sweet wines, experts who tasted this Amarone praised its heavy body, bitterness, and unique vor."


    Min-young raised her ss for a toast,


    "History is sometimes made by someone''s small mistake."


    The fine wine sses clinked together, making a clear sound.


    After a moment of savoring the taste of the wine, Monica, with a slightly somber voice, asked,


    "How''s your mother doing?"


    Min-young put down her ss, her face clouded with mncholy, and nodded,


    "Yes, she is."


    "How old were you again?"


    "Seven years old."


    "Sigh, it''s been over 20 years. It''s a long enough time to forget, but some wounds are unforgettable. Especially such deep ones."


    Monica remembered the time when Min-young had talked about her mother, Kang Yoo-jung, during her study abroad days.


    Many people think that the W Tree Ambassador Hotel Group has grown into what it is now solely because of Chairman Yoo Chang-hyun''s business strategies. However, the origin of the hotel group, the Jongno Hotel, was actually owned by Kang Yoo-jung''s family.


    Chairman Yoo Chang-hyun''s family was a family of schrs with no business connections, and the Kang family, a family of merchants, handed over the hotel, the foundation of their family business, to wee a well-educated son-inw into their family.


    Monica took another sip of her wine and asked,


    "Did your mother step away from the business right after that ident?"


    "Yes."


    "Because of the aftereffects of the ident?"


    "If you can call it aftereffects, then yes."


    Min-young did not borate, but Monica could guess the situation.


    Even she meets countless people every day to start and flourish a business. What would it be like if all those people frowned upon seeing the disability in her hand? Perhaps, she too would want to step back from the front lines if there was an alternative.


    Min-young''s mother had a smart and knowledgeable husband, an alternative that allowed her to hand over everything and step back.


    Monica looked at Min-young and asked,


    "What kind of person was your mother originally?"


    Min-young thought for a moment before speaking.


    "She was born to be a businesswoman. Even though my father is at the forefront of the business, he still relies on my mother for business decisions when hees home. My father makes business decisions as my mother advises."


    After a moment of silence, Monica said,


    "It must be frustrating for her to step back and stay behind."


    "Yes."


    Observing Min-young''s slightly gloomy face, Monica spoke,


    "Min-young."


    "Yes?"


    "Do you still think it''s your fault that your mom got hurt?"


    Min-young''s expression turned sorrowful. As she looked at her friend who had closed her mouth, Monica said,


    "It''s not your fault, Min-young. It was just an ident."


    Hesitantly, Min-young gulped down her wine and sighed.


    "Sigh, I know. It was a car ident, and it was beyond anyone''s control."


    "That''s right, you shouldn''t feel guilty about it."


    Min-young closed her mouth for a moment and looked intently into her friend''s eyes.


    "But, Monica."


    Min-young continued, hesitantly,


    "If I hadn''t been next to mom at the time of the ident, what would have happened?"


    Monica remained silent.


    "What if, during the ident that took the life of the driver, mom had been alone in the back seat? What then?"


    Again, silence filled the air.


    "Mom would have protected herself. She wouldn''t have sacrificed her hands to block the shards of ssing towards me. She would have ducked down and protected herself."


    "Ah, Min-young."


    Min-young picked up her ss and stood up to go to the window.


    Hugging her arms and rubbing her forearms, she returned with a slightly brighter face.


    "Dont worry too much. It''s been 20 years. Both the wounded heart and the debt of the heart have now faded."


    "But you still feel guilty, don''t you?"


    "Yes, but dont worry. I''m just living my life, repaying mom in whatever ways I can. The guilt isn''t ruining my life."


    Monica shook her head, but she knew Min-young''s words were not wrong. Min-young always did what she had to do, decisively.


    "Okay, I won''t say anymore."


    Min-young returned to her seat with a smile and said,


    "Painting a portrait is one of the few things I can do for mom. I hope someday a painting will emerge that can soothe her heart."


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 Chapter 31 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 31 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Monica''s eyes widened in surprise.


    "I heard rumors you spent billions onmissioning portrait artists."


    "Hmm, probably."


    "How many did you have painted to hear such figures?"


    "About fifty?"


    "Wow! And not a single one among those many paintings pleased her?"


    "Right."


    "Hah... Will Jung-hoon do well?"


    "Um..."


    Minyoung pauses at Monica''s question, then smiles.


    "The moment I saw your portrait, I immediately thought of my mother. I thought someone who could paint like that could surely embrace the darkness in my mother''s heart."


    Minyoung and Monica simultaneously recall the portrait painted by Jung-hoon.


    A painting that embraces the heart.


    A painting that seduces.


    A painting that shows a happy future one wishes for.


    That was Jung-hoon''s painting.


    Monica has faith in Jung-hoon, but she is also uneasy. His career as an artist so far has been modest.


    Monica looks worried, then clears her expression and lifts her ss.


    "Whether it''s a sess or failure, make sure you pay him properly for the painting. I looked into it, and his family is struggling. He''s a talented artist. Make sure he doesnt have his wings clipped."


    Minyoung nods with a smile.


    "I''m a businesswoman, Monica. The value of the painting depends on Mr. Ban''s skill. I''m not going to decide its worth. Whether he has talent or not is for my mother to judge."


    "Phew, okay, got it. Let''s just drink."


    **


    "Ah... This is driving me crazy."


    Leaving the mansion, I return to my basement studio, frustratedly scattering sketches of the portrait I saw in the afternoon of Mrs. Kang.


    If they were standard portraits costing twenty-five thousand Won each, the quality would have been sufficient, but they still don''t satisfy me.


    Before meeting teacher, I might have been content with this level. No, if I hadn''t met him, I wouldnt have had this opportunity.


    "A painting that seduces the heart."


    Information iscking.


    Portrait painting is sensitive.


    As its based on a client''s request, it must be painted to their satisfaction, and no matter how well done, its pointless if the client isn''t satisfied.


    There''s no high expectation for street portrait artists, so I''ve been able to get by, but wouldnt a wealthydy be dissatisfied with such paintings?


    I need to know more about Mrs. Kang.


    As I try to recall and sketch her face, I eventually stand up, brushing off my seat.


    Its a waste of time to continue this.


    I feel like I need to get some fresh air to stop this.


    Walking aimlessly, I find myself unconsciously heading towards that odd art gallery. Sighing, I then consider the thought that changing exhibitions doesnt mean changing dreams.


    I quicken my pace, hoping this theory proves true, wishing for even a small hint from anyone.


    I soon arrive at the quiet, almost empty gallery.


    Peeking at the current Gustav Klimt exhibition, I stand dumbfounded in front of the kiosk.


    "Twenty thousand Won?"


    It was five thousand Won until recently. Ah, that was an opening event.


    A month ago, I would have hesitated at that price, but now I can afford it. I pay without hesitation and head downstairs.


    The faint music behind the soundproof walls grows louder.


    Instead of the familiar Dvok, Ludwig van Beethoven''s "Chorus" ys.


    Its a fitting choice for Klimt''s exhibition, inspired by Beethovens music to create the internal mural ''Beethoven Frieze'' at the Secession Building.


    Pushing the heavy door with my shoulder, I enter the basement exhibition hall, which is bathed in gold.


    "Wow..."


    Gold, gold everywhere!


    True to the exhibition called ''Gold in Motion'', Klimt''s disy was a celebration of gold.


    Descending the stairs, I couldnt take my eyes off the giant golden painting projected on the wall in front.


    Klimt''s masterpiece, The Kiss.


    A man and woman embracing and kissing, a t yet incredibly beautiful painting. This painting of lovers kissing precariously at the edge of a cliff is one of the most loved in the world.


    Sitting on the usual rock sofa in the center of the exhibition hall, I crossed my legs, rested my chin on my hand, and murmured,


    "Klimt..."


    An artist about whose personal life nothing is known.


    He didnt write an autobiography, only a few of his letters survived, and he famously never provided exnations for his paintings.


    When someone asked him why he made no effort to make himself known, he is said to have replied,


    "If you want to know me, look at and feel my paintings."


    Should this be called remarkable confidence?


    Perhaps its justified. While many artists are not recognized in their lifetimes, Klimt amassed enormous wealth while he was still alive.


    Many artists have left numerous self-portraits, but Klimt was different.


    He left only two self-portraits. One was a small depiction of himself seated in the audience, a part of his ''Romeo and Juliet'' painting for the ceiling of a theater in Vienna. The other was a scribble-like drawing on a small piece of paper, done with a pen.


    Fortunately, because of the ck-and-white photography technology avable during his time, his appearance has been passed down toter generations.


    I thought of Klimt in hister years and smiled slightly.


    "He looked a bit like Heihachi from Tekken."


    Chuckling to myself, I recalled his hairstyle from his old age.


    A funny hairstyle with no hair in the middle and the hair on both temples sticking up to the sky. Plus, he often wore baggy clothes that made him look like a monk, giving him an appearance simr to a video game character.


    I briefly indulged in this imagination of Klimt before shaking my head.


    "Is this really the time for such thoughts?"


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 Chapter 32 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 32 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    The program had soon ended.


    Again, I had entered at the wrong time.


    Well, considering Gustav Klimt''s life as a whole, the period when he painted everything in gold was indeed in his middle period, so it was not unexpected that I had missed the beginning of the program.


    For a few minutes, as Beethoven''s music yed and the credits rolled on the screen, the program in the art gallery began again, and I was utterly captivated by the realistic and beautiful paintings that swirled before my eyes.


    Such lifelike paintings.


    So detailed that it was hard to distinguish whether they were photographs or paintings, filling therge wall.


    People unfamiliar with art and history often say this,


    "What''s so great about Picasso? Even an elementary school student could draw better than that."


    But it''s not just Picasso.


    Many painters who create distinctive works hear suchments.


    However, this is a clear misunderstanding.


    The Renaissance-era realism, so lifelike that we marvel at it.


    We call this traditionalist academicism, but it''s not that Picasso or Klimt, Gauguin, and others couldn''t paint like this  they chose not to. If you look at their early works, you can see realismparable to Rembrandt or Diego Velzquez.


    It''s only when they had perfected their own style, after many trials and errors, that they moved beyond realistic painting.


    Klimt was no exception.


    While wemonly know his works like The Kiss, Judith, and the Tree of Life, dominated by gold and resembling abstract art, he too painted in the traditional academic style in his early days, especially when he worked on murals.


    His first work, which I thought of when reflecting on the portrait seen earlier, was Romeo and Juliet.


    This piece is a ceiling painting in the Burgtheater in Vienna, Austria.


    Klimt had painted the theater''s decorative art, including ceiling and wall paintings, a task too big for one person, thus he included his younger brother Ernst Klimt and his friend and fellow artist Franz Matsch as coborators.


    What''s unique about this work is that unlike many artists who have depicted a single scene from Shakespeare''s ys, Klimt illustrated both the actors performing the y and the audience watching it.


    In this scene, Romeomits suicide by poison in front of a cold Juliet.


    The despair felt by the lovers as their passionate love ends in tragedy.


    The immersion conveyed by the audience, who, shocked by the y''s progression, lean forward from their seats towards the stage.


    The intense emotion evoked by the ceiling painting makes it seem as if one has watched an entire y just by looking at it.


    I smiled slightly, watching the right side of the painting I had only seen in small scale in my school textbooks.


    "The man in red clothes standing next to the right pir is Ernst Klimt, the one with the ck hat is Franz Matsch. And next to them, the person with the ornately wrapped ruff around his neck, standing out, is Gustav Klimt himself."


    This painting is one of only two self-portraits left by Klimt.


    The other is a bizarre drawing that resembles a modern caricature, with only facial features and the body drawn as a chicken.


    As Klimt''s early works shed by, and the golden era began, I adjusted my seat.


    The first painting to appear was one of his masterpieces, ''The Tree of Life''.


    I remembered what my professor once said about this painting,


    "ording to the Book of Revtion, this tree brings salvation to the pagans, and it''s a symbolic work of Klimt''s golden age, where he used gold. The Tree of Life is a symbol that integrates all important themes for humans, such as the birth and transformation of seasons, death of flora, and the integration of flowers and women."


    In this enchanting world, resembling a paradise where people share love,


    Trees and women dance and merge as one.


    In a world where women be trees, they flourish across the entirety of nature.


    The girl dancing beneath a tree seems to be waiting for something,


    And the lovers embracing under another tree imply a sense of fulfillment.


    The birds of prey perched on the branches symbolize death, yet even death is a part of nature''s order, aponent of the cycle of life. Klimt''s Tree of Life is filled with mystery and vitality.


    Just as I am captivated by the exquisite beauty of the painting, the trees disappear from the picture, leaving only the background.


    Then, from its roots, the Tree of Life slowly reemerges, stretching out its branches.


    "This is the core value of digital art."


    An emotion that cannot be felt by merely looking at a painting.


    Digital art is about recreating these emotions, something I realized far toote.


    I lose myself in the sight of the golden waves forming the thick trunk of the tree.


    From the left, a thick branch emerges, splitting into two slender branches.


    The branches twist and curl as they take shape, and between them, the trunk of the tree rises higher, extending new branches.


    At that moment,


    I feel my head go numb.


    It''s not an unpleasant headache.


    I truly feel joy in this moment.


    That same feeling I''ve experienced several times before.


    The feeling of being led into a dream.


    My hypothesis was correct.


    It didn''t have to be the twelve constetions of the zodiac.


    Any symbolic painting could take me into a dream.


    That''s enough, I can continue to dream.


    That''s all I need.


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 Chapter 32 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 32 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    As the dizziness ends, I stagger briefly but thankfully regain my bnce and close my eyes until the dizziness subsides, focusing on my hearing to understand my surroundings.


    But, there''s no sound around me. The silence suggests that I am probably inside a building.


    When I slowly open my eyes, squinted from the lingering dizziness, I see the living room of a very luxurious mansion.


    Through therge window, I see an endlessly sprawling garden, and in the distance, beautiful horses running around.


    Where am I now?


    The living room is sorge, it must be about 50 pyeong.


    In front of the window, there''s a red sofa with its back to the window, facing a small chair.


    The walls are adorned with many paintings, expensive-looking tea sets, and fresh flowers.


    Whose house is this?


    I sit in a corner of the deserted living room, lost in thought.


    ''Judging by the architectural style, it feels like 18th century Austria.''


    How can I tell just by looking at the room?


    Well, it''s clear when the architectural styles are so jumbled together.


    The architectural style of Ringstrae in 18th century Vienna is interesting.


    The Parliament building reminds one of Greek and Roman ssical retro style, the city hall of Flemish Gothic retro style, the Vienna State Opera of Renaissance retro style, and the court theatre of Baroque retro style.


    So, Ringstrae is essentially a showroom of historicist architecture rarely seen anywhere else on Earth.


    This room is no different.


    The firece, furniture, ceiling, wallpaper, and the shape of the windows are all mixed with styles from different eras.


    Then, I hear footsteps from a corridor on one side of the living room.


    Not knowing what to expect, I hide behind the curtain of thergest window in the living room, only my eyes peering out. And when the owner of the footsteps appears, I have to cover my mouth to stop a scream from escaping.


    ''Klimt!''


    A gentleman in a grey suit, with a bushy beard and curly hair.


    I hadughed earlier, remembering the older Klimt, but the young Klimt was quite handsome. I''ve seen a few of his photographs, and apart from the change from ck and white to color, he looks the same.


    Without a word, Klimt sits on the small chair facing the red sofa, pulls out a small notebook and pencil, and begins to sketch something that I can''t see from where I am.


    Can he see me?


    Ah, this is confusing.


    Teacher Mucha saw me. But there were times he didn''t.


    It''s hard to act rashly when I can''t figure out the criteria.


    Even though it''s a dream, the urge to go crazy and step outside the curtain to see what he''s painting is growing stronger. Just then, a woman in a ck dress, ornate yetvish, emerges from a door inside the living room.


    As Klimt, who was drawing something, puts down his pencil and stands up to bow, thedy slightly bends her knees and says,


    "You''vee at the same time today as well."


    Klimt, offering a seat on the red sofa, says,


    "Yes, ma''am."


    Thedy walks with dignity towards the sofa and sits down neatly. Klimt takes a seat opposite her, and she, watching him, opens her mouth.


    "Seeing as you didn''t bring your painting materials, I guess you''re not painting a portrait today either?"


    Klimt, with a charming smile, picks up his pencil.


    "Just paper and a pencil will suffice."


    Klimt, in his youth, was extraordinarily charming.


    After his death, there were stories of at least 14 paternitywsuits.


    Was it because he was so charismatic?


    Even thedy blushes at his smile, perhaps smitten.


    But she soon regains herposure and continues.


    "My husband has already paid for the portrait. Three months ago, Mr. Klimt."


    "Of course, I surely received it."


    Thedy, looking at Klimt''s natural face, says with a baffled expression,


    "But you haven''t picked up a brush in thest three months."


    "That''s true."


    "I''m grateful that youe at the same time every day to keep mepany, but isn''t it a waste of three months? I''ve heard you''re quite behind on your work."


    Women of this era couldn''t have jobs.


    So, the only social activities they could engage in were social events.


    That''s why women of this era could only focus on adorning themselves.


    Most of the women who held a ce in the social circles of Klimt''s time had his portraits, and it was like a trend that spread like wildfire.


    Klimt smiles and, holding his pencil, looks at thedy''s face with one eye closed and says,


    "I can''t just paint hastily and finish it as an excuse for being busy, can I?"


    Thedy sighs and shakes her head.


    "Well, alright, Mr. Klimt. So, what shall we talk about today?"


    Klimt, adjusting the angle of his pencil in the air and measuring thedy''s facial angles, says,


    "How about we talk about your first meeting with your husband today?"


    "Ah, it''s going to be idle chatter again."


    "Ha-ha, if you call it idle chatter, your husband might feel hurt. Isn''t he the most sessful businessman in this area, a loving husband who gives you everything? And the one who has enabled you to live in such a grand mansion."


    "But still."


    Klimtughs and opens his notebook.


    "Many would be curious about the story of Ferdinand Bloch Bauer, who became wealthy through finance and the sugar business."


    Thedy sighs but soon blushes, remembering old stories about her husband.


    "Alright, Klimt. Even if we only talk today, I enjoy our time together, so let''s have a conversation today as well."


    Klimt winks and smiles.


    "Yes, thank you for today as well, Mrs. Adele Bloch Bauer."


    As I listen to their conversation from behind the curtain, I lean forward with wide eyes.


    The moment I hear the name of the woman sitting on the red sofa, I realize who she is and what era this is.


    ''The Venus of Austria, the Woman in Gold. The very moment of the birth of the ''Portrait of Adele Bloch Bauer''. Austria in 1906!''


    And if my memory serves me right, thedy has a disability in her right hand.


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 Chapter 33 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 33 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    A painting long lost its name.


    Austria, upied by the Nazis during World War II after thedy''s death in 1938.


    The Nazis looted numerous artworks in Austria, and the Bauer family, having fled to Switzend to escape Jewish persecution, had their estate and many artworks confiscated.


    This portrait was also one of the works seized by the Nazis.


    A privately owned portrait, the government of Austria took possession of it after the war, not knowing who it belonged to or who was depicted in it. Thedy''s granddaughter eventually reimed it after a lengthywsuit. It is now disyed in the Neue Gallery in the United States.


    Until thewsuit by the granddaughter, the painting had two names.


    "Austrian Venus and Woman in gold."


    The name given to her beautiful portrait, the Austrian Venus.


    Of course, the realdy was not as beautiful as in the painting.


    Her captivating eyes, seducing onlookers in a space surrounded by luxurious gold, were reimagined by Klimt.


    Mrs. Bauer, adjusting her dress with her left hand, asked,


    "Did my husband donate this month too?"


    Upon hearing about the donation, Klimt ced his pencil in his notebook and nodded,


    "It''s been ten years now. Your husband''s contributions have been a great help."


    Mrs. Bauer, looking out the window at the garden, said,


    "My husband has always been like that. When I first met him in our youth, he had nothing."


    She covered her mouth with her left hand andughed,


    "He would spend his daily wages, earned from working in a sugar factory, on supporting his favorite painters, leading to some serious arguments."


    Klimt smiled and picked up his pencil again,


    "Thanks to him, many Austrian artists have been able to continue their artistic activities. Many are grateful to your husband."


    As he resumed sketching, he continued,


    "Nietzsche said, ''Art is a great stimnt to life.'' Your husband understood that early on, which is why he is still thriving in his business."


    Mrs. Bauer smiled in response,


    "Yes, there were times I found my husband suffocating and didn''t understand his views and attitudes. Yet, I loved him for that. Despite my anger, his pure heart always made me smile."


    "Ha, is that so?"


    Mrs. Bauer, reminiscing about her and her husband''s youth, looked intently at Klimt sketching and said,


    "To me, you and my husband''s younger days don''t seem different, Mr. Klimt."


    "Ah? In what way?"


    Mrs. Bauer scrutinized Klimt and said,


    "I thought artists were either lonely geniuses touched with madness or people working in solitude. But you shatter all my prejudices. You meet and socialize with many people. At first nce, you seem more like a socialite or businessman than an artist."


    Really? Is that so?


    It''s a new perspective to me.


    Naturally, since there isn''t much known about Klimt''s personal life.


    With little known, I thought of him as a solitary artist shrouded in mystery.


    Klimt sketched her face with a grin,


    "Isn''t that obvious?"


    "What do you mean?"


    "Your husband is also in finance, right?"


    "Yes, that''s right."


    "Actually, the real moneymaker is finance, not the sugar business. Right?"


    "Yes."


    Klimt continued as he sketched,


    "Your husband attends social clubs and meets many people. He''s not just going out to have fun, is he?"


    "Right, there''s a lot of business information exchanged there."


    "Exactly. Who''s starting a new business, what difficulties they''re facing, or if a promising product is failing due tock of funding. Your husband hears about these and invests in worthy opportunities."


    "That''s true."


    Putting down his pencil and closing his notebook with a smile, Klimt said,


    "Artists are the same. We constantly interact with many people and ovee numerous obstacles. We analyze and work hard to refine our style and direction to be more loved. It''s not much different from what your husband does."


    Mrs. Bauer nods with a look of realization.


    "Indeed, that''s why you''re known among so many people."


    Klimt puts his notebook in his bag, stands up, and says,


    "To survive among many artists, one must be an outstanding nner and strategist. Let''s call it a day for now. I wille back at the same time tomorrow."


    Mrs. Bauer looks a bit disappointed but nods in agreement.


    "So, we''ll meet again tomorrow?"


    "Of course, Mrs. Bauer. I''ll being every day until the painting isplete. Farewell for now."


    Klimt picks up his bag, nods, and leaves the mansion.


    I emerge hesitantly from behind the curtain into the living room. Mrs. Bauer, left alone, doesn''t seem to notice me, suggesting that in this dream, I''m invisible to others.


    I was about to follow Klimt but stopped upon seeing Mrs. Bauer sneakily raise her right hand, which she had been hiding.


    Her right middle finger, visible only when she''s alone, is severely deformed.


    She lost confidence due to a disability from a childhood ident. Despite her increased social standing due to her husband''s sessful business, she remained hidden from public view because of her disability. I hear her murmur,


    "Maybe if it were you, Klimt."


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 Chapter 33 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 33 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    I followed Klimt, looking intently at the right hand of thedy currently experiencing ongoing pain.


    1906 in Austria.


    Numerous buildings were being constructed in a new architectural style. Some were still under construction, others being adorned with external decorative art. The city was bustling with workers hanging on most of the buildings'' exteriors.


    Yet, the city was already beautiful.


    Thanks to Klimt catching a carriage used like taxis back then, I, hanging onto the back of the carriage, got a full view of Vienna, soon to be known as the cradle of art, a city itself called art. After arriving at a house slightly less grand than the mansion we just left, but still fitting to be called a mansion, I jumped off the back of the carriage.


    "Nobody can see me."


    I did all sorts of crazy things under the guise of an experiment while hanging onto the carriage.


    I''m not sure if the people of this era would recognize it as an insult, but I even flipped the middle finger and shouted at passersby, yet nobody saw me.


    Now that I''m sure, I can act more boldly.


    After entering the mansion, Klimt ced his bag next to the sofa in the living room and took off his hat and coat. Then a man''s voice came from the kitchen.


    "Are you here?"


    A man with ck hair and a scruffy beard came out holding two coffee cups.


    As soon as I saw his face, I remembered the man from the portrait in my memory.


    ''Ernst Klimt. The painter and Klimt''s younger brother who co-founded the Artist Company with him.''


    Klimt received a coffee cup from his brother and sat on the sofa, leisurely enjoying the aroma.


    Ernst, looking at his brother quietly, sat next to the sofa and said,


    "Has it been three months already? It seems longer than usual."


    "Hmm."


    "I know it takes you long toplete a portrait. But this time, it''s particrly long."


    "Well, yeah."


    Three months toplete a portrait?


    No, he hasn''t even picked up the brush yet.


    Klimt''s portraits are remarkable, but they don''t seem to require three months of work.


    I could finish such work in three days if I really went at it, given my experience with all-nighters since my art school days.


    Ah, what nonsense am I thinking?


    That''s only possible when copying someone else''s work.


    If it''s about conceptualizing a painting from scratch, who knows how long it would take.


    But still, three months seem excessive.


    He should consider the person waiting.


    Ernst leaned on the sofa, propping his chin, and looked at his brother''s face.


    "How many sketches did you do today?"


    Klimt silently rummaged through his bag and threw a notebook at him.


    As Ernst flipped through the notebook, I boldly moved behind him and peeked, confident that they couldn''t see me.


    "Wow..."


    Inside Ernst''s rapidly flipping notebook.


    An uncountable number of sketches of thedy''s face were there.


    Front, side, diagonal views, her head slightly raised or bowed down - sketches from various angles.


    Does drawing one person''s portrait require this many preparatory sketches?


    In a way, it almost seems like a frightening obsession driven by madness.


    Ernst seemed to think simrly, shrugging his shoulders and returning the notebook.


    "With this much, you could draw her with your eyes closed."


    Klimt closed his eyes, smelling the coffee.


    "If it''s about drawing faces, maybe."


    "Portraits are about drawing faces, brother."


    Klimt responded with a slight smile to his brother''s words.


    "Who says so?"


    "What do you mean?"


    "Who says portraits are just about drawing faces?"


    "Isn''t that obvious?"


    Klimt put his coffee cup on the table and looked into his brother''s eyes.


    "Ernst."


    "Yeah?"


    "Imagine you go to the studio right now to paint a self-portrait."


    "Hmm?"


    "What kind of picture would you want to leave through your self-portrait?"


    "..."


    "Do you just want to leave a picture that looks like your face?"


    "..."


    "If that''s the case, you might as well just look in a mirror."


    "Uh..."


    "You''d want your painting to capture your inner self and your current emotions. All your sorrow, anguish, joy, and ecstasy. From the moment you enter the studio to paint your self-portrait, you''d have such a purpose in mind."


    "Yeah, you''re right."


    Klimt reopens his notebook and gazes at the sketches of Mrs. Bauer''s face.


    "It''s the same with thedy. People don''t just want a painting that looks like their face."


    Klimt closes the notebook with a snap and continues,


    "Peoplemissioning portraits have hidden wishes that the painter sees their inner selves. And they hope that these will be revealed through the painting."


    Klimt stands up and heads towards the studio, saying,


    "Realizing that and applying the utility of art to people''s lives is our duty as artists."


    I didn''t notice either Klimt heading to the studio or Ernst scratching his head with a bitter smile.


    Hearing Klimt''sst words, I stood there, motionless, with a dazed expression.


    ''To make the utility of art applicable to people''s lives is the artist''s duty.''


    It''s a concern I''ve never contemted in my entire life.


    Can I really call myself an artist after this realization?


    Can I still im to be an artist with conviction?


    What have I been doing with my life all this time?


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 Chapter 34 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 34 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    As I hear a name, I feel dizzy, a symptom I recognize from experience as a sign of emerging from a dream.


    After a few minutes of closing my eyes and trying to get ustomed to my surroundings, I realize I''m sitting on the rock sofa where I usually sit.


    I''m in an art museum where Beethoven''s Symphony No. 9, 4th movement, is still ying. The grand wall is showcasing the "Portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer," a painting that symbolizes a unique style developed through the golden era, blending Symbolism and Art Nouveau.


    I had just seen Klimt during the time this painting was created. There was no gold in the living room of Madame Adele''s mansion where I had been. Even her dress was ck.


    But this painting? It''s entirely golden. The gold patterns are a magnificent art in themselves. The dresscks any sense of dimensionality. Except for thedy''s face, the brightness is uniform across the painting, making it look like golden wallpaper if you cover her face and exposed hands.


    I ponder over the painting, resting my chin on my hand. ''Klimt was an artist who conceptualized the background, forms, and patterns first, harmonizing the protagonist ordingly. Hence, the figures in his paintings rarely stood in normal poses; they needed peculiar poses to match the surroundings.''


    Though analyzing the painting externally, my mind is deeply conflicted.


    Lost in thoughts while gazing at the celebration of gold, I contemte, ''What a real artist should do.''


    Perhaps my current dilemma should be ''what to paint'' rather than ''how to paint.'' This is a question I''ve never considered while creating a portrait with a clear subject in mind.


    Resting my chin in hand, I sigh and delve deep into thought, surrounded by Klimt''s beautiful paintings.


    Then, a thought of Klimt''s wordses to mind, ''People whomission portraits have hidden desires for the painter to see into their souls. And they hope these desires are are revealed through the painting.''


    Something seems to sh through my mind, but the answer is not clear, and I cannot be sure if it is the right one.


    At this moment, I realize that the portrait Madame Kang desires may not be just a picture that looks exactly like her.


    ''What inner aspect of herself does Madame Kang want to be seen?''


    Right then, the digital art technique causes the figure in the portrait, projected onto the wall, to disappear. Slowly, the face of the noblewoman appears in the painting that looked like beautiful gold wallpaper, followed by her exposed shoulders and her hands beautifully sped together.


    "Huh?"


    Wait, sped beautifully?


    What about the grotesquely twisted hand?


    I lean forward and furrow my eyebrows.


    "This painting."


    While the beautiful face of the woman and the splendid golden patterns might initially capture one''s attention, the structural center of the painting is her sped hands. What should be hidden, the hand, is in fact the focal point of the painting, but because it''s naturally sped, the deformity isn''t noticeable.


    My eyes tremble.


    This painting, which I have seen countless times,


    I think I now understand its meaning.


    The emotions Klimt must have felt while painting this portrait.


    The sentiments of Mrs. Bauer he wanted to express through this painting.


    It seems I finally understand.


    I stare at the painting until it changes to another one.


    When the painting on the wall finally switches to a different one, I clench my fist.


    ''The reality of a disability in the hand, and being a wealthydy who could be at the center of social circles but chooses to stay withdrawn. However, people are different. There''s no guarantee that what Madame Kang wants is the same as what Mrs. Bauer wanted.''


    There''s no definitive answer in art.


    Klimt in 1906 found his answer.


    But there''s no rule saying the same answer applies to Madame Kang now.


    I get up, grab my bag, and nod as I look at Klimt''s beautiful paintings.


    "If there''s a possibility of a different answer, I can find out by applying and testing the same form. Klimt''s form."


    **


    The next day, at Madame Kang''s mansion in Buam-dong.


    After passing through countless rooms, Madame Kang descends the stairs and heads towards the basement.


    Walking down a brightly lit underground corridor, she reaches a room at the end. When she turns on the light in the dark room, the interior of therge room bes visible.


    Despite her indifferent expression, the sight of the room is astonishing.


    Countless paintings, easily exceeding a hundred, are haphazardly ced on the floora storage method unimaginable to those who cherish artworks. Some paintings even have their colors smeared together where they touch.


    Madame Kang sorts through a few of the scattered paintings, cing them against an empty wall, then gazes at them with a dry voice, muttering, "One more piece of trash to enter this room."


    The paintings in her view are all portraits, and surprisingly, all of them feature Madame Kang herself.


    At that moment, a housemaid appears at the door and says, "Madam."


    When Madame Kang turns around, the housemaid, looking flustered, informs her, "The young painter who visited yesterday has arrived."


    "Alright, I''ll be out soon. Could you prepare some tea?"


    "Yes, Madam. Oh, about this room. The dust has settled thickly on the paintings. Shall I clean them?"


    "No, leave them as they are."


    Mrs. Kang sent the maid ahead to prepare tea, then, left alone in the room, she looked around at the paintings again, murmuring to herself.


    "No matter how much they seem like trash, they are my daughter''s feelings after all. I should at least clean here myself."


    That''s right.


    All these numerous portraits in this ce.


    All these paintings were made by artists sent by her daughter Yoo Min-young.


    Although she didn''t like any of them, Mrs. Kang, feeling the earnestness in her daughter''s heart, smiled and lightly dusted the room before leaving the basement.


    She was a bitte cleaning, but she doubted the artist would dare reprimand her for beingte.


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 Chapter 34 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 34 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    After arriving at the Buam-dong mansion and being led to the living room by the working maid, I, who came to paint a portrait but brought no painting materials, gave an awkward smile to the maid''s curious look and sat down on the sofa to wait for Mrs. Kang.


    Mrs. Kang, who was nowhere to be seen for quite a long time.


    It was actually fine, as my thoughts weren''t fully organized yet, and this time was rather helpful.


    I was lost in thought, looking at the living room interior, which seemed more expensive than even gold ting.


    "Ick information."


    When I painted Monica''s portrait, I could satisfy her because of the information Sooyoung gave me about her. Thanks to that, I knew what future she truly desired, and I was able to depict that.


    I know nothing about Mrs. Kang.


    What kind of life she has lived, what thoughts she has now.


    Why her hand was injured and what scars it left her.


    These are not easy questions to ask ady.


    Then, there was a noise from the end of the corridor.


    It seemed Mrs. Kang was finally about to appear.


    She walked in, softly and in slippers, wearing afortable outfit in a different color but simr design to yesterday''s.


    As I stood and bowed, Mrs. Kang greeted me with a cultured voice.


    "I''m a bitte, sorry."


    "No, it''s alright."


    "Please, have a seat."


    Mrs. Kang sat on the sofa and, after ncing around me, asked with a puzzled look.


    "Where are your painting materials?"


    I pulled out a notebook and pencil from my pocket and smiled awkwardly.


    "This is all I need today."


    "Hmm."


    She didn''t seem too pleased. But since I had already secured three weeks, how I used that time was up to the artist.


    Mrs. Kang assumed a pose she thought was appropriate and said,


    "Should I sit up straight?"


    "No, just befortable."


    "What about the pose?"


    "Ah, when I paint portraits, I tend to observe the subject for a long time. I''m not going to paint right away today; instead, I n to sketch your face from various angles, so it''s better if you show me different expressionsfortably."


    "That''s an unusual method."


    Of course, it''s unusual.


    It''s also my first time working this way.


    I opened the notebook and started sketching Mrs. Kang''s face, saying,


    "Expressions are important. The more I see, the better the painting will be."


    "Expressions? Do you want me tough or cry?"


    "If you could, that would be great."


    "That won''t happen."


    Mrs. Kang''s cool expression.


    An expression that says she would never do such a thing.


    Of course, I expected this. It''s not like a kindly noblewoman, but a tough woman who runs a huge hotel corporation, wouldugh and cry onmand from a mere artist.


    I smiled and said,


    "You don''t have to force yourself. I''ll manage."


    Mrs. Kang turned away with a snort, but soon, seemingly bored, she kept changing her pose. That''s fine. After all, I didn''te to paint a still object.


    I spoke naturally,


    "This is a boring process, isn''t it?"


    ".................."


    "Have you ever had your portrait painted?"


    ".................."


    "Actually, I used to paint portraits on the street. I would quickly sketch with a pencil andplete a portrait in about 30 minutes, but there were many who couldn''t even wait that long and fidgeted."


    Mrs. Kang, who seemed to have never had a street portrait, asked with interest,


    "You canplete a portrait in 30 minutes?"


    "Yes, of course, it''s a bit rough, haha."


    "Rough? You charge for such hastily done work? How much?"


    I scratched my head andughed,


    "Twenty-five thousand won."


    ".........................."


    Perhapsparing it to her own 30 minutes, she looked shocked at the trivial amount.


    "How many do you paint a day?"


    "Well, if I''m lucky, about four. But on average, about two."


    Twenty-five thousand won twice.


    My average daily earnings were fifty thousand won.


    Mrs. Kang looked as if wondering how I could live on that, but being a well-mannered person, she didn''t ask outright.


    I caught a glimpse of curiosity on her face and smiled inwardly,


    ''Let''s start by opening up about myself to hear Mrs. Kang''s inner thoughts. Until her heart opens.''


    I smiled and spoke nonchntly,


    "Don''t underestimate fifty thousand won a day. It''s a big help to me."


    I began to reveal stories I hadn''t even told my friends, to hear the inner thoughts of someone I wasn''t even close to.


    Exposing my own ws in hopes of hearing hers.


    To see the inside she wants to be seen.


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 Chapter 35 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 35 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Three years as a street portrait painter.


    I started this thinking that all painting was the same, but this job didnt improve my skills even a bit.


    However, it''s not without its benefits. Being a street artist taught me the art of conversation more than skill.


    It''s simr to how a hairstylist, under the guise of service, asks about a customer''s personal life and forcibly creates a connection for conversation.


    At least in a salon, you can watch your hair change in the mirror. But with a portrait, you just stare nkly ahead until it''s finished, which is more tedious for the customer.


    The most important thing for a street painter is being observant.


    You need to figure out if the customer likes to chat and joke, prefers serious conversations, or dislikes talking altogether.


    With three years of experience, I can somewhat read people. Not like a fortune teller who knows immediately upon seeing a face, but after a few words, I get a vague idea.


    There are various ways to initiate conversation.


    The first question is crucial.


    It determines how smoothly the conversation will flow.


    The first question should always allow the other person to answer freely.


    Complex questions yield simple answers. For instance, when asking about a memory of an ident.


    Asking, Were you scared when the ident happened? prompts the person to respond to the most intense word in my question: fear. Their answer will be a simple yes or no, making it hard to continue the conversation.


    In such cases, its better to ask, How did you feel when the ident happened? or What was it like?


    Such questions make the person think for a moment and then give a more interesting response. However, directly asking about the moment of the ident is rude, so I need to steer the conversation around other topics first.


    Since I dont know whatmon ground we might have, I n to start with my story and go with the flow based on their reaction.


    Pretending to sketch, I scribbled aimlessly and said,


    When I was young, my father worked on a deep-sea fishing boat. He brought back many interesting things. The most memorable was a pencil.


    A Pencil.


    It''s the simplest object in the world, yet it represents the infinite possibilities of a child''s future. I bring up this story to pique the listener''s curiosity.


    Sure enough, thedy asks, intrigued by the mention of the pencil.


    A pencil?


    Her reaction isnt one of disinterest. Its more like shes halfway engaged.


    Yes, I don''t know where he bought it, but it was a very fancy pencil. My school friends would see it and beg their parents to buy them one too. Haha, of course, nobody could get one since it was from abroad. Nowadays, you can buy almost anything online, even if it''s from overseas, but it wasn''t like that back then.


    Mrs. Kang slightly nods her head.


    However, this conversation doesnt seem to interest her much.


    Sensing her attention drifting away, I quickly add another detail.


    When I was young, I used to draw everywhere and often fell asleep doing so, which led to me losing pencils frequently. I was so afraid of losing the fancy pencil my dad bought that I never dared to take it outside. Then, one day, my father showed me a great way to keep it safe.


    Her wandering gaze halts.


    What way?


    I smile, loosen my tie, and reveal a string ne around my neck.


    He attached the pencil to the end of this ne.


    Surprise flickers across Mrs. Kang''s face.


    That string?


    Yes, my father tied it for me when I was a child.


    She falls silent. But it''s okay. Her eyes are fixed on the string ne. The conversation hasnt ended yet.


    After a moment, Mrs. Kang asks,


    How old were you when he gave it to you?


    About twelve, I reply.


    A young man in histe twenties still wearing a string ne his parents gave him at the age of 12.


    Its not amon story. And its one that naturally arouses curiosity.


    This is only the second time Ive shared this story with someone.


    The first was in college, drunkenly confiding in Youngju.


    Of course, it''s a painful memory for me, but when having such conversations, it''s important not to show too much pain. Otherwise, the other person might feel they have offended me and shut down. If a questiones, I just need to smile faintly, as if it''s a distant pain now.


    Pretending to sketch, I wait for questions like a crocodile stalking its prey.


    I''ve run through countless scenarios for possible questions. But something unexpected happens. Mrs. Kang leaps ahead in the conversation, surprising me.


    "Your father passed away early."


    How did she know? From the mere fact that I''m still wearing a ne my father made when I was a child?


    She''s no ordinary wealthy matron. I thought she led a sheltered life, perhaps tending a garden at home. But she''s sharper than I thought.


    I almost miss my cue to respond, but I catch myself and smile.


    "Yes."


    "During a fishing trip?"


    "Yes, he didn''t return after giving me the ne."


    She''s jumped ahead in the conversation, but it''s still a question.


    I tuck the ne back inside my shirt and say,


    "I promised my dad I''d be a great painter."


    Mrs. Kang''s expression softens.


    Your father must be proud of you, bing an artist.


    Ah, Im still too embarrassed to call myself an artist. Ive been a street artist until recently when I managed to finish a decent job.


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 Chapter 35 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 35 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Mrs. Kang''s expression softens.


    Whether you''re a street artist or a famous one, to your father, youre already a proud son whos achieved his dream. I can guarantee that.


    ............................


    The conversation seems to be heading in a strange direction.


    But as long as there''s a conversation, its fine, right?


    Mrs. Kang asks.


    Is your mother still around?


    Yes, shes healthy.


    Thats a relief. Your mother, enduring those harsh times alone, raising you to this extent, is admirable.


    The conversation turns to my mother, and I suddenly feel disarmed. Iugh awkwardly and scratch my head.


    Our mom, shes really incredible.


    Huh? It seems like Mrs. Kang is growing fonder of me. Am I mistaken?


    Mrs. Kang leans forward slightly and asks.


    What makes her so remarkable?


    Just mentioning her brings tears to my eyes.


    The most beautiful yet saddest word in the world, Mother. My throat tightens as I try to say it.


    Um


    I pause to gather my thoughts. Mrs. Kang waits patiently, not hurrying me.


    I have an older brother.


    Mrs. Kang nods.


    That''s fortunate. A strong prince for a lonely mother, having two of you.


    My brother is visually impaired.


    ............................


    Mrs. Kang''s eyes widen, seemingly surprised.


    I reminisce about the past and avert my gaze slightly.


    Luckily, we live in a country with decent welfare, so we received basic living assistance and a disability pension. But as I entered high school, expenses increased, and mom brought home work she could do there, earning money all night to care for my visually impaired brother.


    Ah


    Gluing eyes on dolls, assembling pizza boxes, wrapping candies for kids. Ah, do you know those? Little stick candies that kids eat?


    Like Chupa Chups?


    That''s a big brand. I mean those nameless candies sold in stationery stores.


    Hmm, Ive seen them.


    They sell for 100 won in stationery stores, but the wrapping is done manually. Do you know how much she got paid per piece?


    Mrs. Kang thinks for a moment.


    If the retail price is 100 won, the manufacturing cost would be around 30%... maybe 2 won?


    Iugh bitterly.


    It wasnt even in won, but jeon. She got 5 jeon per piece.


    5 jeon for wrapping one candy.


    To Mrs. Kang, that must sound like a unit from her childhood. I was shocked to learn that even wrapping a whole basket wouldnt earn two thousand won when my mom told me this.


    Mrs. Kang doesnt seem too surprised but clucks her tongue in sympathy.


    Tsk, tsk, your mother went through a lot. Shes healthy now?


    Yes, fortunately.


    But from what I know, art school is expensive.


    Ive heard this countless times. Quit art school and start earning money because we''re poor.


    Yes, its costly. Tuition is enormous, not to mention the costs for materials, books, and those who take lessons could spend up to two thousand a semester.


    Mrs. Kang doesnt speak, but her eyes ask. How did I manage the fees?


    I smile sheepishly.


    I received a full schrship for all four years.


    Surprise and pride flicker across Mrs. Kang''s face.


    Really?


    Haha, yes. But I still had to work two part-time jobs a day to pay for books and materials, though fortunately, I graduated on time.


    Thats remarkable.


    Affection.


    Warmth begins to seep into Mrs. Kang''s previously cool, cultured eyes.


    What kind of part-time jobs did you do?


    Ah, I stuck to what I learned. Painting. I painted murals in rural viges upon request from city or county offices, and also worked on a legitimate website selling replica paintings. Ah! Dont get the wrong idea, it was all legal.


    Go on.


    I also taught at art academies for college entrance exams and childrens art schools. In winter, I did snow sculpting at ski resorts. I was involved in stage art for theater productions in Daehangno, but that didnt pay much... Haha.


    Mrs. Kang ps softly.


    Thats remarkable, especially for someone so young. It must have been hard to bnce that with studies.


    Haha, you tter me.


    I dont fully understand whats happening, but the conversation flows smoothly. Good, I''ve achieved my initial goal.


    Then, a housekeeper appears at the end of the hallway and speaks cautiously.


    Madam, your time is up.


    What time?


    Oh no! The allotted time has already passed?


    Mrs. Kang nods at the housekeeper and stands up. She nces briefly at my notebook. As I quickly cover it, she smiles and says,


    I enjoyed our talk today. Shall we meet again at the same time tomorrow?


    Yes, Mrs. Kang. Thank you for your time.


    Take care, and please have the housekeeper see you out.


    After Mrs. Kang leaves, the housekeeper escorts me to the door. I look dazed.


    What just happened? I managed to garner her interest and the conversation went well.


    But what do I have to show for it?


    It feels unsettling to have shared so much about myself without gaining any information in return.


    Indeed, she''s no easy opponent.


    Before leaving the gate, I nced back at the mansion and chuckled to myself.


    ''Well, is today just my day?''


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 Chapter 36 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 36 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    <i>Bonus chapter thanks to first subscriber on Ko-fi! </i>


    The night at the Buam-dong mansion.


    Mrs. Kang, working in her study, looks up at the sound of a knock from outside.


    "Come in."


    Upon her permission, the door silently opens, and a neatly dressed man in his early 40s bows slightly.


    "I''ve brought the documents you requested, Madam."


    "Give them here."


    After opening the sealed envelope and examining its contents with a magnifying ss, Mrs. Kang, who has been scrutinizing the papers, says,


    "Korea Comprehensive Arts University? Isn''t it difficult to get into this ce?"


    "The admission guide emphasizes practical skills significantly more than Seoul National University or Hongik University, making it even harder to enter. The eptance ratio for the year Mr. Ban Jeong-hoon applied was 116:1."


    "Ah."


    "However, Mr. Ban Jeong-hoon''s high school grades were quite good, ranking second. He could have gone to other schools, but he chose this one for a full schrship."


    "Is that so? I heard the full schrship part was true."


    The man continues in a formal posture,


    "As confirmed, Mr. Ban Jeong-hoon''s father disappeared at sea when he was 12. Other crew members'' bodies were found, but his father''s body was never recovered and was dered dead five yearster."


    "The insurance?"


    "If it was an ident, there should have been a payout from the ship''s insurance."


    "The insurance money was paid by thepany, and they used it to move to a house in Gyeonggi Province."


    "And his brother is indeed disabled?"


    "Yes, he was born with a visual impairment. Records from a school for the disabled and hospital records have been confirmed."


    "Hmm."


    Mrs. Kang sets down the papers, removes her sses, and sps her hands.


    "So everything he told me was true."


    Mrs. Kang is lost in thought for a moment and then speaks to the man still waiting by her side,


    "Secretary Kim."


    "Yes."


    "About that refrigerator from MG Electronics that Monica mentioned. Can I see it too?"


    "It''s not released yet, but if we press using the chairman''s name, we can get one."


    "The board''s reaction was positive, wasn''t it?"


    "Yes, most board members wish to purchase it. There are already 200 units being pre-manufactured for the board''s pre-orders."


    Mrs. Kang nods and says,


    "Have it here by tomorrow morning."


    "Yes, Madam."


    After Secretary Kim bows and leaves the room, Mrs. Kang puts on her sses and picks up the documents again. After a brief look, she smiles faintly and mutters,


    "A man who only speaks the truth. It''s rare to see someone who doesn''t try to embellish their past in front of me."


    The hallway of the mansion.


    Secretary Kim, who just left Mrs. Kang''s room, checks around before heading to the garden to make a phone call.


    "Yes, Miss. It''s me. I''ve conveyed the information about Mr. Ban Jeong-hoon to Madam as requested. Yes, that''s right. I will report again if there''s anything unusual. Yes, yes."


    After hanging up, Secretary Kim nces at Mrs. Kang''s window on the third floor of the mansion and murmurs,


    "It''s been a while since Madam took an interest in someone. We might need to investigate further."


    **


    The next day at the Buam-dong mansion.


    Like yesterday, I was led by the housekeeper to wait for Mrs. Kang on the sofa, pondering over what conversation could knock on the door of her heart today.


    I didn''t want to leave after an hour of just rambling about my stories. After all, this is my livelihood; I can''t just spend an hour chatting idly.


    Then, the housekeeperes in with a tray of tea, cing it in front of me.


    Oh, it''s always been coffee, but there are cookies today? They look delicious. But can I touch them? If I spill cookie crumbs in this beautiful living room, it might sound like sphemy.


    The maid, always kind, is particrly kind in her words today.


    "I baked these cookies myself. Give them a try."


    "Oh, really? I thought they were premium cookies made by some French patisserie."


    "Oh, really? Hoho! Do they look like that?"


    "Of course, auntie. How did you bake them so beautifully?"


    "Hoho, you say such nice things."


    "Can I try them?"


    "Well, I''m giving them to you to eat, aren''t I?"


    "I''ll enjoy them!"


    I expected a crisp sound, but surprisingly, they are moist and soft.


    Wow, this taste is iparable to snacks from the convenience store. Someone with this skill is just a household maid? Even if she opens a bakery, people will line up to eat.


    "Wow, it''s really delicious!"


    "Really?"


    "Yes! I''ve never had cookies like these before!"


    "Hoho, this one is Earl Grey, and this one is chocte vor. Since they all have different tastes, go ahead and try them all, alright?"


    "Thank you, auntie!"


    With a delighted smile, thedy nces around and whispers.


    "The refrigerator looked really pretty."


    ".?"


    Why is she talking about a refrigerator that hasn''t been released yet?


    As I make a puzzled face, thedy pokes my side with her elbow and says.


    "It''s probably so expensive that I can''t afford it. Wow, I thought a picture frame came in, not a refrigerator."


    What? The way she talks makes it sound like she has already seen the design of the refrigerator. Can that even be possible?


    Thedy, with a mysterious expression, scrutinizes my face and says.


    "You''re tall and handsome, and your painting skills are exceptional. How happy must your mother be to have a child like you?"


    "Uh...haha."


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 Chapter 36 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 36 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    At that moment, there''s amotion in the corridor. Thedy straightens up like a spring and quickly moves away from me. As soon as thedy reveals herself, she bows and silently heads towards the kitchen.


    I was about to get up to greet Mrs. Kang when she stopped me with a smile.


    "Greetings are unnecessary, we''ve been seeing each other for three days now."


    "But still."


    "More importantly, about the portrait."


    "Yes?"


    "Is my portrait in the style of Alphonse Mucha?"


    "Pardon?"


    "Your painting style."


    "Oh, no, it''s not."


    How could that be?


    A portrait for such a mansion should naturally be a traditional, realistic one to maintain its dignity.


    As I pondered how to exin this well, Mrs. Kang spoke first.


    "Just curious. If not, that''s fine."


    Hmm, it seems like the correct answer is no. That''s a relief.


    But where has she seen my painting? Oh, the refrigerator. Like the auntie mentioned earlier. Mrs. Yoo Min-yeong being a board member of MG Electronics, perhaps she received an early production model? Has it already been made?


    Curious but hesitant to ask about the household items, I casually opened my notebook. I should continue what I was working on. What story should lead our conversation today?


    As I pretended to sharpen my pencil to buy time, Mrs. Kang asked me a question.


    "You like Alphonse Mucha?"


    "Pardon? Oh, yes. He''s one of my favorite painters."


    "I see. You painted a portrait for Monica too, didn''t you?"


    "Yes, that''s right. I heard she''s a friend of your daughter. That''s why she entrusted this job to me."


    "I''d love to see the painting you made for Monica."


    "Haha, it''s no longer in my possession."


    "Maybe I should ask Monica to show it to me."


    I continued the conversation, twitching my eyebrows.


    Something had changed.


    Not just her attitude, but her interest in me.


    It seems yesterday''s hour wasn''t wasted after all.


    Yes, this will do.


    Slowly, gradually opening up the heart.


    Mrs. Kang spoke first again.


    "Actually, I got one of your refrigerators."


    So, it was true.


    But, how? Even for a powerful family, it''s only been a week since the board meeting. How did they get the product so soon? Is there anything money can''t do in Korea?


    Mrs. Kang smiled slightly, tiredly.


    "I had some trouble changing the kitchen interior, but it was worth it."


    How they got the fridge is none of my business.


    I felt a pure joy seeing a customer''s satisfaction with a fridge featuring my design.


    "Haha, you really like it?"


    "Oh, were you not confident?"


    Mrs. Kang''s eyes widened in surprise.


    I quickly sketched her expression in my notebook. It was the first time I''d seen it. I began sketching her face, as memory has its limits.


    The detail differs when drawing someone familiar versus a stranger.


    Klimt must have taken a long time toplete a portrait for this reason.


    Enough time to observe the exterior and contemte the interior.


    Yesterday was mere doodling, but today I started a real sketch, smiling.


    "The design for Monica''s portrait, do you approve?"


    "Your own painting?"


    Ah, should I call that my painting?


    I pondered, looking at Mrs. Kang''s face.


    Her expression seemed to urge me to speak.


    Why do I see my mother''s face oveid on hers?


    I don''t know why, but I don''t want to lie in front of this person.


    Why am I thinking this? I can''t organize my thoughts.


    But what''s the harm in being called crazy? I won''t see her after the portrait is done, and she''s not a colleague.


    Hmm, but saying that art galleries make me dream sounds crazy even to me. Let''s omit that.


    "Actually, I had a dream."


    "Eh?"


    "A dream."


    "Suddenly, what about?"


    "That painting on the refrigerator."


    "Oh, a scene from your dream?"


    "No, actually."


    I calmly talked about how in my dream, I followed the life of Alphonse Mucha and saw hisst moments. It''s just a dream anyway, whether she believes it or not.


    Madam Kang blinked in amazement at my astonishing story.


    "So, is that painting a gift from Alphonse Mucha in your dream?"


    "Yes, something like that. Ha ha, I thought it might be a painting from my memory, so I searched the inte, but it wasn''t there. I felt it was too good to just bury, so I entered it in apetition and, to my surprise, it was epted."


    "My goodness."


    Madam Kang''s astonished expression.


    Not the slightly startled look from yesterday, but a genuinely surprised one.


    This is the first time I''ve seen such a face. I quickly turned the page in my notebook and sketched her current expression.


    Hm, even if I don''t get any useful information from today''s conversation, the harvest is quite good?


    The more sketches of various expressions I have, the better the painting will be.


    Good, very good.


    Let''s continue to share many stories and gather information for the remaining period.


    I''ll also sneak in sketches of various expressions.


    I smiled, looking at Madam Kang''s face, feeling pleased with how well things are going.


    Originally, I should be the one entertaining Madam Kang, but strangely, it feels like the conversation is being led by her, and I''m enjoying it more. But what does it matter?


    As long as I reach my destination, it doesn''t matter which route I take.


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 Chapter 37 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 37 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    <i>Happy New Year!</i>


    A monthter.


    Now that spring has passed, the early summer''s sweltering heat begins. The garden of the mansion is lush with greenery.


    Once a week, gardeners are called to maintain the garden trees, which now boast beautiful new leaves, bing dense and revealing their green faces over the high walls.


    In front of the towering wall.


    Despite having a garage, a luxury sedan is parked right at the door. A middle-aged man with an appearance resembling a school principal steps out of the backseat, prompting the driver to hurry over and bow.


    "Chairman, I should have opened the door for you."


    The middle-aged man, who is about the same age as the driver, pats him on the shoulder andughs warmly.


    "It''s fine. I have perfectly good hands. Dont worry and just wait a moment. Ill be heading out again soon."


    "Yes, Chairman."


    The man referred to as Chairman.


    He is Yoo Chang-hyun, the father of President Yoo Min-young and the head of W Tree Group.


    As Chairman Yoo enters the house, Secretary Kim, who was waiting in the garden, bows.


    "Have you arrived, Chairman?"


    "Yes, Kim. Youre working hard."


    "What brings you home at this time?"


    "Well, I forgot a document at home. Theres an important meeting this afternoon."


    "Should I have taken care of it?"


    "No, its in my personal safe. Ill get it myself. Dont worry about it."


    Chairman Yoo, who seems more suited for academia than business, smiles and heads inside. He stops when he hears voices from the living room with open windows.


    "Is someone at home?"


    Secretary Kim follows and replies.


    "The portrait painter sent by the youngdy has been visiting Mrs. Yoo daily for an hour sincest month."


    "Ah, right. My daughter mentioned it, but I forgot. I heard it was supposed to take only three weeks."


    "It seems to be taking longer."


    Chairman Yoo looks briefly at the living room window from the garden and then turns towards his study. However, he stops again, hearing the voices inside.


    "Min-su has been a good student since he was young. Min-su''s grandfather wanted him to be an educator, but as the eldest son, he had to take over the business. The second son? Ah, Min-hyuk is too ambitious for education."


    Laughter and cheerful voices are not present.


    Yet, Chairman Yoo is hearing his wife, Kang Yoo-jung, talk about their children with someone else for the first time. He signals Secretary Kim to be quiet and peeks into the living room from behind the garden trees.


    His wife is sitting on the sofa with her back to the window, and a very handsome young man is visible in front. From a husband''s perspective, his wife''s conversation with a young and handsome man could be ufortable, but Chairman Yoo is a broad-minded person.


    He looks intently at the young man.


    The young man, who seems to be sketching, asionally nces at Mrs. Yoo''s expression and asks questions.


    "How is your youngest daughter?"


    When the conversation turns to their youngest daughter Min-young, Chairman Yoo''s gaze shifts to his wifes back.


    Mrs. Yoo''s voice, deep in thought, responds.


    "Our Min-young has a strong artistic temperament. Oh, did you know? Min-young studied abroad at the University of Florence."


    "Ah, I heard from Monica. What was her major?"


    "She majored in painting."


    "Wow, that''s impressive. Shes beautiful like you, must be popr with men."


    "If shes popr, what can we do? Shes not interested in men at all. I''ve never seen her bring a man home."


    "Maybe shes too beautiful and noble, making it difficult for men to approach her."


    "You speak so beautifully. Min-young would be pleased to hear this."


    "It''s true. Especially when she''s with Monica, they both look like models."


    "But the reality is different, you know? When she was young"


    Chairman Yoo, hiding behind the garden trees, is surprised.


    He knows his wife.


    Its his first time seeing her so animatedly converse with someone other than family. In her younger days, when she was in business, she easily conversed with anyone, but after the ident and injuring her hand, she avoided facing people.


    Chairman Yoo gestures to Secretary Kim toe closer and whispers.


    "The painter has been visiting for a month, you said?"


    "Yes, Chairman."


    A month.


    Long in some ways, short in others.


    But the many painters who have visited their home before never had such an enjoyable conversation with her. As Chairman Yoo turns to look at the young man again, he hears another question.


    "What kind of person is the Chairman?"


    Chairman Yoo''s ears perk up like a rabbit''s.


    Chairman Yoo''s ears perk up like a rabbit''s at this question.


    With augh, Mrs. Kang Yoo-jung replies without hesitation.


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 Chapter 37 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 37 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    "Don''t even start, I only hear ''Chairman'' outside. At home, he''s so forgetful. Can you believe he still walks around in his underwear after the maids leave? And why can''t he throw away those old, hole-ridden underwear despite having so much money? Just looking at those underwear turns my stomach."


    Chairman Yoo''s face reddens as he nces at Secretary Kim.


    "Ah, I just wear them because theyrefortable, don''t misunderstand."


    Secretary Kim maintains a face as if he hasn''t heard anything. Then, the young man''s voice is heard again.


    "Everyone has clothing they''re attached to. I still have the nket I slept with as a baby. It smells like my mother, so sometimes when I''m feeling down, I wrap myself in it to sleep. It helps me sleep well. Maybe it''s something like that for the Chairman?"


    "Could be. After all, he mentioned that histe mother, who passed away when he was a bachelor, bought those underwear for him."


    "How did you meet the Chairman?"


    "Through an arranged marriage. People in our circles don''t really think about love marriages."


    "What was your first impression?"


    Chairman Yoo''s ears perk up again.


    His wife pauses before speaking.


    "He was impressive."


    A simple statement.


    No fancy adjectives attached, yet Chairman Yoo stands taller. The mention of the underwear brings a shy smile back to his reddened face.


    His wife''s voice continues.


    "My father always felt inferior being from a merchant family. He hoped marrying into a schrly family would bring perfection. So, he specifically arranged a marriage with a man from a long line of schrs. It was around April 1980, at the Chosun Hotel in Jongno where we first met. The day before, my father kept nagging, ''Be modest in front of your husband, do as he says, cover your mouth when youugh, don''t make a sound.'' It was incessant."


    Chairman Yoo, remembering histe father-inw who passed away 15 years ago, smiles gently.


    His wife''s voice reaches his ears again.


    "I stormed out to the hotel, ready to leave immediately after meeting that ''precious schrly family''. Why should I grovel? I thought I''d speak my mind ande back."


    "And then?"


    His wife hesitates.


    "Leaning forward, I saw a pale, frail man sitting there, wearing sses. He looked like a high school Koreannguage teacher."


    Chairman Yoo''s hopeful expression falters.


    The young man''s voice is heard.


    "But didn''t you just say he was impressive?"


    His wife hesitates again before responding.


    "I arrived muchter than the agreed time. Despite my anger, I felt I should apologize for beingte."


    "And what did he say?"


    In the background, his wife shyly tucks her hair behind her ear.


    "It''s okay. Sometimes, I find waiting for someone alone to be precious. It''s a time to stop and think, to forget and start anew."


    "Wow, the Chairman said that?"


    "Yes, I fell for him after hearing that."


    "The Chairman is really impressive!"


    "Isn''t he? My husband is quite something."


    Hidden behind a bush, Chairman Yoo straightens his clothes and walks towards the garden.


    Secretary Kim notices the Chairman''s proud face but pretends not to see.


    "Secretary Kim."


    "Yes, Chairman?"


    "About the painter. Did you find anything?"


    "Everything you need has been thoroughly investigated."


    "Everything? Why?"


    "Madam ordered it."


    "Hmm?"


    The Chairman listens to Secretary Kim exin his wife''s investigation, surprised yet again.


    "He spoke nothing but the truth? There are still such people nowadays."


    People often embellish themselves, especially in fleeting encounters. It''s refreshing to hear someone speak only the truth in a world where lies aremon.


    Chairman Yoo smiles and looks towards the living room window.


    "Tell the housekeeper to take extra care of him."


    Secretary Kim nods with a small smile.


    "Yes, Chairman."


    **


    In a bare basement studio.


    After another visit to Mrs. Kang''s mansion in Buam-dong, I throw my bag onto the mattress, grab a cold water from the fridge, strip off my slightly sweaty clothes, and take a quick shower. Sitting on the floor in my underwear, I reflect on the past month and a half.


    At first, it was tough.


    Mrs. Kang was full of doubts, only asking about me and never sharing her own stories.


    But as time passed, she slowly began to open up.


    I rummage through my bag and pull out a notebook.


    The first twenty sketches of Mrs. Kang''s expressions are useless.


    Mostly expressionless.


    While there''s value in capturing various angles of her face, theter sketches with diverse expressions are more meaningful.


    I smile as I examine the sketches.


    "I could draw her with my eyes closed now."


    But what I want to capture isn''t just her face.


    As I shake a towel through my still-damp hair, a quote from Klimtes to mind:


    The hearts of thosemissioning portraits harbor a wish for the artist to see their inner selves.


    And they hope this is reflected through the painting.


    Realizing this and applying the utility of art to people''s lives is the task of us artists.


    At the end of what seemed a hopeless path, I see light.


    In the past month and a half, I''ve managed to grasp the tail of that light.


    With an involuntary smile on my lips, I rummage through my bag for my phone and grin broadly.


    "Then, shall I start gathering the materials for the painting in earnest?"


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 Chapter 38 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 38 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    <i>Bonus chapter thanks to @Karn subscribing to Artist Apprentice Tier on Ko-fi!!</i>


    At W Tree Hannam, an Italian restaurant.


    Monica, sipping her wine, asks with wide eyes, "Huh? A photo from your childhood? Even your brothers'' photos? Why would he ask for that?"


    Min-young, fiddling with her sd fork, shrugs. "I have no idea. When I asked why he needed it, they just said it was for the painting."


    Monica raises her eyebrows momentarily before asking, "Did they he request a photo from your fathers younger days? How old was he?"


    "When I was about ten, so Dad would have been in his mid-fifties."


    "Hmm, why would Mr. Junghoon request such a thing?"


    "Im curious too. Its been almost two months, and theres been no word about starting the work."


    "Given Mom''s personality, Im surprised shes been quiet after the initial three weeks passed."


    Min-young, resting her chin on her hand,ments, "Thats what''s odd. Usually, Mom would have said not toe back after precisely three weeks. Strangely, she doesnt seem to be hurrying Artist Ban. Secretary Kim, who helps with her schedule, says she really enjoys her conversations with him."


    "Really? He didnt seem like the outgoing type."


    "Yeah, he doesnt seem to talk unnecessarily or joke around much, but he seems to get along well with Mom."


    "Thats interesting in its own way. So, how much longer did they ask for?"


    "I didnt ask. Its not urgent."


    "Isnt the hotel theaters decorative art urgent?"


    "No, it was originally nned for next Mays performance, but with the virus situation dying schedules, theres more time. And well decide whether tomission the portrait after seeing this one, so dont talk like its already decided."


    Monica chuckles and shrugs. "Youll definitely end upmissioning him."


    Min-young widens her flounder-like eyes in response. "Are you trying to hypnotize me?"


    "Haha, Ive seen the miracles he creates."


    Min-young, as if suddenly remembering, asks, "Oh, about the fridge. Mom really loved it. It looked great to me too. When will it officiallyunch?"


    "The production line is already operational. Marketing asked for more time, so its dyed, but we n to start sales by mid-next month at thetest."


    "Have you projected the sales?"


    "Yeah, the MG business department has."


    "How much?"


    "Are you kidding? Thats corporate secret."


    "Stingy. Dont you know Im a major shareholder?"


    "Still cant tell you."


    "Cheapskate."


    Monica smiles slyly and says, "I can tell you one thing."


    "What?"


    Monica nces at Min-youngs pocket and lifts her wine ss. "Hold onto your stocks. Dont sell."


    Even with only an artists education, Min-young quickly catches the hidden meaning in Monicas words and raises her ss with a grin. "If it goes up by even 10%, Ill treat you big time."


    "Haha, what should I ask for?"


    "Is there something you want?"


    "Ill think about it."


    "Too nd, haha. Ill just use the restroom for a bit."


    "Okay, go ahead."


    As Min-young leaves, Monica, holding her ss, goes to the window to admire Seoul''s beautiful night view. She murmurs with a seductive smile, "An artist who paints the ideals of others. Asking for photos from childhood."


    Monica chuckles softly, winks out the empty rooms window, and raises her ss. "It feels like witnessing the birth of a star. Im d I came to Seoul, haha."


    **


    Two weekster, at a mansion in Buam-dong, in the evening.


    Today is the day.


    I came here to showcase the results of my two months of work.


    Sitting on the sofa next to the massive 100X100 size canvas covered with ck cloth, I am filled with tension.


    Although the prolonged deliberation resulted in a good piece, I cannot be sure if it will appeal to the client. After all, it''s a highly personal and subjective matter.


    I sit alone, lost in thought.


    Despite a difficult family situation, I persevered with my studies, earned a schrship to an enviable school, and sessfully graduated.


    Back then, I felt like I owned the world.


    I was under the nave impression that everything in my future would be smooth sailing.


    And then, when I was finally thrown into the world,


    I quickly realized how arrogant my thoughts had been.


    I even started to doubt whether my much-prided talent was insignificant.


    My confidence faded, and I grew ustomed to a life of living day by day.


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 Chapter 38 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 38 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Suddenly, I recall myst meeting with Teacher Alphonse Mucha.


    Looking back, I realize I was someone without real talent.


    I was rejected within five minutes during my interview at the Prague School of Fine Arts.


    The interviewer told me, "There are countless people who can draw well, and the market''s money is limited. You should choose a profession that can earn more money."


    I med myself for losing hope too quickly, more than my past arrogance of overestimating my talent.


    Even such a great artist as Mucha had heard such words in his youth. What was I, despairing over a few failures and years?


    I look intently at the painting covered with cloth, recalling the professor''sst words.


    Art should never be far away.


    It''s art where my eyes reach, where beauty is visible.


    I always wanted art to be a part of people''s lives,


    To give them the chance to shape their own lives.


    I always did what I loved.


    But I wanted to serve others with my talent.


    I always wanted to do something helpful for the world.


    The purpose of myst work was not destruction but to rebuild and unite.


    I hoped humanity would lead each other through this, understanding each other more.


    Has my life been of any help to humanity?


    The reason I recall myst conversation with my teacher while looking at this painting is because the thoughts I learned from the teacher are melted into it. However, whether that heart, that feeling, will be conveyed to the client is unknown.


    As I was lost in thought, I felt a presence from the corridor. The tension of presenting the painting in front of Madam suddenly made me rise awkwardly, but the sight of the people, no, the group that appeared, made me freeze.


    ''Oh my, Chairman Yoo and President Yoo Min-young as well.''


    It would have been nice if they had mentioned wanting to see the painting beforehand.


    Suddenly, I found myself holding a demonstration in front of many people. Chairman Yoo extends his hand to me, who stands awkwardly like a pageboy.


    Yoo Chang-hyun.


    Huh? Ah, yes. Ban Jung-hoon.


    I wonder why?


    I only heard about the chairman in stories, but I feel a fondness in his gaze from the first meeting.


    Min-young slightly nods her head and then sits on the sofa, linking arms with Madam Kang, and says,


    You know you spent more than double the requested time, right?


    .


    Its okay. As long as I like the painting. Dad, sit down too.


    As Min-young sits down with Madam Kang on the sofa, Chairman Yoo also takes his seat.


    I suddenly find myself standing alone at the head of the room, facing the people. I swallow hard. A presentation in front of the family of a major hotel groups head. I had never imagined this.


    Take a deep breath and calm down.


    Teacher! Please help me.


    I recall Teacher Mucha in my mind.


    Klimts figure passes by, but since I havent even had a conversation with him, that thought quickly fades.


    But just remembering the two strong supporters calms me a bit.


    People think of art majors as bad at speaking, bad at presenting. But thats a big misunderstanding. Art school isnt just about drawing. Assignments are always presented, and we always conclude by exining our own paintings in front of the professor and fellow students.


    Theres a story of a guy who got an A+ for putting a dot on a huge canvas and meaningfully rattling off about it. Thats how important it is to imbue and exin meaning in your artwork in assignments, as much as artistic skill.


    Thanks to the repeated education of my college days, I quickly regain myposure, swallow once, and open my mouth.


    First of all, Id like to say it was an immense honor to paint Madams portrait...


    Perhaps because weve gotten a bit closer? Madam Kang interrupts me with augh.


    Why are you like that, not like an artist at all? Skip the introduction and get to the point.


    I scratch my head and smack my lips. I thought such courtesies were necessary in front of the chairman.


    But at least the mood isnt bad.


    The chairman gestures for me to proceedfortably, and Madam Kang smiles a bit mischievously.


    Only Min-young looks curious, still focused on the covered painting, and says,


    How about we look at the painting first? What style did you use? Is it realistic?


    Chairman Yoo leans in, joining in.


    Im curious too. Im old-fashioned, so I dont like abstract art. I prefer portraits from the Renaissance or earlier. Itd be nice if its an urate representation like a photograph.


    Min-young, fittingly an art major, chips in.


    Traditional academicism, right?


    I quietly look at Min-young and then say,


    I painted this picture with imagination.


    .


    The room falls silent. Min-youngs expression is the most bizarre.


    Isnt it obvious?


    A portrait artist painting with imagination?


    I look at the quiet people and say,


    Artists are often said to imprison time on the canvas. Thats true in the case of realistic art. Because the time in the painting is forever stopped. But even then, there is imagination. Trees that werent there appear, and the sun and moon that couldnt exist at the time the artist was painting show up. Then where does this imaginatione from?


    Silence falls again.


    I look intently at Min-young.


    She must know the answer, having majored in painting even in Florence University.


    Receiving my gaze, Min-young answers softly.


    Its the void of reality.


    Correct.


    I smile broadly and look at Chairman Yoo. He looks utterly bewildered, not understanding anything about art.


    I ask him.


    Chairman, do you know the Girl with a Pearl Earring?


    A very famous painting.


    The chairman nods.


    "I like that painting. I was curious about the story behind it, so I even looked up the movie."


    "The one with Scarlett Johansson?"


    "Yes."


    "Could you briefly summarize the story in the painting?"


    Chairman Yoo thinks for a moment and then speaks, "The painter''s daughter, unable to work due to illness, bes a maid in a famous painter''s house. She converses with the painter, having been close to art since childhood because of her father. The painter, taken with the maid, paints her portrait and eventually lets her wear his wife''s pearl earrings. The wife, discovering this, drives them both out. After the painter''s death, the earrings are sent to the girl, that''s the story."


    I smiled faintly and said, "You have a very good memory, Chairman."


    "Hehe, I don''t easily forget what I''ve seen once."


    I looked at the Chairman, who seemed somewhat proud, and then spoke.


    "Do you also know this?"


    "Yes, if it''s about the movie, I remember everything, so ask away."


    I observed the Chairman, who was inviting me to ask anything with his eyes, and then said, "Everything you just mentioned about the movie is a lie."


    The eyes of Chairman Yoo, who had been watching me, shook violently.


    "Excuse me?"


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 Chapter 39 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 39 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    This piece, called ''Meisje met de parel'' in Dutch, was painted by Johannes Vermeer."


    I walked around the covered painting, a presentation method I learned back in my university days from a professor, whose name I cant even recall now.


    Though fidgeting with hands or legs can distract an audience, moving a few steps with a straight posture can help capture their attention more effectively.


    As I moved, watching the six eyes following me, I felt a silent gratitude towards that long-forgotten professor and continued speaking.


    However, Johannes Vermeer left no exnation after painting it. He mostly depicted ordinary, unknown people as his subjects. None of the characters in his paintings have known names or ages.


    I saw a hint of curiosity in Chairman Yoos eyes.


    I knew exactly what that look meant.


    Most people believe that a painting without an artist''s exnation derives its background from the circumstances of the time and testimonies of those around. While this is true for some paintings, its not the case for this one.


    As I grabbed the corner of the covered painting, I added,


    The story of Girl with a Pearl Earring as we know it is a fictional tale created by the American novelist Tracy Chevalier."


    Chairman Yoo looked at his daughter in surprise.


    Minyoung nodded to her father, indicating my words were correct.


    I continued, now with Chairman Yoo''s full attention,


    "Tracy Chevalier wrote a book and eventually a movie followed, which sparked peoples imaginations, suggesting the girl with the pearl earring was actually the painter''s maid who caught his eye one day and became the subject of the painting."


    I moved behind the painting, holding its edges.


    Artists often find inspiration in the absence of facts. Like the novelist who used the simple fact of a girl wearing a pearl earring to unleash boundless imagination.


    Chairman Yoo nodded unconsciously. Good, the groundwork wasid.


    Every artist finds hints in these factual voids. For instance, lets talk about Van Gogh''s Starry Night. When he painted it, he was confined in the Saint-Rmy mental asylum, having cut off his ear. Did the night sky really appear that way to him?


    Perhaps it did, given his troubled state of mind at the time.


    Schrs suggest that this painting hints at Van Gogh''s impending suicide, especially because of the prominently drawn cypress tree on the left, a symbol often interpreted as signifying death since it never grows back once cut.


    I shook my head with a raised index finger,


    Van Goghs asylum room had no windows. Meaning, he never painted Starry Night while looking at the night sky.


    I clicked my finger as I continued,


    Yet, surely the night sky lived in his memory, as it does in all of ours. The silent existence of the night sky. The nkness in an object or life form without exnation, we call this the void of facts. And from here, all imagination begins.


    After my words, a brief silence followed.


    Minyoung, making sure I had finished my exnation, finally spoke,


    I understand, but the connection between the portrait and the imaginative possibilities of these factual voids still doesnt click for me.


    It was time to reveal the painting.


    With sweaty hands from nervousness, I firmly grasped the veil covering the painting.


    Despite the intimidating stares, I had to withstand them.


    I ced the painting on a one-person sofa, as it was toorge and had to be put on the armrest, but it was fine.


    As long as it was visible at eye level, that was enough.


    Standing beside the painting, I held it to prevent it from falling and looked at Mrs. Kang.


    She was still smiling at me, and I returned an embarrassed smile.


    Its not the best ce for confessions, but let me add one more thing."


    Though Minyoung slightly sighed due to my digressing again, I still wanted to say it.


    Working on this project, I experienced something I couldnt understand myself, all thanks to todays protagonist, Mrs. Kang Yoojung."


    The familys attention shifted to Mrs. Kang. She looked puzzled.


    It was probably the second time I met Mrs. Kang. Back then, she didnt talk about herself but only asked about me. From a painters perspective, who needs to understand their subject, it was a foolish moment to be only answering questions in such limited time.


    Mrs. Kang chuckled, knowing she did that.


    She asked many questions. As you know, people tend to tell small lies when meeting someone new. Should we even call them lies? Theyre tiny and meant to make one appear better or cooler to the other.


    For some reason, Chairman Yoo and Mrs. Kang exchanged smiles. I felt uneasy but continued nheless.


    I wanted to do the same. But strangely, those little lies didnte out. Why? Why did I share family stories with a stranger that I hadnt even told my friends? I pondered over this after returning home. And I realized why I did that.


    Kang Yeosajang sps her hands on herp and asks, "Why?"


    I quietly gazed at her face before responding, "Mother."


    "..?"


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    .

 Chapter 39 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 39 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Puzzlement simultaneously appears on the faces of those present.


    Naturally, it would be surprising to suddenly address someone else''s esteemed mother as your own.


    "I saw my mother in you, Madam Kang," I exined, having pondered this point for quite some time.


    There were hardly anymonalities between my mother, who endured a lifetime of hardships, and the dignifieddy of a wealthy household.


    I added with a slight smile, "My mother is the queen of questions. If you''re with her for an hour, she''ll be asking questions the whole time."


    Minyoung bursts outughing and wraps her arm around Mrs. Kang''s, saying, "Ha! My mom is like that too."


    "Really? What kind of questions does she ask?"


    "Well, the usual stuff, like whether you''ve eaten or slept well."


    "That''s right. If you say yes to ''Have you eaten?'', whates next?"


    "What did you eat?"


    "And if you answer that?"


    "Was it good? Are there any nice restaurants nearby? This ingredient isn''t in season now, so try something else. It goes on like that."


    I snapped my fingers andughed, "My mom''s the same. Perhaps all mothers are like that  endlessly curious about everything around their children, always anxious if they haven''t done enough for them."


    I looked back at Mrs. Kang and continued, "I know your initial questions weren''t out of concern for me. But as you learned about my situation, you genuinely started to worry. That''s probably why I felt like you were mother-like. The love of a mother, melting into those many questions."


    I reached for the veil again, saying, "These days, men... Well, it''s hard to say it''s only men, but anyway. Men often speak ill of women. They criticize those who, despite having no money themselves, only go after men with money, or they call them thoughtless. And it''s the same with middle-aged women. Many men criticize the way some women aggressively push through crowds in the subway to find a seat."


    I turned around to face the painting and said, "But no man ever speaks ill of the woman called ''mother''."


    Holding the veil tightly, I looked at Mrs. Kang and dered, "And in conversing with you, Madam Kang, and hearing you talk about your children, I saw how your eyes lit up, how infinite love shone through them. And I wondered, how can I capture the essence of your heart in my painting?"


    My hand tugged the edge of the veil.


    As it slid off, revealing the massive 100x100 painting, the eyes of the onlookers widened.


    "And this is the answer I came up with."


    **


    Minyoung was not pleased with the situation.


    She had been watching the man circle around the painting, talking for over ten minutes.


    Knowing her mother, who disliked people who beat around the bush, Minyoung had been watching her closely. But perhaps because of the rapport built over time, her mother showed no particr reaction.


    Actually, she seemed to be smiling warmly at the man.


    ''She would have been happier with a straightforward presentation of the painting.''


    Minyoung had not held high hopes for a painting that would satisfy her mother. But if disappointment was inevitable, it would be better to minimize the time spent, so as not to upset her mother too much. This man seemed utterly oblivious.


    Minyoung was leaning towards not entrusting him with any furthermissions for the hotel''s decorative art, but being an artist herself, she refrained from passing judgment before seeing the painting.


    Finally, the man unveiled the painting, dering it his answer.


    The moment Minyoung saw it, her thought process came to a halt.


    A portrait that should have featured just one person.


    But there, five individuals were visible.


    Minyoung''s eyebrows twitched as she red at the painting.


    ''A family photo?''


    No, she had no memory of ever taking such a photo.


    Moreover, such a beautiful imagination could not have originated from a mere photograph.


    Mrs. Kang, with a benevolent smile, is holding two sons and a daughter in her arms.


    Mr. Yu, her husband, is behind her, eyes closed, embracing the children as well.


    Her brothers around the age of ten and herself.


    In contrast to the realistic portrayal, the children, drawn a bit smaller, are nestled in their mother''s arms, smiling blissfully.


    Such a beautiful painting!


    But Minyoung''s eyes fluttered uncontrobly.


    Her mother''s hand.


    The right hand without fingers, prominently disyed at the very center of the frame. And in the darkly rendered background, ominous wolves with yellow eyes seem to be ring at the family.


    Minyoung couldn''t help but look at Junghoon with eyes filled with rage.


    ''What intention could lie behind this painting?''


    She''s on the verge of screaming. Regardless of the painting''s beauty, it''s a portrait. The whole painting, even in part, should not contain any ominous elements.


    Just as Min-young is about to throw the cushion she''s holding, she catches Jeong-hoon smiling and gesturing with his eyes. What''s this signal? His eyes point towards her mother.


    Frowning, Min-young turns sharply to look at her mother, only to be stunned.


    "Mom?"


    Her mother''s profile.


    After the painting''spletion, her mother, who would usually just leave with a brief word of acknowledgement, is now beaming with joy.


    Radiantly so.


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 Chapter 40 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 40 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    <i>Bonus chapter thanks to @Soah and @Karn from Ko-fi!</i>


    Dad''s reaction was simr.


    Unfamiliar with art, Dad often failed to understand the masterpieces he saw.


    Even looking at a Jason Pollock painting in his office, he merelymented it looked like someone spilled paint.


    Now, Dad is smiling brightly, alternating his gaze between the painting and Mom''s face.


    Wow, honey. Isn''t this beautifully drawn?


    You''re overly glorified in it too, aren''t you? Oh my, our Minsu, Minhyuk, Minyoung. They looked like angels when they were little. So very cute.


    Minyoung was stunned by their reaction.


    ''What about all those beautifully drawn portraits I''ve done before? The ones with Mom''s hand subtly drawn in, or those cunningly hiding fingers upfront?''


    The tantly exposed cut fingers.


    But the fingertips are blurred just enough not to look grotesque.


    Most importantly, the family in the center of the painting looks so warm that it draws the attention away.


    Seeing Mom''s positive reaction, Dad quickly stands and points at arge frame in the living room.


    Honey, let''s rece this painting with that one. What do you think?


    Minyoung screams in shock.


    Dad! That''s a Henri Matisse painting!


    Henri Matisse or Thierry Henry, I don''t care. I never liked this snowman-like painting without even proper facial features. What do you think, honey?


    Expecting Mom to oppose, Minyoung crosses her arms, but Mom''s response is astonishing.


    Sure, I''ll ask Secretary Kim to change it.


    Frozen in ce, Minyoung stammers.


    What... did you say?


    Madame Kang stands up to take a closer look at the painting.


    She keeps fidgeting near the painting, as if wanting to touch it, but never actually does. Her hands keep hovering around the children''s faces.


    Unconcerned with her dismayed daughter, Madame Kang smiles at the painting, then looks up at Jeonghoon standing behind.


    Thank you, it''s a wonderful painting.


    ..........................


    Jeonghoon simply smiles, relieved.


    Madame Kang turns to her husband.


    You got such a painting, you''ll surelypensate properly, right?


    Minyoung hastily interjects.


    I''ll pay for the painting!


    Chairman Yoo pushes his daughter aside and raises his hand.


    Of course, of course! Let''s say I gifted this painting.


    Madame Kang chuckles and turns back to the painting.


    I''ll think about it.


    **


    My legs are shaking.


    I actedposed, but in truth, I''ve been sweating since before the painting was revealed.


    ''It''s a relief they liked it.''


    Any artist would have confidence in their work, but it seems I stillck the consciousness of being an artist. Nervousness precedes confidence.


    Wanting to give the family time, I quietly leave the mansion. The chauffeur secretary bows as I exit.


    Is your work finished?


    Ah, Secretary Kim.


    A face I''ve be familiar with during my visits.


    He''s a chauffeur secretary, a butler-like figure, handling all major and minor matters of the mansion. It''s beneficial to be on good terms with him.


    I nce back at the mansion and smile.


    Fortunately, it seems to have ended well.


    ..........................


    Secretary Kim looks silently at Madame Kang and Chairman Yoo in the living room, smiling at the painting, then speaks.


    It''s the first time I''ve seen them like a painting so much.


    I take out my phone from my bag and turn it on.


    Has Madame drawn many portraits?


    ................Did you not know?


    Who would tell me something like that?


    .............................


    I check my phone for any messages.


    Huh? Why did Monica call?


    There''s a missed call. I should call back. She''s a colleague and a client who bought my painting for ten million won.


    Ah, right, Monica introduced me to this job too. I should treat her to a proper meal. But what should I buy? Would she be offended if I offered beef tripe and soju?


    As I was thinking, Secretary Kim gently asked while guiding me to the mansion''s main gate.


    Mr. Ban, the artist.


    Yes.


    About Madam Kangs ident


    I stopped walking and looked at Secretary Kim.


    Yes.


    Secretary Kim hesitated before asking, Did you hear about the ident from Madam Kang?


    No? I couldnt dare ask. What happened?


    He looked astonished and nced towards the mansion.


    You painted such a picture without knowing the idents details?


    I tilted my head, looking at the mansion following Secretary Kims gaze.


    The idents details arent really rted to the paintings meaning. But did you see the painting?


    How could he have seen it while standing in the garden during the reveal?


    Secretary Kim bowed his head and replied, I apologize, I saw it from outside through a window.


    Oh, I see. No need to apologize for something like that.


    Secretary Kim looked at me for a moment before hesitatingly asking, If its not too much trouble, may I ask about the painting?


    Because hes a personal assistant of a chaebol family?


    He tends to ask questions in such a formal way, even when he could ask more casually.


    Of course, ask as much as you like.


    Secretary Kim nced at the mansion briefly before asking, About the pack of wolves in the background. Whats the meaning behind it?


    Huh? He doesnt know?


    Everyone inside seemed to understand.


    Danger.


    To protect the children from the dangers of the world. Isnt that every parents mission?


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 Chapter 40 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 40 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    As I spoke matter-of-factly, Secretary Kim''s eyes wavered before he asked again.


    I apologize for asking repeatedly, but are you certain you dont know the details of the Ladys ident?


    Why does this man keep asking?


    Who would tell me such a thing?


    Unless Lady Kang herself told me, I''ve never even had the chance to ask about the ident.


    Yes, I really dont know.


    ..Understood.


    You really wont tell me?


    Im sorry.


    Hmm, now Im curious.


    I thought it was just a young age ident.


    There must be some secret I''m not supposed to know.


    What does it matter, as long as the client likes my painting?


    I''m satisfied just with that.


    Catching a mouse by a cow walking backwards  anyway, every mother in the world wants to protect their children and feels happy when someone recognizes their efforts. It''s a bit of a generalization, but its not entirely wrong. Besides, Lady Kang''s eyes always sparkled when talking about her children. Just like my mother.


    Whether she''s a chaebol family''sdy or ady from a copsing shack, all mothers in the world are the same. Today, I reconfirmed that truth.


    Then, Ill be leaving.


    Oh, Artist Ban.


    Yes?


    I might contact you again soon, could I have your bank ount details in advance?


    Wow, I hadnt even discussed the payment for the painting.


    Well, hes the chairman of arge hotel group, hell probably pay well.


    I wouldnt mind if he paid even as much as for Monicas painting. Is that too greedy?


    I left the mansion, stretching alone by the wall.


    I''ve ovee one mountain. The real game isnt the price of the portrait, but the nextmission.


    I know because Monica hinted at it. President Yoo Min-young ns to entrust me with the decorative art for the W Theater opening next year. Of course, after I sessfullyplete the portraitmission, but if the client is that satisfied, there should be no problem.


    I walked, grinning to myself.


    Decorative art, huh. How much would a mural alone cost?


    Murals are big.


    Big means expensive.


    Plus, its a giant billboard for my career.


    This opportunity is a must-catch for me.


    **


    Two dayster.


    Finally, I received a call from President Yoo Min-young.


    Her suggestion to meet face-to-face brought me to W Tree Hannam.


    Instead of the president''s office I had visitedst time, I was guided to a French restaurant. Passing by Japanese, Italian Bistro, Korean, and Chinese restaurants on the way, the restaurants with interior designs fitting each country''s characteristics seemed too luxurious for people like me to even dare enter.


    Someday, Ill have to bring my mother here and treat her to a meal.


    Since its a French restaurant, even the door is a work of art.


    An employee pushed what I thought was a wall covered in purple wallpaper, and the entire wall spun around its center, opening up.


    A restaurant decorated with beautiful white marble. As I was guided down a quiet corridor to a room, I saw President Yoo Min-young waiting for me.


    Its been a while, President.


    Ah, Painter Ban.


    Min-young was sitting on a windowsill instead of a seat, gazing outside. Spotting me, she quickly got up and rushed to grab my hand.


    Why is she acting like this all of a sudden?


    Min-young, with an expression full of joy, said, Do you know how happy my mom is? Do you realize over 60 painters have tried and failed to satisfy her with a portrait? I just saw her looking over the previous paintings again. She says she feels so good just looking at your painting, spending more time in the living room now. Thanks to you, my parents are chatting in the living room in the evenings, looking at the painting. The atmosphere at home has improved so much!


    Was she always this talkative?


    I didnt expect this from her.


    Her excited demeanor is somewhat surprising to me, as I have only seen herposed and polite until now. But I feel proud, realizing a fact I learned from my teacher: Art should be a part of peoples lives, visible to them, and we should give them the opportunity to enjoy it.


    There are people who find joy in my painting.


    I feel like I wouldnt mind not taking payment for the painting.


    Well, of course, I should get paid. Reality is reality.


    I need to save up quickly to buy a house and get rid of this frustrating low-iebel.


    Min-young held my hand, chattering away, until the appetizers arrived. She finally sat down, but her face was still excited.


    I asked the chef to pay special attention, please enjoy.


    Wow, what changes when you tell the chef to be careful? Oh right, shes the president of this ce.


    Ill enjoy it, thank you.


    The payment for the painting will be made soon. I heard my dad instructing Secretary Kim.


    As I was bringing a forkful of tasty-looking sd to my mouth, I paused. Ah, this terrible monster created by capitalism. My legs start trembling again at the mention of money.


    How much will they pay? Should I ask?


    No, that might look too eager.


    Ill find out in a few days anyway.


    Min-young, smiling, ate a bite of avocado and cabbage she had cut nicely.


    Now, shall we discuss our nextmission?


    Here it is.


    Finally, the opportunity for a big project, moving beyond smallmissions.


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 Chapter 41 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 41 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Come on, tell me.


    What''s the size of the mural?


    The bigger, the better.


    It will be hard, but murals are expensive.


    I tried to hide my capitalist-ve-like expression as much as possible while focusing on Minyoung''s lips.


    Minyoung, noticing my intense gaze, meets my eyes and smiles.


    I think I should apologize first for testing Mr. Ban, the painter, in that way.


    Testing? Oh, the portrait.


    Its fine. Who else can I me for my underdeveloped career?


    Minyoung rested her chin on her hand and said,


    Well, thats true. You might have felt bad about it, but actually, our group conducted a background check on you.


    A background check, huh?


    Well, isnt that obvious? As a client, its normal to know who youre contracting with.


    Minyoung continued,


    To be honest, I was shocked by Monicas portrait. It wasnt just about beautifully depicting the current appearance but showing the future and uplifting the ambition. It broke my fixed notion about portraits.


    Honestly, if I hadnt met the teacher at that strange art museum, I would have always drawn nondescript portraits on the streets of Ikseon-dong, as close to reality as possible, slightly beautified. About 70% of the painting Monica now owns can be credited to the teacher.


    Thats an overstatement, I said.


    Minyoung looked a bit sorry as she spoke,


    But, when we researched you, we couldnt believe you drew that painting.


    Because it''s different from what I''ve drawn so far?


    Monica had doubted it too.


    But I proved it was my painting, and that was that.


    Is that so?


    Minyoung, being a painting major, would know.


    A painters style evolves with the times.


    Honestly, if she wanted to nitpick, I had plenty of excuses.


    But Minyoungs words were far from the excuses I had prepared.


    Minyoung nced at me briefly and then spoke,


    Before working with Monica, your career didnt amount to much. One first prize in apetition, two second ces, twomendations. No solo exhibitions, no coborations with other artists, and no works listed online apart frompetition entries.


    ....................


    That was me, just a few months ago.


    Minyoung continued,


    The most notable part of your career was receiving a schrship for all four years at Daehan Comprehensive Art University.


    ....................


    Frankly, its embarrassing to brag about it, but in college, I was really sessful. Just the fact that I didnt miss out on the four-year schrship had the juniors using my notes as a study guide, and the so-called goddesses of the art department sat next to me in the library asking questions.


    Back then, I thought I would be the most sessful person in the world.


    Once thrown into society, that career became a sandcastle-like achievement, easily crumbled by the simple question: So what? What are you now?


    I wore a self-deprecating smile as Minyoung looked straight at me.


    It was strange. From what I know, students who get schrships in art school usually build other careers through coboration, like taking on part of an art business with a senior already in the workforce or doing art-rted public service work rmended by a professor. But you had none of that.


    I slightly bowed my head.


    I had no choice but to do so.


    Minyoung watched me silently and then said,


    It was because of your mother and brother, wasnt it?


    ....................


    Is this arge corporation?


    They knew all this.


    Well, I did talk to Mrs. Kang about it, but discussing it in rtion to my career means she probably already knew what I was doing while other students were building their careers.


    Minyoung continued,


    You worked in a ce making replica paintings.


    It wasnt illegal.


    I proudly made replicas, creating interior paintings for people to buy and hang in their homes.


    Excuses swirled in my mouth, but strangely, they wouldnte out.


    Minyoung sighed softly and said,


    Replica paintings dont help your career, but they do bring in immediate money. And that money probably went to your mothers house. Thats why there are more gaps in your career.


    Whats most important to survive in the art world is your career.


    Career equals portfolio.


    Potential clients decide tomission me based on my works.


    But I never had time to build a career. I was always in need of immediate money.


    Min-young tapped the table with her fingernails and said,


    "Actually, before investigating up to this point, I thought you were just someone living an ordinary life without passion. Aside frompetitions, you only chose jobs that made immediate money. I thought you were the type who''d be content earning just enough to eat for the day."


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 Chapter 41 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 41 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    I slowly lifted my head to look at Min-young.


    My conscience within was bowing its head in the opposite direction.


    She sees me in a good light, believing myck of career is due to supporting my family.


    But can I really say that I wasn''t just satisfyingly living azy life? I couldn''t have loved my evenings more, drawing portraits all day in Ikseon-dong, counting my earnings at home, and enjoying a beer.


    Can I truly say I wasn''t a person who was content with the present and livedzily?


    Min-young spoke,


    "But the diligent way you came every day for two months at the same time, neverte, to talk for an hour while drawing my mother''s portrait, proves you are not that kind of person. Monica told me that during the month you went to MG Electronics, you were neverte. Actually, you arrived 30 minutes early every day."


    Thats just a habit of mine.


    I hate the nervous and apologetic feeling of beingte, shaking my legs during those moments.


    Some might think it''s a waste to arrive early and wait for nothing, but Im the opposite.


    I prefer to be there first and wait; it''s morefortable for me.


    Minyoung speaks again.


    Ive heard a lot about you from my mother. She spoke openly about your family background.


    Sympathy time?


    Id rather decline that.


    People usually react with pity when they hear my story. Even those who identally learn about my family situation tend to offer unwanted help, which I dislike. What Ive always needed wasn''t sympathy but immediate work.


    Luckily, Minyoung seems to have no such intentions as she said,


    My mother thought highly of you because you dont tell lies.


    What do you mean?


    Minyoung smiles and exins.


    People in our circle tend to live with small lies. Not big ones, just tiny fabrications to make themselves look better. But you never did that.


    I think I get it now.


    So, Mrs. Kang listened to my story and then verified it through a background check.


    Is this how wealthy people live?


    Is there no such thing as pure trust?


    What kind of world do they inhabit?


    Being rich doesnt necessarily mean being happy.


    Leaning forward, Minyoung continues,


    I heard from Secretary Kim. You painted that picture without knowing the details of my mothers ident.


    I did have that conversation.


    Really? You didnt hear it from my mother?


    How many times do I have to say it? Unlike these wealthy families, I dont have the resources. People like my working aunt and Secretary Kim arent the types to gossip.


    Yes.


    Minyoung sps her hands and nods with a smile.


    Thats impressive.


    What''s so impressive about it? As I look puzzled, Minyoung calmly exins the ident.


    My goodness, did she really sacrifice her fingers to protect her daughter from the shards of ss during a car ident? I listen to Minyoungs exnation with a stunned face. I never imagined such a story was hidden behind it.


    Minyoung asks,


    Could you exin why you depicted the picture that way, without knowing the ident details?


    I really didnt know.


    My interpretation was based solely on the way Mrs. Kangs eyes shone when talking about her children and the worried murmurs about their well-being.


    I look at Minyoung and say,


    Are you asking because you dont know?


    Minyoungughs heartily, an uncharacteristically down-to-earthugh for a heiress.


    Yes, you must have felt our mothers love during your talks. Like when you exined the painting, as an example of a mothers love for her children.


    Thats right.


    Minyoung ps twice and then says,


    All this proves the genuineness of your ability to understand and bring to life the inner feelings through your art over those two months of conversation with my mother. And I''ve decided to value all your work very highly. Your career? Not necessary. A raw diamond doesnt need a resume, after all.


    That seems a bit too much.


    As she stops pping and ces her hands neatly on herp, Minyoung bows slightly.


    And I would like to formally apologize for my mothers indiscretion in conducting a background check without your permission.


    I quietly observe Minyoung.


    This person. Somehow, she seems different from those typical chaebol daughters seen in dramas.


    Someone who can apologize for actions that are deemed normal from their perspective but could be offensive to others. Its rare for someone in her position to have this stance.


    Its okay. Ill consider it as a clients verification process.


    I cant show my annoyance anyway.


    Shes a valuable client about to give me new work.


    And its a big job that will pay well.


    When I epted the apology, Min-young smiled and said,


    Then, let''s move on to talking about the next project. Shall we get up?


    Huh? Arent we going to talk here?


    I thought we were going to a restaurant, so I didnt eat anything.


    I got up and followed Min-young while clutching my hungry stomach. Sorry, my stomach. Please hold on. But where is this person going?


    Just then, while waiting for the elevator, Min-young turned around and asked,


    Oh, did you talk to Monica?


    Why suddenly Monica? Oh! Right, I saw a missed call when I was leaving the mansion yesterday but forgot about it.


    No, I havent yet. Is there something wrong?


    The elevator door opened with a ding. Min-young, smiling, stepped into the elevator.


    Mr. Painters refrigerator. I heard its officiallyunched.


    Ah, that.


    Well, Ive already received the payment, and the incentive is just 2%, so Im not too concerned.


    I scratched my cheek and nodded.


    Ah, maybe she called to tell me that news. Ill call herter.


    Min-young looked at my unresponsive face and said,


    "Did you hear about the pre-sales of the refrigerator? How many units were reserved in just two days."


    I shrugged my shoulders.


    Anyway, there''s no incentive if it''s under 300 units. How much could I earn from that? It''s more constructive to hear about the new contract quickly.


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 Chapter 42 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 42 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Minyoung, with a curious look in her eyes, pulls out her phone in the elevator and searches for something before showing it to me.


    "Look at this."


    Is it a video?


    The video Minyoung shows is a refrigerator advertisement uploaded on YouTube.


    A famous female celebrity seems to be mimicking Monica''s demonstration in front of the board, acting in the video. It looks great with the fantastic lighting and the beautiful celebrity, but honestly, Monica seemed prettier than this actress.


    Watching the video, I nod and say, "The ad turned out well."


    Minyoung, still observing my nonchnt face, taps a part of her phone. What''s she showing me next? I look where her finger is pointing and am struck dumb.


    What''s this, a mistake?


    Why are the views like this?


    Eight million views?


    For a refrigerator ad?


    I look at Minyoung with eyes about to pop out. She smiles and says, "It''s only been two days. Can you believe how popr it''s be?"


    I''m speechless.


    The ad was good, but was it that shocking for the publicpared to Monica''s impressive demonstration?


    Then, right on cue, I get a call from Monica.


    I fish out my phone from my pocket and show it to Minyoung, asking, "Do phones work in this elevator?"


    "Ha, it''s a five-star hotel, artist."


    Hmm, should''ve known since it''s a five-star hotel. Anyway, it seems to have reception.


    "Can I take this call?"


    "Of course."


    Ugh, speaking English on an empty stomach. But I have to.


    "Hello, Monica. This is Ban."


    - Jung Hoon! Why aren''t you answering your phone? You''re not still out painting portraits, are you?


    Hearing Monica, I''m reminded of our first meeting. I didn''t answer my phone, so she went to my house and found out from myndy that I was in Ikseon-dong.


    Iugh and respond, "Ha, I was out painting portraits until recently. But now, I''m at President Minyoung''s hotel."


    - Oh? So, you got a secondmission?


    I nce at Minyoung before saying, "Seems like it."


    - That''s wonderful news.


    "Thanks to you. But what''s up? Is it about the refrigerator?"


    - You knew?


    "I just heard from President Minyoung. The ad response is great."


    - Ah, for the first time, MG Electronics'' ad impact has surpassed five stars. The marketing department is out celebrating with apany dinner.


    I suppress augh internally. MG Electronics, known for its anti-marketing team, must be thrilled with this sess.


    "That''s great news."


    - You haven''t heard about the sales figures, have you?


    "I was just discussing that with President Minyoung. But I doubt she knows the exact numbers yet?"


    - Right, even as a major shareholder, she probably doesn''t know yet. But she must know about the stock situation, right?


    Stocks. They have nothing to do with me. I don''t own a single share.


    Nor do I have a securities ount.


    "Are there a lot of pre-orders?"


    - With the ad doing so well, of course.


    "Over 300 units?"


    I ask because I get incentives for sales over 300 units. Thenes herugh.


    - Ha ha, Jung Hoon, you have a knack for humor.


    Huh? What''s funny?


    After a goodugh, Monica says with a smile in her voice, "Already 5,000 pre-orders."


    I''m speechless.


    The elevator doors open on the first floor.


    But my mind freezes in ce.


    5,000 units? 5,000?


    Wait, how much was the refrigerator?


    Let''s say it''s 2 million won each. That''s 40,000 won per unit at 2% incentive.


    4,700 units after subtracting the first 300?


    I mutter, dazed, "That''s over 180 million won..."


    Minyoung, listening beside me, smiles. I hear Monica''s voice through the phone.


    - That''s just the pre-orders. Once they hit the national department stores and MG Electronics'' own stores, sales will soar.


    If Minyoung hadn''t been ahead, I would have jumped for joy right there in the elevator. The incentives are this frightening? I manage to hold back myughter and ask, "How much was the refrigerator?"


    - The price?


    "Yes."


    - 1.46 million won.


    Wow, cheaper than I thought.


    So, 29,200 won per unit. Heh, still over 130 million.


    "I can''t believe it."


    - What?


    "No, not you, Monica. Thanks for letting me know."


    - Let''s meet soon. I have something to talk about.


    "Of course, I''ll call you."


    Worried about revealing my materialistic thoughts, I quickly ended the call.


    My facial muscles twitched, barely holding backughter. Thanks to Min-young walking ahead and asionally ncing back, I desperately tried to contain myself.


    With the payment for Monicas painting, the advance from MG, and the incentives, I might be able to afford a security deposit. Then my family could live together, right?


    The most important thing is a steady ie source.


    Essential to get rid of the basic living assistancebel.


    And Min-young walking ahead is going to help me with that.


    I dont know how many murals shellmission, but it will take a few months at least.


    Min-young turns around after my call ends and says,


    You heard, right?


    Ah, yes.


    I barely held back another burst ofughter. Min-young smiled and said,


    Thanks to you, MG Electronics stock went up 3% in one day. I made some money too.


    I have no idea how much stock she owns, so I cant grasp how much shes talking about. Besides, I know nothing about stocks anyway.


    Im d I could help.


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    .

 Chapter 42 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 42 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Min-young smiles and walks across the hotel lobby and out.


    Min-young crossing the hotels front garden. Inside, Im imagining the potential sales of the refrigerators and indulging in happy thoughts.


    If only 10,000 units sell, Id have no more wishes. That would be nearly 500 million won avable. Maybe I could get a lease on a vi in Seoul? No, in ces like Maseok or Paju, I might even get a spacious townhouse.


    A small house with a garden would be nice.


    Sometimes, when Im stuck in the basement painting, I dream of drawing in the sunshine in a house with a garden.


    A house where its okay to spill some paint on the ground. And a house with a garden where my brother, who cant go out without Moms help, could freely sunbathe.


    Lost in my happy daydreams, I suddenly hear Min-youngs voice.


    Do you see that over there?


    See what?


    Huh? Where are we?


    Oh, what am I thinking? I was in the middle of a business discussion.


    Quickly regaining my focus, I look where Min-young is pointing and see a building that resembles a medieval European town hall. It seems to cover about 7,000 square meters, roughly the size of a ser field. Ah, this must be the new theater of W Tree Hannam that Monica mentioned.


    I estimate the size of the theater, which looks more than 90%plete in its construction, and ask,


    How big is it? How many seats does it have?


    There are 3,000 seats.


    The Seoul Arts Center Opera House has 2,340 seats.


    The CJ Towol Theater has about 1,000 seats.


    A theater with 3,000 seats is enormous.


    Though the theater seems smallerpared to its external size, such theaters typically ce the stage at the forefront and the audience in a tiered diagonal arrangement, which isnt space-efficient.


    Min-young points towards the entrance of the theater and suggests,


    Let''s go inside.


    I feel a bit excited.


    Its a privilege to see a huge theater not yet open to the public, and Im grateful for this opportunity.


    As Min-young walks towards the entrance, she turns to me and says,


    Oh, and Mr. Painter.


    Yes?


    How are you handling yourprehensive ie tax deration?


    ........................


    Im not familiar with that.


    I usually paint portraits and receive cash, so my ie isnt really dered for withholding tax.


    Seeing my expression, Min-young advises,


    If you dont prepare in advance, youll be in trouble next year. The money youve received and will receive from MG Electronics,bined with the payments from our side, will put you in the highest tax bracket. You might be hit with a huge tax bill next year.


    Taxes.


    My dream has always been to pay a lot of taxes, living as a responsible citizen. Hehe, am I about to realize that dream?


    Then Min-young adds,


    Based on the current situation, youre probably in the 40% tax bracket, maybe even 42%.


    Im stunned again.


    What? A 40% tax rate? How can the government take 40% when Ive been working so hard? I thought it would be around 10%. This feels like an unfair surprise.


    Min-young looked at my stunned face andughed.


    Haha, itsmon. Many people live unaware of taxws and end up borrowing money in May to pay taxes. If your annual ie exceeds 300 million but is below 500 million won, then the 40% bracket is correct.


    Wow, so if I file myprehensive ie tax in May next year, Ill lose 40% of my money? Crazy, what about my house? My townhouse?


    Is there a way to reduce taxes?


    She must know, right? It seems obvious she would.


    Min-young, seeing the desperation on my face, smiles again.


    Be careful with general tax ountants who promise tax reductions; it can often lead to heavy penalties. In your case, setting up a corporation might be most effective.


    A corporation?


    Yes, you cant handle this job alone anyway. How about hiring one or two employees and establishing a corporation?


    I know what a corporation is, but I have no idea how to set one up.


    Min-young continued tough at my clueless face.


    Haha, Ill attach someone to help you. You just need to prepare the documents they ask for.


    Thank you. But, wont it cost money?


    It does, for the deposit and establishment fees. About 50 million won should be enough.


    Min-young spoke of 50 million won as if it was a trivial amount. To her, it might be, but not for me.


    She added,


    But in the long run, the tax-saving benefits are more significant. Its better to do it, especially since youre likely to seed more in the future.


    Looks like I have to do it. My dream of owning a townhouse is getting pushed further into the future. Mom, brother, just wait a little longer. Ill definitely get us a nice house.


    As Min-young opened the door, she advised,


    Youll need at least one employee, so start thinking about a junior or friend from art school who might be suitable for the job.


    A friend or acquaintance?


    My only friend is Yeong-ju...


    Ah, right, Yeong-ju. Shes been fussing about wanting to paint.


    But whats Yeong-jus current sry?


    Can I afford to pay her that much?


    Id have a clue if I had been a boss before, but this is all new to me.


    Would she even agree to work under me?


    Well, I''ll have to try talking to her over some grilled tripes.


    Min-young, passing through the massive lobby of the theater, opens the splendidly decorated red velvet doors of the performance hall and says,


    "Here it is, the new theater of W Tree Hannam, Catbs."


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    .

 Chapter 43: The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 43: The Mysterious Art Museum


    As soon as the door opened, I thought I was dreaming again.


    An illusion of stepping into a grand theater that could have existed inte 19th-century Austria.


    The white stone railing crossing the center of the audience seats is already a work of art.


    The floor is covered with red carpets, and around the audience seats are private seats for VIPs.


    The private seats are divided into five floors, each set separated by a wall, with a table cedfortably in the middle of each pair of seats.


    The stage in the center, like the floor, is draped with red velvet curtains, and appears to span at least 200 pyeong* in width. It''s spacious enough for global musicals like Cats or Phantom. [T/N: One pyeong is equivalent to approximately 3.31 square metres or 35.58 square feet]


    If people from the past were shown this, they might think it was built by the 18th-century Habsburg monarchy due to its impressive interior.


    The theater, built in the Baroque style like a royal exclusive theater, boasts ornate columns and a circr ceiling that exude luxury, grandeur, and opulence.


    But with such avish atmosphere, what''s with this theater''s name?


    Catbs? Isn''t that a term for underground tombs?


    Surprise and curiosity. Minyoung looks at my mixed expression of interest and smiles proudly.


    "The name is a bit strange, isn''t it?"


    "Yeah, it''s incongruous."


    Minyoung leans on the back row seats, looking around the theater.


    "Catbbines the Latin ''cata'' (among) and ''tumbas'' (tombs), meaning ''among the tombs''. In ancient Rome, this referred to underground tombs, and in modern times, it''s used for any structure of caves and rooms underground."


    So, why name such a beautiful theater that?


    Responding to my curious gaze, Minyoung continues with a smile.


    "Many believe Christians created them while hiding and worshipping there to avoid persecution, but actually, they used pre-existing tombs as shelters. What caught my attention was what these Christians did here."


    What else could there be besides memorial services for the deceased in these underground tombs? I''m not sure.


    Minyoung continues her exnation.


    "While hiding here, the Christians created the earliest Christian art, such as frescoes. So, this ce is where the first Christian art was born."


    Ah, of course not all art, but a branch of art originated here. That''s why they named it so.


    "Do you hope for new art to emerge here too?"


    "Something like that, haha."


    Catbs are amon theme in mystery and horror. Many tales associate them with hell. While everyone focuses on the ominous name, this person sees the art born there. She''s certainly extraordinary.


    An enormous theater.


    At first nce, it seems luxurious, but a closer look reveals its rough edges. The eye-catching red andvish colors of the carpets shift to the walls and ceiling, which are just painted white, giving a deste feel.


    Minyoung points to the walls between the VIP seats.


    "See the walls between those VIP seats?"


    Several walls, about 30 meters high and 3 meters wide, are visible. They look like pirs separating the VIP seats.


    Is that where I''ll be working? The pir-like walls are only on the right side, eight in total.


    Eight 30x3 meter walls.


    Though they''re separate sections, there''s an advantage in being able to paint different concepts on each. But without a unifying theme, the walls will feel disjointed.


    I quickly run a simtion in my mind, recalling pictures of Austrian theaters, thinking about how any work would blend well with this interior.


    Moreover, eight times 30x3 meters is quite arge area.


    If ced separately, they would form an excessively tall picture, but ifid horizontally, they would span the length of one side of a school wall. This means I could demand a high price for the construction.


    As I''m calcting in my head, Minyoung''s voice breaks my thoughts.


    "I was originally going to assign you there."


    Huh? Originally? So, not now?


    Looking where she''s pointing, I turn to Minyoung. She meets my gaze and smiles.


    "Always warm to her children but cold to others, our mother. A painter who found hidden love in her heart through two months of persistent effort seems suitable for a bigger task."


    A bigger task?


    I look at the opposite wall. Like the right side, there are the same number of walls between the VIP seats. Could she be assigning those too?


    Wow, what should I charge for this? I''ve never done anything like this before, so how would I know? If only Yeongju were here. With her experience working at the Seoul Museum of Art, she would''ve been great at negotiating this.


    Then, as I''m looking at the opposite wall, I feel a tapping on my shoulder.


    Turning around, I see Minyoung shaking her head with a smile.


    What does that mean?


    Min-young flicked her index finger and then pointed upwards with it.


    Yes?


    Min-young wriggled her eyebrows and pointed upwards again.


    What''s up there?


    I followed her finger pointing to the sky and froze.


    A massive circr ceiling, sorge I couldn''t even begin to estimate its size.


    The ceiling, where a grand chandelier will be attachedter, reveals several ck holes with exposed wires. My eyes fluttered as I muttered, "Could it be the ceiling..."


    Minyoung, beside me, looked up and said, "A corporation. We need to establish it quickly, don''t we?"


    **


    Sizzling sounds filled the air as the delicious fat from the grilling intestines was released. The clinking of soju sses being filled could be heard.


    This ce, filled with delightful sounds, was a popr grilled intestines restaurant in Hongdae.


    Sitting there, Yeongju stared at me, mouth agape as if her jaw would drop.


    "You''ll swallow a fly," I joked, pretending to shove the tongs in my mouth, which brought Yeongju back to reality as she smacked the tongs away and gulped down her beer.


    "Chug! Ugh!"


    "Would you do this in front of visitors to the gallery?"


    After graduating, Yeongju went abroad to study. When she returned and we met for drinks, I was surprised.


    She had always worn paint-stained jeans and dirty aprons, staying up all night on assignments.


    Yeongju, who had be a refined beauty after her return, had even pped me when I jokingly asked if she had surgery in America.


    I couldn''t understand why such a pretty person behaved that way. She casually wiped the beer foam from her mouth with her sleeve.


    "So, have you been deceiving me since the MGpetition?"


    "There''s no deception."


    "Really? When you congratted me on the award, were you working behind my back?"


    "No, Monica visited that afternoon. I only knew about thepetition rejection when I called you."


    Yeongju squinted at me suspiciously.


    "Really?"


    "Yes."


    "Torturing me?"


    "No torture. And why so dramatic?"


    "If I eat all this delicious intestine alone, could you stand it?"


    "That''s torture? Eat it all."


    "Did you eat?"


    "No."


    "Not hungry?"


    "Very hungry."


    "Why?"


    I smiled at Yeongju, "I''m rich, man. I can buy my own."


    "Annoying."


    "Yes, it''s my dream to be rich and annoying."


    "Wow, annoying."


    "Ha, I''ve always mooched off you, so I''ll pay today. In fact, I''ll pay for life."


    Yeongju had always been a great help. Not a rich daughter but from a middle-ss family, she worked part-time but didn''t have to spend on living expenses as she lived with her parents, always paying for meals and drinks. A friend worth buying grilled intestines for a lifetime.


    Yeongju sipped soju with her eyes wide.


    "Isn''t it obvious? You''re bing my boss."


    I excitedly asked, "You''ll join me?"


    Yeongju finished her drink in one gulp, mming the ss on the table with a thud and burst out, "Every day, I think of quitting but never miss a day of work. Those bastards, filling the top positions with their kin and connections. And they don''t value educational background? Honestly, our university is good enough to confidently hand out business cards anywhere."


    Hmm, that''s strange. Not to brag, but our university alumni are always recognized.


    "Why?"


    Yeongju opened a fresh bottle of soju with a resigned look, "I heard a senior say, do you know how many graduates from our university enter society each year?"


    At least a thousand, I guess. Different departments, but our university isn''t the only one; other famous universities also graduate simr numbers every year.


    Yeongju drank another ss and said, "Graduates are everywhere. If we consider educational background in hiring, it would be endless. Honestly, it''s better this way. Then judge by ability. If educational background doesn''t matter, why do connections matter? Damn it."


    I had nothing to say. I hadn''t experienced corporate life, and offering clumsy sympathy didn''t suit me.


    After cursing and drinking two more bottles of soju, Yeongju spoke soberly, "Hey."


    "Yes."


    "Will you make me call you boss?"


    "If I ask, will you?"


    "Crazy."


    "Yeah, thought so."


    "Never."


    "I won''t ask."


    "Really?"


    "How much will you pay? The W Tree Hotel theater ceiling job should provide steady ie for over a year."


    "How much is your current sry?"


    "State secret, man."


    "I''ll match it, your current sry."


    "Pay more, stingy."


    "I need to know how much to pay more."


    "State secret."


    "How can I pay more, you fool?"


    Yeongju waved it off, "Forget the sry for now. What''s thepany name?"


    "No name yet. Haven''t established the corporation."


    "Let''s decide here."


    "Now?"


    "What''s the problem? Two founding members are here."


    I look at Yeongju, her face flushed with the beginnings of drunkenness, and ponder.


    Now that I think about it, choosing apany name is also a task.


    What should I name it?


    Its my firstpany. I want it to have a really cool name.


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    .

 Chapter 44 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 44 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    At a caf near home.


    The tax officer sent by Min-Young was a man with gold-rimmed sses, neat hair, and a slightly sharp look. As his appearance suggested, he spoke in a blunt manner,ying out several documents before saying,


    "Did you bring your seal?"


    "Yes, here."


    As I quickly handed over the seal, the officer took it and stared at me intently.


    "What... Is there a problem?"


    After sighing, the officer said,


    "Sir."


    ''Sir''? I mean, I am the boss, but why does it feel so cringy?


    "Yes."


    "Do you remember my name?"


    Huh? He had definitely introduced himself over the phone when we scheduled the appointment. I can''t remember. It was Park something.


    "I''m sorry, I heard it earlier but..."


    Putting down the seal, the officer said,


    "I''m Jungwon Park, team leader. In charge of finance at W Tree Group."


    "Ah, yes. I''m sorry. I''ll definitely remember this time."


    Team Leader Park Jungwon sighed as he looked at me bowing.


    "Sir, did you go through the process of verifying my identity?"


    "What?"


    What is he talking about? Min-Young sent him, so he must be the finance team leader of W Tree Group, right?


    "What do you mean?"


    Team Leader Park Jungwon gestured to the phone on the table, showing the seal I handed over.


    "I mean, did you at least call to verify my identity?"


    "..."


    Team Leader Park Jungwon, holding the seal, said,


    "Sir. Right now, your ID card is on the table, and I have your seal in my hand. Do you understand what this means?"


    "That means..."


    "It means I could do anything with your identity. Handing over your seal without verifying my identity is really dangerous."


    Wow, was that the case?


    "Is that so?"


    As Team Leader Park gestured to the phone, he continued,


    "I''m not saying you should suspect me. But you should make verification a habit. If you''re going to do business, you need to be careful about this. Scammers are like crocodiles; they''ll snap at you the moment they see a weakness. Tell them my name, my affiliation, what I look like, and verify."


    "Ha, really?"


    Someone who talks this much couldn''t be a scammer, right? I was about tough it off, but Team Leader Park looked at me intently. Then he gestured to the phone.


    Wow, he really means it.


    Reluctantly, I called Min-Young.


    Min-Youngughed at my exnation, reassuring me that he is indeed the manager from herpany. Ah, embarrassing.


    While I finished my call, Team Leader Park waited and then handed me some documents.


    "Please fill out the business registration application, and the lease agreement can be provided after renting the business premises. The documents for corporate establishment permit application, representative appointment verification, and group seal will be prepared by us and verifiedter."


    "Ah, yes."


    Honestly, I felt intimidated.


    I might be friends with President Min-Young, but I had no need to be so formal with a subordinate. He''s someone who''s going to take care of areas I''m not familiar with, and since he''s well-versed in legal matters, I can''t help but feel a bit overwhelmed.


    After spending about an hour with Team Leader Park toplete and exin the paperwork, he got up to leave.


    "I''ll return to the office to process these and will see you again tomorrow. We''llplete the document submission by this week."


    "Ah, yes. Thank you."


    "Then, I''ll take my leave."


    After scolding me earlier, Team Leader Park bowed politely as he left. Drained after just an hour, I slumped onto the sofa as soon as he disappeared.


    "Ah, I really hate dealing with legal stuff."


    Just then, the person sitting behind me, wearing sunsses and reading a book, turned around.


    "Wow, that''s the real deal."


    It''s Youngju.


    When I mentioned I was meeting someone for corporate registration today, she insisted on secretly listening in, thinking I couldn''t handle it alone. So here we are, ying this spy game.


    I red at Youngju and asked,


    "Having fun?"


    "Yeah, totally."


    "How did it seem?"


    Youngju gestured to the caf door through which Team Leader Park had left, giving a thumbs up.


    "This is the first time I''ve seen someone finish corporate registration paperwork in just an hour."


    "There were a lot of documents."


    "Yeah, I once saw someone I know doing it, and it took them two days just for the paperwork. Of course, they did all the documents that were supposed to be prepared by the other party too. Anyway, he looked super experienced and capable."


    Ah, that''s settled then.


    Have you decided on thepany name?


    Not yet, I just have to decide before submitting the documents this week.


    Two days ago, at the tripe restaurant, we racked our brains for hours trying toe up with apany name but couldn''t settle on one. We wanted something impressive, but didn''t want thepany name to be unnecessarily long.


    I checked the time, gathered my seal and ID card, and stood up.


    You have a schedule in the afternoon, right? Better go now.


    What time is it? Yikes! I need to catch a taxi, damn.


    Young-ju leaves in a hurry. She''s really scatterbrained, honestly.


    By the way, Young-ju is still working at herpany.


    She has submitted her resignation, but she needs to stay a bit longer for the handover.


    Originally, she was supposed to stay for a month, but luckily, the position of a docent at the Seoul City Art Museum is in high demand, so they found a recement quickly, and she could cut it down to two weeks.


    I remember Young-ju''s face looking rather bitter when she told me this.


    I thought I was indispensable at thepany. Turns out, after just two weeks of training, anyone can rece me.


    I''ve heard simrints from my school seniors who visit the school, but honestly, I''m not too familiar with that world. However, in thepany I''m creating, Young-ju will be an irreceable part. I''ll make sure of it.


    Just then, my phone rings.


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 Chapter 44 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 44 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Oh, Monica.


    Of course, I havent received a single cent from the refrigerator incentives yet, but she''s someone who created a steady source of ie for me. I answer the call, pleased to hear from her.


    Hi, Monica.


    -Jeong-hoon, I heard from Min-young. How''s the corporation establishment going?


    Yes, I met with the person in charge today and worked on the documents.


    -Hmm, if W Tree helps out, it should be ready in about three weeks. Then we need to rewrite our contract, right?


    What contract are you talking about?


    -Ha, look at this person. The profit from our contract was substantial, but if we don''t sign it under a corporate name, we''ll be hit hard with taxes, you know?


    Huh, is that so?


    But, can we really rewrite the contract?


    Is that okay?


    -It''s Jung-hoons matter, but of course, I stepped in. We''re done with this discussion, so we''ll rewrite the contract once the corporation is established.


    Thank you, Monica.


    -If you''re thankful, buy me a drink.


    Of course!


    -How about tonight, call?


    Right now, tonight?


    -Call Min-Young too.


    President Yu Min-Young?


    Yes, she''s my client.


    It''s necessary to know what a client wants. Thanks to Monica, I can meet her naturally. There might be useful information for me in the conversation at the drinking table.


    Great, where shall we meet?


    -Um, I''m not familiar with Korea.


    Do you only eat Italian food?


    -I''m not prejudiced. I eat anything.


    I smiled and said.


    Then I''ll send you the address, lets meet at Hongdae at 8.


    **


    Sizzling and cooking beef intestines.


    To my eyes, they are the most delicious food in the world, but Monica, looking at them, seems like she''s about to die.


    Monica, poking the intestines with tongs, asked with a frightened face.


    Jung-hoon, what is this?


    Its intestines.


    Whats that?


    Therge intestine of a cow.


    Ew, and this?


    These are beef tripe.


    Also intestines?


    Yes, probably the small intestine of a cow.


    Ew, and what about this? Isnt this raw? Why arent you cooking it?


    Oh, thats cheonyeop, eaten raw like sashimi.


    And this is meat?


    No, thats stomach, and the red part next to it is the liver.


    ..


    Monica''s face quickly turns as if she''s about to vomit. In contrast, Min-Young, with an indifferent face, casually remarks.


    When you were in Florence, you ate plenty of Trippa, stop pretending.


    Monica, trembling with the tongs, picks up the intestines which are still raw and frowns.


    At least with tomato sauce, its less graphic, isnt this too raw?


    Hmm, I brought her here to introduce her to Korean taste, but maybe it was too much of a leap?


    Fortunately, Min-Young doesn''t seem to dislike it, but I''m worried about Monica.


    Monica, frowning as she eats oily dried bread, looks upset. But the atmosphere in the restaurant is not normal.


    It''s a busy Thursday evening.


    We, having reserved in advance, are barely seated at a central table in the restaurant.


    The problem is that most people in the restaurant are looking at our table.


    Why?


    Obviously.


    Because of Monica, looking like a Greek goddess, and the elegant Min-Young, oozing Oriental beauty.


    Moreover, the bags they left on the empty seats next to them.


    While men''s eyes are on their faces and figures, women''s are on their clothes and bags.


    I nce at the unbranded, logo-less bag.


    Probably because I dont know the brand, I don''t recognize it, but it seems women do. The way they are staring at it must mean its incredibly expensive.


    After cutting the intestines into edible pieces, I pick up a piece of well-cooked beef tripe, dip it generously in sesame oil, and offer it to Monica.


    Monica, you said youre not prejudiced, right? Try one and you might change your mind.


    Monica looks like she''s about to cry.


    Even the charismatic Monica can make such a face, somehow it seems cute.


    Monica, with a trembling jaw, reluctantly opens her mouth to eat the tripe I offer.


    The envious, strained sounds from the surroundings are just my imagination, but it doesn''t matter. They wouldnt dare toe and speak anyway.


    Monica, having put the tripe in her mouth, doesnt dare to chew, closing her eyes tightly.


    After hesitating for a while, she chews the tripe with a surprised look due to the sesame oils vor and opens her eyes wide.


    Wow!


    I wink and say.


    Killer, right?


    Its incredibly delicious! What is this?


    Tripe, the small intestine of a cow.


    Cow intestines are this delicious? Totally savory, give me more, something else too.


    Min-Young chuckles and offers a fork.


    Eat with your hands, Monica.


    Like a baby bird, Monica eagerly takes the fork and starts asking which one is fully cooked, what should she eat next, and so on. I teach her how to eat gopchang and introduce her to soju. Initially, she said the nd taste of soju was not to her liking, but as time went on, her hand reached more frequently for the soju ss.


    Feeling proud to introduce the taste of Korea to an Italian, I exchange drinks with the two, gradually getting pleasantly drunk.


    After we finish four bottles of soju, Monica shows signs of intoxication first.


    "Whoa, I underestimated Korean soju. If you keep drinking this, it could be trouble."


    Min-young also says its been a while since she drank soju.


    Hmm, do chaebols only drink whiskey and wine?


    I can''t understand why they wouldn''t eat this delicious food.


    Later, we should also try kimchi fried rice.


    I think Monica would like that. You can''t really say you''ve eaten gopchang until you''ve tried it with that.


    Monica, after sipping a few more shots of soju, rests her chin on her hand and looks at Min-young.


    Are the board members still the same?


    I pretended to pour soju while listening intently. Min-young nces at me, hesitating as if wondering whether it''s appropriate to speak in front of me.


    I quickly fill her ss and say,


    Come on, let''s have another drink, President.


    Monica, watching her ss being filled, speaks again.


    Those people are only interested in immediate profits. They dont understand that true creation is not about satisfying desires, but about creating them.


    I remained silent, observing carefully.


    There must be some problem in the business.


    It could be information unrted to me, or it could be a hint to something relevant.


    Either way, more information is always better.


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 Chapter 45 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 45 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Min-young holds her face in her hands, sighing.


    "It''s because of the virus situation, you know."


    COVID-19.


    This global pandemic, which has been annoying to even mention due to its longsting torment, has dealt a tremendous blow to the economic structure of society as a whole, including the film and theater industries.


    Min-young nces at me and says, "It''s almost over, but the past three years have been tough on the movie, theater, and exhibition businesses. The government enforced social distancing measures like spaced seating. For theaters, following these orders was a bitter pill to swallow, as any viral incidents requiring closure for disinfection meant no operation costs could be covered."


    Hmm, Yeongju mentioned this a year ago.


    I couldn''t afford cultural activities, so it didn''t concern me, but Yeongju had a theater performance she had eagerly pre-booked as an early bird canceled the day before due to a virus issue at the venue. While ticket refunds are easy for the audience, it must have been a huge loss for the theater.


    Min-young continues, "With no audience, investors and distributors kept dying performances and investments. Productionpanies struggled without funds for new shows, and theaters had no new releases, just gathering dust. Meanwhile, the paradigm shifted to watching movies on OTT sites, pushing the theater industry into a dire crisis."


    I wouldn''t invest in theater businesses in this climate either.


    Monica interjects, "Jung-hoon."


    "Yes?"


    "How much do you think theater business revenue decreasedpared to 2019, before the COVID-19 situation?"


    Would I know that?


    Still, since she asked, let''s think about it. We often say stock investments halve when they fail. I shared a simr thought, "Maybe it decreased by about 50%?"


    Monicaughs bitterly, "Industry size shrank by 60%, and theater revenues by 70%."


    Wow, isn''t that basically bankruptcy?


    Even ifrgepanies like movie distributors or famous theaters can survive, how do smaller theaters manage? Even in normal times, there were frequent stories of starving theater actors. How are they coping?


    Min-young rests her chin on her hand, clicking her tongue, "One of the board members submitted a report showing thatst year, the CJ Towol Theater at the Seoul Arts Center suffered a 50% losspared to its production costs. The board used this to oppose the construction of arge theater in W Tree Hannam."


    I suddenly be curious, "When did they start building the theater?"


    "Four years ago."


    That''s before COVID-19 then.


    "Ah, so they were caught in this situation after construction began."


    Min-young nods and downs a bitter shot of soju, "The virus issue will end eventually. The problem is that it''ll take too much time for investors to start reinvesting and for productions to bepleted and turn profitable. Calcting the time until theater businesses get back on track, the conclusion is that the investment returns will be too dyed."


    "We can''t just tear down a theater that''s already built, can we?"


    It''s not like ying SimCity where you can delete a multi-billion won theater with a click. What does the board want?


    Monica joins in, "The board is considering repurposing the Catb for concerts by established singers instead of opera, musical, and theater performances."


    Regr concerts?


    Aren''t those usually held in sports stadiums? Plus, a 3,000-seat venue is an awkward size for concerts. Popr idol groups easily attract over 10,000 fans.


    Well, there must be demand if they''re considering it. But is there a reason they can''t do it?


    Seeing my expression, Monica exins, "The Catb is specifically designed for musicals and operas. Every aspect of its architectural and structural design is tailored for that. Hosting concerts isn''t impossible, but if it were originally intended as a general concert venue, it could have been built with half the current construction costs."


    So, it''s a waste to use such facilities for regr concerts. Honestly, I''ve never thought ssical performances are more dignified and pop or K-pop singers are less so. It''s true, though, that the Seoul Arts Center doesn''t easily rent out its venues to general singers.


    Min-young sighs, "There''s a second board meeting in two days. ording to the information, if the management doesn''t agree to use the Catb for general singers'' concerts, the board ns to vote on halting construction."


    Wow, that''s a lot of money invested in that theater. Why not just let the singers perform?


    I was itching to speak, but Min-young''s determined look made me keep quiet. After all, as a businesswoman with a deep appreciation for art, having graduated from the Florence Academy of Art, her stubbornness is understandable.


    But wait.


    Wasn''t Imissioned to paint a mural for this theater?


    Wasn''t Imissioned to paint the theater''s ceiling?


    What happens to me if the board decides to halt the construction?


    Seeing my anxious expression, Min-young grins.


    "..................."


    To me, it''s a life-changing big deal. But to these people, it seems like a trivial amount that doesn''t even need board approval, which makes me feel somewhat bitter. However, it means there will be no issues with my work.


    Of course, it''s regrettable that I can''t show my diligently painted ceiling to anyone, but at least I can make some money. It would be terrible if things went wrong after even making Young-joo resign.


    Min-young fills my ss and waves her hand.


    "Come on, let''s stop talking about this. Let''s just enjoy our drinks today."


    The sses go around again, and various conversations ensue. Not wanting to think about the board, Min-young, who had been talking about paintings and exhibitions, smiles and says as the mood improves again.


    "Has Secretary Kim not contacted you yet?"


    "About what?"


    "The portrait payment."


    "Oh."


    How much will I receive?


    I hope it''s at least five hundred. I would have no wishes left if it was ten million won.


    "It hasn''te yet."


    "My father has given specific instructions, so it''s a bit dyed. He''ll probably contact you tomorrow."


    Can''t you wait one more day? There are so many people who drag it out for months without paying.


    "Yes, I''ll wait."


    "Hehe, look forward to it."


    "Really?"


    Min-young winks and downs her soju.


    Look forward to it? Could it be that she''s matching it to ten million won? Is that really happening?


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 Chapter 45 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 45 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    The next day, in Paju


    Around 11 AM, following Secretary Kim''s unexpected call to Paju, I stand there, dumbfounded, as if in a dream.


    ''Is this a dream?''


    No, it can''t be.


    This has to be a dream.


    I pinch my cheek with my right hand. Ouch? It hurts?


    Secretary Kim, with documents tucked under her arm, says, "Thend area is 580m, and the building area is 109.9m. This building was purchased by the madam for reconstruction into a vi 6 years ago. The overall interior construction waspleted two years ago, but the garden side has not been touched yet."


    Before me stands a country house.


    It''s not as grand as Chairman Yu''s house, but it''s a two-story house with a garden. With shaking hands, I barely manage to ask.


    "You''re really giving me this house?"


    "Yes, we''ll handle the rted taxes as well."


    "..........................."


    Even if it''s not Seoul but Paju, a house like this would cost at least five hundred million won. Five hundred million won for a painting? This is too much.


    "Can I, really, ept this?"


    Honestly, I thought I should refuse.


    But already envisioning a future living here with my mother and brother, I can''t bring myself to reject the offer.


    Secretary Kim hands me the documents she was holding.


    "The moment you sign here, this house bes yours."


    "..........................."


    My hands and feet are trembling. I gulp down my saliva and hastily flip through the documents. Secretary Kim says with a smile.


    "Don''t stand and do this. Go inside the house. It was intended for a vi, so it''s furnished."


    My eyes widen.


    What? It''s furnished? So, I just need to move in?


    "Is it furnished?"


    "All the appliances are installed as well. Please go inside."


    Leading the way, Secretary Kim seems like an angel beckoning me to follow.


    The two-story house built with orange tiles.


    The exterior, a warm blend of red and yellow bricks.


    The living room on both the first and second floors is made entirely of ss, giving an open feel.


    Standing at the front door, I nkly stare ahead.


    "There''s a shoe rack."


    It was my dream.


    To live in a house with a shoe rack.


    There was no shoe rack in the house in Namyangju where I lived with my mom, nor in the semi-basement studio I currently live in.


    Though I don''t have many shoes, it''s different to have a shoe rack and not use it than not to have one at all.


    I open the white shoe rack, and it has six doors. Each one I open reveals clean, empty spaces. It could easily fit fifty pairs of shoes. My mom might faint if she saw this.


    I hesitantly take off my shoes and step inside, letting out another exmation.


    The spacious andfortable living room.


    From outside, it looked warm, but inside, its strikingly modern and contemporary.


    The marble floor, the ind table my mother wished for.


    And there, next to the kitchen, behind a small door, the appliances.


    Tears well up in my eyes.


    ''It''s a dryer.''


    A drum washer and an integrated dryer.


    The fulfillment of my mom''s wish, who still used a top-loading washing machine and air-dried clothes in the sun. I had promised to buy her one when I started earning money and could afford to bring home beef. Now, theres no need to buy it.


    In the middle of the living room, in front of triangle-shaped tables of various sizes, sat Secretary Kim on afortable-looking sofa, smiling and gesturing for me to sit beside her.


    Please, take a seat. Wouldnt it be better to sign quickly?


    As if waking from a daze, I rushed to the sofa.


    Yes! I''ll do it right away!


    Mom!


    Brother!


    Our struggles are over. Let''s live together.


    We can finally shed that burdensomebel of being welfare recipients. It''s time to live a dignified life.


    I will make it happen.


    I will do my best to maintain this life.


    Just trust me.


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 Chapter 46 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 46 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    <i>Bonus chapter thanks to @SomeoneRandom subscribing to the new Ko-fi tier ''Master Artisan''</i>


    "Hey, man. What are you thinking about that''s making you smirk like a madman?"


    A stone plunges into the calmkeside, creating ripples. But Youngju''s voice, which interrupts my happy thoughts, is not strong enough to disturb the peace in my heart.


    "Haha, no, it''s nothing."


    "We need to decide on apany name, the name! You were thinking about something else, weren''t you, you bastard?"


    We''re having a meeting at a caf, as we don''t yet have an office.


    I, with Youngju, my only employee, was brainstormingpany names when I suddenly remembered the house Mr. Yu gave me yesterday and couldn''t help butugh like a madman.


    "Oh, sorry."


    Youngju res at me with narrowed eyes.


    "Sorry? Sorr~~y? Were you really distracted? In front of a friend who quit her job trusting only in you, during this sacred moment of deciding the name for our futurepany? Are you crazy?"


    "Haha, I''m really sorry."


    "Laughing? You find this funny?"


    Youngju lunges at me. She puts me in a headlock and starts yfully hitting me. It hurts, but strangely, I can''t stopughing. Seeing me continue tough, Youngju seems to get even more annoyed and hits my head with a dessert spoon.


    "You ate aughing mushroom or what? Why are youughing? Stopughing! I said stop!"


    "Haha! Okay, I''ll exin."


    "Exin? What exnation? Did you really eat such a mushroom?"


    I push Youngju off and exin the situation.


    Youngju, fuming, listens to my exnation and then celebrates it as if it were his own good news.


    "Wow! What about mom and your brother?"


    "I took them there this morning to show them."


    "Wow! What did mom say?"


    "..."


    Mom.


    Our mother half-cried when she saw the house, thinking I had gotten something like an apartment for my portraitmission. Then she spent over three hours inspecting every corner of the house.


    "Well, she..."


    "..."


    Youngju''s eyes well up with tears.


    She may seem tough, but deep down, she has the heart of a girl. Of course, there''s a witch in there too.


    Youngju wipes his tears and nods his head.


    "That''s great, that''s great. So, are you all moving in together now?"


    "Yeah, my brother can''t really use the stairs to the second floor, so he and mom will use the first floor, and I''ll use the second."


    "How many rooms on the first floor?"


    "One living room, one kitchen, two rooms, one bathroom."


    "And the second floor?"


    "Two rooms, a small living room, one bathroom."


    "What, you''re hogging all the big space for yourself, is that house you earned?"


    "No. How is my brother supposed to use the stairs? Mom needs to take care of him, so she said she''ll use the first floor. Plus, the kitchen is on the first floor, so it''s more convenient."


    "Hmm, makes sense. You''re the only one who can really use the second floor."


    "That''s right."


    "Wow, W Tree Group ss, huh? They gave you a house for a painting? What''s the market value?"


    "I asked at a real estate office while preparing the address transfer documents. They said it would probably go for around 600 million won."


    "Whoa!!!"


    I startughing again while talking. Ah, I''ve beenughing like a madman all day. I check the time and change the subject.


    "Let''s talk about thister. We need to file the corporate registration documents by tomorrow morning, so we need apany name by then."


    Youngju presses his temples and frowns.


    "I was thinking, doesn''t our work start with someone''s request?"


    "That''s right."


    "How about this then? HaeDream."


    "Hae Dream? Doesn''t that sound like an errand center?"


    "Yeah."


    "Hmm, isn''t there something more sophisticated?"


    "Didn''t you think of anything?"


    "Honestly, I thought of some sophisticated names, but none of them felt right."


    "Sigh."


    Youngju scratches his head and then asks.


    "But when do you have to start working on the ceiling painting?"


    "There''s time."


    "What? Time? You''re joking, right? What client gives ample time for a project?"


    I share with Youngju the situation of Minyoung''spany that I heard about at the tripe restaurant. Youngju, with his extensive social experience, quickly grasps the situation and looks serious.


    "They oppose the establishment because it takes too long to recover the investment cost."


    "That''s right."


    "They wont stop the construction. The board of directors arent fools; they know leaving that building idle would mean not even getting their investment back. Theyre probably pressuring President Yoo to reduce the establishment costs and use the space for maximum rental to ensure stable revenue. If they decide to cut down on the establishment costs, it might be a problem for us too, right?"


    "Ah, don''t worry about that. President Yoo promised that we could use our fee without the board''s approval."


    "President Yoo personally?"


    "Yes, I heard it clearly at the intestine grill."


    Youngju blinks in disbelief.


    "You went to an intestine grill with the youngest daughter of a chaebol family?"


    "Yeah, Monica was there too."


    "Are you insane! You mean Monica Rosellini, the lead designer at MG Electronics?"


    "Yes."


    "You took an Italian to an intestine grill?"


    "She liked it."


    "Really?"


    "Yes, at first she frowned, but after trying one, she kept eating, and we had to order more."


    "Wow, do Italians eat intestines? I heard they have beef intestine dishes there. Anyway, you''re quite bold, taking such people to an intestine grill."


    "Whats the harm, it''s delicious."


    I nced at my watch again during our casual chat.


    "Don''t you have to go to work for the rest of this week? Isn''t it time for your afternoon shift as a docent?"


    Youngju checks her watch and frowns.


    "Ah, we still haven''t decided on thepany name. Hey, we have to decide tonight no matter what, okay?"


    "Okay."


    "Don''t decide on your own, consult with me. I''ve put everything on you."


    "Go quickly then."


    "When are you moving?"


    "After mom leaves the house. I''ve already told myndlord that I''m moving out, so I''ll leave once a new tenantes in."


    "Call me if you need help. You are my boss now."


    "Stop it, you don''t mean it. Hurry up and go."


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 Chapter 46 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 46 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    After Youngju, still bound to her job, leaves, I, alone in the cafe, start tough again while pondering thepany name. Ah, look at my state of mind. This is not the time for this. It''s crucial to decide today. No time for stray thoughts.


    But I can''t help thinking about my mother''s face this morning.


    My heart warms at the thought of her joy, not just at living in a nice house.


    I can almost hear herughter-filled voice exining about the house to my blind brother.


    Eventually, I give up pondering in the caf and step outside.


    I thought walking might help me think better, but all I can think about is my mother.


    "Agh, this is driving me crazy."


    It''s a problem when you''re too happy and content.


    You need just the right amount of happiness to focus on your work.


    As I slowly walked from the caf near Youngju''s house, the thought of the art museum suddenly crossed my mind.


    Come to think of it, I hadn''t visited the museum once during the two months I spent painting portraits.


    I wonder if the Klimt exhibition is still on?


    I slowly walked towards the museum.


    It seemed more productive to view an exhibition than to brood over such unfruitful thoughts. Plus, I might just luck into another dream.


    After about ten minutes, I arrived at the museum, which always seemed deserted, and smiled upon seeing that the current exhibition hadn''t changed.


    "Will there ever be another Alphonse Mucha exhibition?"


    I long to see the great teacher who has had such an influence on my life. Although Klimt is an amazing artist, I feel a stronger connection to Mucha, who has been more influential in my life.


    I buy a ticket and head down to the basement.


    Now, this corridor and the stairs leading underground are all familiar.


    Even Beethoven, Korea''s favoriteposer, sounds delightful to my ears.


    From my standpoint, someone who knows little about ssical music, familiar tunes seem more pleasant.


    The museum is still deserted.


    I head to my usual rock sofa, looking around. The grand space, with its majestic music, shoots out huge golden paintings. But despite the grandeur, I can''t help but worry about the museum.


    ''How can there be no visitors?''


    Even though it''s a weekday afternoon, it''s as if not a single ant is around. Actually, I''ve never seen another visitor here besides myself.


    What if it suddenly goes bankrupt?


    It''s be a precious ce to me.


    Should I spread the word somehow?


    I don''t do social media, so the number of people I can tell is quite limited, but maybe I should do it anyway.


    Sitting on the sofa, resting my chin on my hand, I start to admire Klimt''s beautiful golden paintings. Then, suddenly, an excellent idea hits me, and I p my knee.


    "That''s it! Artist Company!"


    The idea struck me while looking at Klimt''s paintings. What a simple, clear, and neat name!


    Thepany Klimt started with his brother Ernst, Artist Company, became the most famouspany in Vienna at that time.


    I grinned at the sudden idea.


    It''s a name Youngju would like too.


    As a program I had been half-watchinges to an end and starts again from the beginning, I adjust my position to watch it properly.


    And as it starts, I smile unknowingly at the beautiful golden waves decorating the entire museum.


    Klimt''s most famous work, The Kiss.


    A painting of a man tightly embracing a woman and kissing her cheek.


    Although it ignores perspective and is two-dimensional, it remains Klimt''s most famous work, adorned with beautiful golden patterns. Especially popr among mothers, most households have a fridge ma with this pattern.


    Klimt''s paintings vary in style from his early, middle, andte periods. Initially, his style was realistic, simr to the Italian Caravaggio. The Kiss is from his middle period, inspired by his travels to Ravenna, Italy, where he was moved by the Byzantine mosaics in the Basilica of San Vitale.


    Considering Klimt''s father was a goldsmith and Klimt grew up attending craft schools and being close to goldsmithing, it seems natural that he used gold in his art materials.


    Resting my chin on my hand, I mumbled as I looked at the painting.


    "People only see the beauty of this painting and think it''s a portrait of happy lovers, but that''s not the case."


    This painting is not just about happy lovers.


    It''s only noticeable upon closer inspection, but the couple is standing at the edge of a cliff. There''s a bench, a park, akeside, yet they choose to kiss at the edge of a cliff.


    The meaning behind this is well-known to those who study art history.


    ''Klimt and Emilie Flge.''


    A precarious love with a woman that could not, and should not, havee to fruition.


    The woman in this painting was the sister-inw of Klimt, the wife of his deceased brother, Ernst.


    After Ernst''s death, Klimt lived with Emilie, sharing a lifelong tonic love without physical intimacy.


    It is said in academic circles that after Klimt''s death, Emilie burned documents that could have been scandalous, leading to ack of records about him.


    What could have been the feeling of the elder brother who loved his younger brother''s wife even after death?


    And what thoughts must the wife have had, loving her husband''s brother?


    I can''t understand it at all.


    And then, as I was resting my chin on my hand, my wrist lost strength, and my head drooped down.


    It seems I am being drawn into a dream again.


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 Chapter 47 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 47 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Ding-dong.


    The sound of a bell ringing from the back of a carriage.


    Clip-clop, clip-clop, snuffle.


    The sound of horse hooves and the horse''s snorting.


    "We sell cheap chicken!"


    "We sell the finest leather!"


    The cries of the merchants hawking their wares.


    Having woken up, I always struggle to adapt to my surroundings, as usual, after being dragged into a dream. I was sitting on a sofa, but now I find myself standing on a street in some medieval era.


    The tracks made by carriage wheels on the unpaved dirt road are visible, and a boy, slightly older than ten, wearing a cap, scurries around with a bundle of newspapers under his arm.


    I tried to block the way of a portly middle-aged gentleman passing by, but it seemed he didn''t see me from the start as he just walked right through me.


    "Once again, I''m invisible to the people here."


    When could this be?


    What era have Ie to?


    Based on my experiences so far, it must be a time rted to Klimt.


    What kind of dream will it show me this time?


    I looked around but couldn''t see Klimt anywhere.


    I decided to walk. Why just wander aimlessly, you ask?


    Isn''t it obvious? If you had the chance to go back to the Middle Ages with a time machine, would you just stand still? One must explore whatever they can.


    I left the narrow alleyway, barely wide enough for a single carriage, and stepped onto a somewhatrger road.


    About two hundred meters away, I saw beautiful buildings constructed along a round street.


    ''Ringstrae (Ringstrassen).''


    The most bustling ce in Vienna, Austria.


    Of course, it''s still remarkably beautiful today, but the nostalgia of that era adds even more splendor and beauty.


    Who else in the world would have the fortune to visit the center of medieval Austrian bustle in person? I was eager to rush over there, so I quickened my pace.


    Where I was, felt like a back alley, slightly off the main area.


    A bit away from the center, this cecked the mour.


    It felt just like a residential area with old markets, much like the vicinity of the Hwanghak-dong Flea Market.


    There was a slight foul smell, making me want to quickly leave the area, and just then, I saw a small but newly hung sign that caught my eye.


    I stopped in my tracks when I saw the writing on the sign.


    ''Knstlerunternehmen.''


    It''s German.


    I don''t know German. But I recognize this word.


    "Artist Company. It''s Klimt''spany."


    I craned my neck towards the shop that the sign was hanging from.


    Incredulous.


    Thepany of Klimt, known worldwide, was this small?


    It''s even smaller than a little store run by an elderlydy in our neighborhood.


    Maybe about three square meters?


    The shop was so small that the width of the door was almost the same as the width of the shop itself.


    Inside the small and long shop, there were two desks, but due to the narrow space, they were ced side by side facing the wall.


    And there, I saw a familiar face.


    ''Ernst Klimt.''


    The brother of Gustav Klimt.


    It''s only natural that he''s here. After all, thispany was founded by the brothers.


    A man walking by throws a newspaper he finished reading onto the street. When I saw the ck-and-white newspaper, I was drawn to the date written in the top right corner.


    ''April 1886.''


    My first dream in this strange art museum was in Paris on July 4, 1939.


    Now, I''ve fallen 53 years earlier.


    I nced again towards the bustling area, my initial destination.


    It seemed a pity to stop here.


    There''s no guarantee I could visit that ce again even if I dream again.


    I looked back into the shop and saw Ernst, deeply troubled and scratching his head, then I stepped inside.


    This museum showing me a dream must have a purpose beyond just sightseeing.


    The real importance of this dream must lie here.


    Ernst, who was puffing on a pipe, looked intensely at something and frowned. As I walked sideways through the narrow shop to his back, I realized he was looking at a receipt. There seemed to be about a dozen receipts, and he was alternately looking at them and the few banknotes left in the drawer.


    ''Thispany, wasn''t it doing incredibly well? Is he worried about not being able to handle these receipts?''


    It seems apparent even to an outsider.


    This man is struggling with the high fixed costspared to the revenue.


    Faced with the reality of insufficient funds for urgent expenses.


    It feels somewhat simr to my situation, doesn''t it?


    Though I think I''m in a slightly better position.


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 Chapter 47 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 47 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Ernst, seemingly intent on chain-smoking, takes another drag on his pipe and asks,


    What did Mr. Hans say?


    ..


    Klimt just smokes silently, not responding.


    The smoke from the two men fills the air, eventually bing as thick as that from a house fire.


    Finally breaking the silence, Klimt speaks.


    Mr. Hans isnt in good health. It wasnt possible to even bring up the subject.


    Does he seem very ill?


    Yes, his condition has virtually paralyzed the business operations in this sector.


    I strained to remember the name mentioned in their conversation. Then it came to me.


    Hans Makart!


    The famous Austrian painter.


    Makart, twenty years Klimt''s senior, was an idol of Klimt in his youth.


    Makarts decorative art, characterized by freepositions, vibrant colors, and ornate decorations in a Neo-Baroque style, yed a leading role in Viennas Art Nouveau movement. He was also known for dominating Austrias decorative arts scene.


    I don''t know him by face.


    I only read about him during my college years.


    In October 2016, one of his paintings, An Allegory of Love, was auctioned for 130,000 euros at the Viennese auction house Im Kinsky.


    I found it curious at the time.


    130,000 euros? Just about 180 million won.


    It seemed too lowpared to other famous paintings easily worth hundreds of billions of won.


    Later, during an art history lesson, I understood why.


    He dominated his era but did not surpass it, thus not reaching the status of a master painter.


    What is considered progressive today was once deemed ludicrous.


    Every artist bears the imprint of their time.


    Great artists are those with the deepest imprints.


    Hans Makart wasmercially sessful, but in terms of the imprint of his era and progressiveness, he wasn''t highly regarded. This exins why his paintings were priced lower than expected.


    However, he was a giant in his lifetime, virtually swallowing the entire Austrian art scene. He was also generous enough to acknowledge the young Klimt''s talent and treated him more as a colleague than as a student.


    Klimt nced at the bookshelf and asked,


    Is there any liquor left?


    Ernst, looking somewhat embarrassed, shrugged his shoulders.


    How did you know?


    I saw you drinking secretly.


    Thats embarrassing.


    Ernst pulled out a thick book from the shelf. Many old books had box-like covers, and the one he removed was no exception. Surprisingly, instead of a book, there was a bottle of liquor inside the box.


    Ernst took out two cups, filled them halfway, and handed one to Klimt.


    Drink sparingly. This is thest of it.


    The two men sipped their drinks in silence.


    The smoke from their pipes and the strong scent of whiskey filled the shop.


    For a non-smoker like me, being in this cramped space between the two men, as if catching roons, was quite a challenge.


    After a moment of silence, Ernst took a sip and said,


    Brother, shall we paint portraits again?


    Remember how we earned six guilders from thatstmission?


    Guilder? That was a gold coin unit in Dutch and German cultures. But how much would six guilders be? It doesn''t seem like a lot.


    As far as I remember, the two enrolled in the Vienna School of Applied Arts in 1877 and worked on converting photographs to portraits to earn their tuition fees.


    If its 1886 now, thats nine years after their enrollment. They would have graduated by now and probably wouldnt want to do the same part-time jobs they did as students.


    As expected, Klimt quietly shakes his head. Ernst, as if he just threw the idea out there, sighed and took another sip before continuing.


    Its already been six years since we decorated the central hall of the Vienna Museum of Art History.


    It was good when we did the interior decorations for the Empress''s summer house, the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hermesvi">Hermes Vi</a>. Last year was busy and fulfilling, but this year, no work ising in.


    That was also because Mr. Hans subcontracted it to us.


    I know, but now Mr. Hans is ill and cant share his work with us. Nobody else is giving us jobs. Maybe its time for us to find our own way, brother?


    Klimt also remained silent, just drinking his liquor.


    Then, someone knocked on the open door of the shop. A gentleman dressed in a ck suit spoke.


    Is this the Artist Company?


    Ernst and Klimt sprang up like springs.


    Yes, it is!


    Im from the city hall.


    The city hall?


    A government official hade.


    Given theck of operating funds, this didn''t seem like good news for the two.


    However, the city hall official, noticing their dismay, smiled and spoke.


    Dont worry, Ive brought a job opportunity.


    What?


    After hanging his hat on the coat rack, the official continued.


    Soon, the nearby Burgtheater will be demolished and rebuilt. The city hall ns tomemorate its current appearance with a painting.


    Ernst looked at his brother with joy, but Klimts expression was odd.


    After a pause, Klimt spoke.


    As far as I know, that job was supposed to go to Mr. Hans.


    The official hesitated for a moment before looking at Klimt.


    Havent you heard the news yet?


    What are you talking about?


    The official nced outside the open door and lowered his voice slightly.


    Just a little while ago, Austrian painter Hans Makart passed away.


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 Chapter 48 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 48 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    <i>Bonus chapter 2/4</i>


    Klimt eximed in surprise.


    "What, what did you say?"


    Ernst, also startled, clutched his brother and asked.


    "Brother! Didn''t you just report back?"


    Klimt responded with a flustered voice.


    "I went to Uncle Hans'' ce and then walked around the park for about an hour to clear my mind. He passed away during that time? That''s unfortunate."


    I leaned against the hallway wall, watching the bureaucrat and clicking my tongue.


    ''Immobility, the epitome of bureaucracy, and yet they move so quickly at times like this.''


    They''re handling their own matters even when someone has died. They should''ve at least waited until after the funeral.


    The bureaucrat said with an awkward expression.


    "Of course, we should start with mourning, but as the city runs this project with tax money, we couldn''t dy and had toe here."


    Klimt was struck dumb. Ernst quickly asked in his stead.


    "Then, what about the other tasks that were going to Uncle Hans?"


    "We are nning to distribute them to otherpanies."


    Ah, that''s right.


    The death of a painter who boasted a 90% market share in the Austrian decorative arts industry. Ironically, after this incident, as they started resolving the work they received, the Artist Company began to grow.


    Klimt, who had received the Golden Cross of Merit from Emperor Franz Joseph in 1888 for his contribution to art, was still struggling with ack of work until now.


    While Klimt seemed shocked, Ernst quickly recovered and prepared a seat for the bureaucrat.


    "We will take over that task."


    "Ah, thank you. That''s a relief. Sorry for the urgency, but if you have any ongoing work, could you prioritize ours?"


    Ernst pretended to ponder for a moment and then said.


    "Of course, we have other work, but it''s a request from the Vienna City Hall, so naturally, it should be prioritized. Now, shall we discuss the project?"


    I smirked to myself. What work? We were just idling around.


    Perhaps the business talent was more in the younger brother.


    **


    Vienna City Hall (Wiener Rathaus).


    The city hall, built in a Baroque pce style, is a feast for the eyes just by looking at it. It is located in Friedrich Schmidt Square and designed by the architect of the same name.


    The two brothers, dressed in ck suits from attending the funeral.


    They arrived at the meeting space and were waiting for the official.


    The irony of mourning the death of a respected artist while simultaneously being happy about the new work. Klimt and Ernst had faces filled withplex expressions, not knowing how to react.


    Then, a door opened, and a man with a mustache entered. A different person from the bureaucrat who hade to their office.


    As the brothers stood up, he extended his hand and said.


    "I am Anton Pollo. It''s an honor to meet the renowned Klimt brothers."


    At this time, the two were not very famous. The bureaucrat was merely trying to make a good impression.


    After shaking hands and sitting down, Anton said.


    "The matter is quite urgent, actually."


    Klimt asked.


    "I don''t quite understand. You requested us tomemorate the soon-to-be-closed theater, not one that''s opening soon, right?"


    "That''s correct."


    "If the theater is closing soon, why the rush? Can''t we take photos and work at a leisurely pace?"


    Anton sighed and looked around, checking if anyone was listening. He then spoke softly.


    "It''s because of the nobles andndlords."


    In the medieval era, nobles andndlords were like lifelines to artists. Artists out of favor with the nobility were doomed to poverty. The brothers tensed up at the mention of them being the culprits.


    Anton waved his hands as if to dismiss any misunderstanding.


    "Don''t get me wrong, this job won''t be a loss for you. It''s because of the mayor''s remaining term."


    "Hmm."


    "The mayor has paid great attention to Austria''s aesthetics during his term. As a result, Vienna has transformed into the most artistic city in all of Europe."


    Ernst nods in agreement.


    "Yes, this is indeed the heart of art. The vigers may adore Paris, France, but those with consciousness regard Vienna as the center of European art. This change in consciousness is all thanks to the mayor."


    Anton''s expression darkens.


    "Yes, that''s exactly why."


    Klimt steps forward as he listens.


    "It''s hard to understand. Among the artists active in Vienna, none have been without the mayor''s help. Why would the nobles andndlords pressure such a person?"


    Standing in a corner, I nod my head. People of this era might not understand, but with my modern mindset, I grasped the situation immediately.


    The mayor loves art.


    In this era, Vienna underwent major construction, bing a city of art.


    Construction costs money.


    The city''s moneyes from taxes.


    No city can collect enough taxes to rebuild the entire city.


    Therefore, Vienna must be struggling with debt now.


    Anton adds an exnation that aligns with my expectation.


    "A tremendous amount of money has gone into city expansion. Unable to cover it with taxes alone, the city received support from nobles andndlords, and even had to take out government loans. The current mayor believes that, though times are tough now, in 50 years, everyone in the world will envy this city."


    Hmm, what was the mayor''s name? Since I don''t know, it seems history has credited the artists for this work. But those who made decisions and pushed the project forward deserve recognition too. Well, I guess I''ll acknowledge it?


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 Chapter 48 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 48 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Anton unfolds a city map and points to a spot with his index finger.


    "This is where the Burgtheater is. ns are to close it soon and build something else. It''s a very old theater, so instead of just closing it, there''s a thought to leave a historical monument."


    Anton takes out a pipe to smoke.


    In this era, it''s not considered rude to light a cigarette without asking for the other''s consent, but as a non-smoker, it''s almost suffocating for me.


    Look at that, as Anton takes out his pipe, the two brothers also pull theirs out.


    Soon, the three men light up, and this conference room will be filled with smoke, like there''s a fire.


    Anton speaks through puffs of smoke.


    "It seems one of the nobles heard about Vienna''s loan situation from central politics. Thendlords and nobles, unaware of how bad the financial situation was, asked the mayor to share the current status, and the mayor candidly conveyed the situation. Upon hearing this, the nobles andndlords changed their attitude. They won''t provide any support for the rest of the mayor''s term."


    That''s expected.


    Landlords living in a potentially doomed city.


    Who would just watch as the value of theirnd and houses might plummet?


    Klimt asks.


    "How much longer is the mayor''s term?"


    "Three months."


    "With no support, do you have the capacity to offer us the job?"


    "The amount originally allocated to Mr. Hans can be redirected to yourpany."


    "Then there''s even less urgency to proceed quickly, isn''t there?"


    Anton sighs and gives a very long exnation.


    In summary, a likely candidate for the next mayor has stepped up, intending to halt all current projects to recover the city''s finances. A significant number of nobles andndlords are backing him.


    Therefore, if the mayor changes, all ongoing projects will stop, so there''s a rush to finish unfinished business within the remaining term.


    After hearing Anton''s lengthy exnation, Klimt nods in understanding, making a gesture ofprehension. He ponders for a moment.


    Ernst whispers to him.


    "Bro, if we don''t take this job, we''ll have to vacate the shop next month. We must say yes."


    Klimt nces at his brother but is still lost in thought.


    "What''s he pondering in such a situation?


    Is he burdened with the mayor''s work as his term nears its end?


    Worried about falling out of favor with the next elected mayor?


    After much deliberation, Klimt finally speaks.


    The nobles andndlords. Where are they now?


    Pardon?


    I asked where they are.


    Anton searches his pocket, pulls out a round watch, and after checking it, replies.


    At this hour, they''re likely attending the mayoral candidate''s speech.


    And where''s that?


    In front of St. Stephen''s Cathedral.


    Understood, I ept the job. Lets start immediately.


    Oh, will you? Thank you.


    Klimt stands up and tells Ernst.


    Go next to our shop and recruit a photographer.


    Ernst''s eyes widen.


    To start with photos of the theater?


    That, and bring the photographer directly to the front of the cathedral.


    The cathedral? But that''s in the opposite direction?


    Juste. I''ll go ahead.


    Without leaving any exnation for his puzzled brother, Klimt shakes hands with Anton and quickly leaves the meeting room. I watch the brothers alternately and then decide to follow Klimt.


    Whats he thinking?


    Asking to bring a photographer means he intends to take photos.


    Photography would indeed help if nning to capture the soon-to-be-closed theater in paintings.


    But why instruct to bring them to the cathedral where the next mayoral candidate is speaking?


    Ha, I should have studied more about Klimt if I knew this would happen.


    Shortly after, in front of the cathedral.


    Nobles andndlords are seated in a row, and ordinary citizens are also listening to the speech.


    A dignified, half-bald elderly gentleman shouts from the podium.


    Citizens! The financial state of Vienna is at its worst! This is all due to the current mayor''s excessive construction. If elected, I will halt all construction, and invest in funds for tenants andmoners, stabilizend prices and intion, and promote cottage industries!


    Apuse erupts from the crowd.


    Look at that man, iming to support tenants andmoners but really speaking aboutnd values and industrial development.


    He''s indirectly promising benefits to thendlords and nobles, and no one seems to realize it.


    I understand the nobles apuding, but why are themon citizens pping?


    Klimt stands not at the back but at the side of the crowd, with his arms crossed.


    But his gaze isn''t on the podium but rather on the row of seated nobles andndlords.


    Why is he watching those people?


    After a while, Ernst appears with a photographer.


    Brother.


    Klimt nces and then directs the photographer to the seated individuals.


    Take pictures of everyone sitting there. Make sure every face is clear. Use all the film you have if needed.


    All the film?


    Yes, quickly now.


    Film is expensive in this era.


    The photographer, looking like he''s hit the jackpot, starts shing away. Ernst, seeing the cameravishly spending public funds, frowns and nudges his brother.


    What are you thinking, exactly?


    Klimt quietly watches the nobles andndlords and mutters.


    We need to show them that hearts are conquered not by money and power, but by beauty and ideals. These money-minded pigs.


    His words echo a past moment.


    A night at a tripe restaurant in Hongdae with Min-young.


    Monica''s impassioned outcry there ovepped in my mind.


    Those materialists who only see the money in front of them. They don''t understand that true creation isn''t about satisfying desires, but about creating them.


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 Chapter 49 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 49 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Klimt, after asking a photographer, who was apanied by his brother, to take photos of all the nobles andndowners of Vienna with their faces clearly visible, returned to his studio and lit his pipe. Klimt, enveloped in a thick haze of smoke, was lost in thought.


    Ernst, his brother, came back to the office a bitter and said while hanging his bowler hat on the coat rack, I had to ask for the photos on credit, were short on cash right now.


    When I mentioned credit, the photographers face twisted. Just moments ago, he was happily snapping photos without worrying about wasting film.


    Our neighbor will understand.


    Hmm.


    Indeed, there was a photography studio in the neighboring unit of thismercial building.


    Ernst, who didnt add anyments to confirm if his brother was right, took off his jacket, sat down, and started cleaning his pipe. What are you thinking about?


    ..


    If its a painting tomemorate the Burg Theater, it should naturally be of the museums interior or an exterior view. Why did you waste that expensive film on photos of those fat pigs?


    Klimt, immersed in his thoughts, finally stood up.


    How long will it take for the photos to develop?


    Cant you just answer?


    ..


    Sigh, I heard it takes about two days.


    I, living in the modern era where taking and developing photos only takes 30 minutes, chuckled at this. Two days to develop photos? This era sure had its inconveniences.


    Of course, the modern age has be simpler, but not necessarily better.


    **


    Two dayster, at Klimt''s house.


    I had been following Klimt for the past two days.


    This unusually long dream showed everything Klimt did over those two days. It wasnt anything spectacr. He went to the theater to observe its interior with his own eyes and closely examined the faces of the nobles andndowners who were part of the election campaign procession.


    Finally, the photos were developed, and Klimt was sticking over 40 pictures on the wall.


    But something was odd. He set aside the photos of the theater he was supposed to draw and was instead arranging and sticking the photos of the nobles andndowners on the wall in various positions.


    Klimt, engaged in this peculiar activity, first ced a photo of a man with a stylish mustache at the front, then moved it to the far right, and arranged the photos of noblewomen at the front.


    "What on earth are you thinking?"


    Unable to understand Klimt, I merely observed him and then nced at the theater photos set aside.


    The photographer was quite skilled. He took a photo from the very back of the stage, pointing upwards, capturing the ceiling and the audience seats in a single shot. The empty audience seats gave a deste feeling, but filled with people, it would have been a magnificent sight, blending beautifully with the theater scenery.


    I paused as I looked at the photo.


    "Wait a minute."


    The old Burgtheater. Have I seen this painting before?


    Struggling to recall, I remembered this painting, tucked away in a corner of my mind.


    "This painting. Klimt had painted the audience seats filled with people. I''m sure of it."


    Many of Klimt''s ceiling and mural paintings are famous. This one, being rtively less known, had slipped my mind until now. In my memory, the painting showed the audience seats packed with people.


    I narrowed my eyes, alternating between the photos of people that Klimt was arranging on the wall and the photo of the empty theater.


    "He filled the empty audience seats with portraits ofndowners and nobles."


    I understood that, but why?


    Didn''t he call them money-grubbing pigs two days ago?


    Why would he preserve such people in this beautiful painting, to be passed down through generations?


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 Chapter 49 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 49 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    I dont know how much time has passed in this dream.


    At least several weeks have gone by. Of course, I wasn''t just waiting during that time.


    Whats good about a dream?


    A dream shows me the passage of time but doesn''t force me to endure it.


    Everything sped by, and I watched Klimt and his brother move at an almost imperceptibly fast pace, their hands and feet barely visible. In the morning, they would visit the empty theater to observe, and in the afternoon, they would return to the studio to paint. The painting taking shape within the enormous canvas.


    Truth be told, watching Klimt work doesnt improve my painting skills. Frankly, art students of today are probably better in technique than painters of the 18th and 19th centuries. Modern art students have learned the numerous skills that have umted over the vast expanse of time.


    However, painters who leave their mark on an era are not defined by their skills alone.


    What were their thoughts?


    How did they express themselves?


    Did they advance within the currents of their time?


    It''s these aspects, rather than painting technique, that determine a master painter.


    Klimt in front of me is one such person.


    While I''m watching how hepletes his painting with my eyes, what I truly want to understand is not his skill, but his thoughts.


    Two months into the coboration with his brother.


    Finally, the painting ispleted.


    And Anton, a municipal official, chose the first-floor lobby of the city hall as the ce to disy the finished painting.


    I stand quietly in the city hall lobby where Anton hung the painting, gazing at it.


    Anton doesnt understand the meaning behind this painting. He simply hung it with the hope that people would remember the beautiful image of the theater.


    This mayor has wasted tax money again. How many more of these paintings does he n to produce? Thend value dropped by 5% justst month. Does he even think?


    I turned my head towards the direction of the voice.


    Two men stood there, one with a thick beard, both dressed in ck suits and bowler hats, looking like nobles or wealthyndlords. The bearded man, stroking his beard, said,


    But this painting, it''s truly beautiful. Have you been to the Burgtheater?


    What are you saying? Who hasnt been to that old theater?


    The ceilings there, and the way the seats look. It resembles the audience during a y, when the lights go off and the stage is dimly lit. Doesnt it look like an actual theater audience?


    Well, yes, but if it were me, Id have chosen a view showing the stage rather than the seats.


    Hmm, thats true. It would have been better as a scene from a Shakespeare y.


    Yes, then this painting would have been more beautiful. Thats why I say the mayor is wasting money.


    As the bearded man couldnt take his eyes off the painting, he suddenly raised his eyebrows.


    He stepped forward and approached the painting.


    His friend, sensing something odd, joined him and said,


    Whats wrong? Another issue with the painting? Tell me, we shouldin to the mayor about this. Hes barely got a month left in office.


    What do you see?


    There, you.


    Speak up.


    That man in the brown suit on the right end.


    Where?


    Over there. Isnt that you?


    ?


    Ah, yes! Thats you! And isnt that your wife next to you!


    The man, seeing himself and his wife in the corner of the painting, widened his eyes. The bearded man began pointing out people excitedly.


    And theres Donat, the southernndlord! And thats Mr. Askin! My God, Moretti and Reed are there too! Are all these people really Viennas nobility andndlords?


    The bearded man reached out as if to touch the painting, but it was hung too high.


    But theres a serious problem with this painting!


    His friend, now appeased by his own portrait, turned around.


    Whats the problem?


    Im not in it! I, Kotopft, the proudestndlord in the north!


    His friend, already part of the painting, smiled contently.


    Ha, thats the discerning eye of great Austrian artists! Honestly, you have no eye for art, only money. Maybe you should start appreciating art, and one day, Viennas artists might recognize you as a true noble.


    The bearded man scowled.


    Damn it! This is uneptable! Lets go to the mayors office right now! Ill support the artists with my own money, but my face must be in this painting!


    Ha ha! Do you still think money can do everything? Ha ha! I might reassess the current mayor. If such beautiful art is made, taxes arent a waste. In fact, Id open my own wallet if needed.


    You can say that because your face is in it! This is a matter of honor!


    Heh, its not about honor, but art. The nobles in the painting and those who arent will be a significant social marker.


    The bearded man heated up and swung his cane around.


    Lets go to the mayors office right now! Ill pay whatever it takes to get my face in that painting!


    Whoa, wait! Lets go together!


    I watched as the two friends hurried towards the mayors office. What? They think its an honor to be in the painting? They curse the mayor one moment and change their stance the next?


    I couldnt quite understand their thoughts.


    But as I listened to the conversations of the many nobles who rushed in upon hearing the rumors, I narrowed my eyes and paid attention.


    Ha ha!! Indeed!! Supporting Viennas artists non-stop has its rewards! Look at that! Can you see my face? They even got my favorite clothes right! I heard Klimt painted this, you know? Ive always held Klimt in high regard.


    Shut up! You didnt even know who Klimt was. Now youre boasting because your face is in it?


    Ha ha! Your face isnt there, is it!


    Damn! Who exactly is Klimt? Butler! Butler! Find out who Klimt is and convey that I intend to sponsor him! But only if my face gets into this painting!


    The scene changes.


    Again, the figures pass by swiftly.


    The painting that was in the city hall lobby is now back in Klimts studio, with numerous people being added.


    And finally, when the painting ispleted, all the nobles andndowners living in Vienna flock to the lobby, apuding and praising the art.


    And as I watch them, I recall Monicas words.


    The real creation of art is not about satisfying desires, but about creating them.


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 Chapter 50 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 50 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    <i>3/4 Bonus chapter thanks to @Merea subscribing to Master Artisan Tier on Ko-fi</i>


    The next day, in the morning.


    Sitting in the caf, Youngju, resting his chin on his hands, raises his eyebrows and asks,


    "Artist Company? Isn''t that thepany name created by Klimt?"


    "Yeah."


    "Hmm, as far as I know, an entertainment agency already took that name."


    "I''ve already consulted about that. It''s a name left in history, so nobody can copyright it. We can use the same name for ourpany without any issues."


    "Well, it''s simple and clearly indicates what thepany does, so it seems fine."


    Morning at the caf.


    I told Youngju that we would name ourpany Artist Company. Youngju, having umted vast knowledge working in an art museum, understood my intention and agreed.


    Youngju writes the name in thepany establishment application form given by the W Tree representative, and nods.


    "Good, we don''t have the luxury to ponder more. Let''s go with this."


    Youngju quickly flips through a few documents, has me sign in several ces, and fills in the nks. It''s really handy to have a friend who''s experienced in social life.


    Afterpleting the documents and cing them in an envelope, Youngju says,


    "You know I''m only going to the office till the end of this week, right? Have you found the office?"


    "Not yet."


    "Get something like an atelier concept, don''t just pick a regr office with bright fluorescent lights."


    "Does it need to be big? It''s just the two of us."


    "You fool, we need to get isometric projections and turn them into 3D for the fresco. How can you do that in a small space? Besides, we might get other kinds of work in the future. Do you think you can work on a 200-size canvas in a tiny office?"


    "Got it."


    A spacious office is expensive.


    From what I''ve seen, even the rent in Seoul would cost over 3 million won, not to mention the security deposit.


    I ask Youngju, watching her reaction,


    "Would it be okay to get one in Gyeonggi Province?"


    Youngju lives in Yeomchang-dong. She''s used to moving only within Seoul, so I felt somewhat sorry to suggest setting up an office in Gyeonggi Province.


    Youngju nces at me and then nods.


    "Paju or Ilsan, Bupyeong would be nice. Don''t get it in Namyangju, it''s a nice ce but too far from our home."


    Phew, d she understands. Actually, Paju or Ilsan isn''t that far from Yeomchang-dong.


    "Okay."


    "Now, let''s talk about work. I''ve been thinking about what to paint for the fresco."


    Youngju pulls out arge folder from her bag and spreads it open.


    The first few pages are printed with references to famous European theater frescoes.


    She really did prepare diligently, saying she''s staking her life on this.


    As Youngju flips through the references, she says,


    "Perhaps it''s better to imbue the grand theater fresco with religious meaning. The frescoes in major European theaters are also full of biblical allusions."


    "........................"


    "How about Venus, the symbol of beauty, as a theme? Ah, what about touching on the Creation? Hmm, would that be too much like copying Michngelo? Ah, it''s a tough decision."


    "........................"


    "The theater''s interior follows Baroque style, so incorporating a scene from Greek or Roman mythology would be cool, right?"


    Youngju, babbling non-stop.


    She looks cute doing that, but I also feel sorry.


    Because I''ve already decided on what fresco to paint.


    "Hey, Youngju."


    "And then, considering the heart of Baroque was 17th-century France, we could use the Reformation and the Thirty Years'' War."


    "Young-ju?"


    "In my opinion, an image of the absolute monarchy of Louis XIV would... Oh, what did you say?"


    "."


    I nce at my watch and then stand up from my seat.


    "Let''s go somewhere for a bit."


    "Where?"


    I wink at Young-ju and say, "Market research."


    Young-ju looks at me with a dumbfounded expression.


    "What are you talking about, you crazy guy."


    Haha, let''s get going.


    A littleter, at W Tree Hannam.


    Facing the splendid hotel, Youngju said,


    Well, yeah. I need to see the theater to proceed with my work. Our boss, surprisingly meticulous, isn''t he? Adorably so.


    Thinking about it, Youngju hasn''t seen the theater yet.


    It wasn''t my intention to bring her for that.


    I felt a bit sorry, but she seemed to take it well, so let''s move on.


    I entered the hotel lobby, sparing my words, and Youngju pointed towards the theater direction from behind, saying,


    Isnt the theater that way?


    First, let''s start here.


    Oh, right. Its not opened yet, so we need permission, huh? Wow, boss. Visiting once, and youre overflowing with ease?


    The misunderstanding is growing.


    It doesnt matter. Ill finish my business, ask for permission, and then take a look at the theater to turn this misunderstanding into reality.


    The lobby staff, seeing me, stood up from their seat.


    Recognizing my face, the staff member asked,


    Hello, Artist.


    Huh? Perhaps because it''s a five-star hotel, they remember my face from just one visit.


    Hello.


    After checking the PC, the staff member said,


    There seems to have been a mistake in the system. There is no appointment recorded for today, did you perhaps have an appointment with the boss?


    No, sorry. I didnt have an appointment.


    Oh, then did youe to look around the theater?


    No, not that. I heard theres a board meeting today.


    The staff looked momentarily flustered. It must be unexpected for a painter assigned to the theater ceiling mural to inquire about a board meeting.


    Is the boss here now?


    Well, yes, but.


    Could you contact her? Id like to meet.


    It''s usually an impossible request. But remembering the artist that Yoo Min Young, the president, had especially asked to take care of, the staff agreed and went back to make a call.


    Youngju, poking me in the ribs, frowned,


    Hey, you should have made an appointment. Is the hotel president your neighborhood friend? You seem meticulous but are clueless about this.


    ..


    That''s because of the reference you prepared earlier.


    I hurried over topensate for the four hours you wasted deliberating over the predetermined theme. I know that much. It was a real mistake.


    Fortunately, the staff, appearing slightly happier after getting permission from Yoo Min Young, came to the front desk.


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 Chapter 50 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 50 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    The president will see you. But due to the board meeting, it needs to be within 10 minutes, is that okay?


    Of course, thank you.


    Here, this card. Take the same elevator asst time.


    Thank you.


    Trying my best not to look like a country bumpkin, but Youngju, unable to control her gaze, followed me expertly to the corner elevator. As soon as the door to the president''s office opened, seeing Jackson Pollock''s painting, Youngju''s jaw dropped in awe.


    Is that real?


    Hic!


    Youngju huped.


    Seems like Youngju, working at the city art museum and aware of the painting''s value, was more shocked than I had felt, unable to take her eyes off the painting.


    If Min Young hadn''te out to meet us in the elevator, Youngju would have been stuck there for hours, just staring at the painting.


    Min Youngs slightly haggard face.


    Youre here.


    Min Young''s face hinted at the gravity of the situation.


    She must have struggled for days preparing material to counter the board''s demand to withdraw from the art project, which has a long return-on-investment period.


    Introducing Youngju as a non-executive director, I followed Min Youngs lead to the sofa. Checking the time, Min Young asked,


    But what brings you here without contact? I''m sorry, but I have another meeting soon and cant spare much time.


    I waved my hands quickly.


    Its my fault for showing up unannounced. Dont worry about it.


    d you understand, but what brings you here?


    Before getting to the point, I grab Young-ju''s clothes and push her forward.


    "Firstly, we came to request some things needed for the work. Young-ju?"


    Caught off guard by the sudden request, Young-ju, nheless, shows her experience.


    "Well, we need isometric, dimetric, and trimetric projections of the theater interior. Ceiling murals require a lot of work, so we want to run as many 3D simtions as possible for efficiency before starting."


    Min-young looks puzzled.


    This isn''t something the president needs to be asked for; it''s a request for a staff member.


    "Hmm, I''ll pass it on to the person in charge. Did youe all this way just to ask for this? You could have simply sent an email."


    Young-ju looks at me with a scowl. I feel a pang of guilt seeing her expression. Despite looking like a gentle deer, is this what a carnivorous deer would look like?


    I gently let go of Young-ju''s clothes and stepped in.


    "This is obviously data we need to request, and actually, I came to participate in the board meeting."


    Min-young blinks, as if asking what I mean.


    Ah, how do I exin this?


    Ha, sometimes I''m like this. Exining the process of something is sometimes harder for me than actually doing it.


    "Just think of it as bringing an extra person on your side, President."


    ""


    Min-young slightly furrows her beautiful brow.


    However, she must have thought it didn''t matter since I wouldn''t be speaking at the board meeting. She quickly nods and pulls out a document.


    "If you need to tour, you need to sign this."


    "What is this?"


    Young-ju pokes me in the ribs and whispers.


    "It''s a non-disclosure agreement, dude. It''s obvious when attending someone else''s board meeting. It''d be chaos if business secrets leaked."


    Hmm, I didn''t think it was a situation to discuss that. So, to get in there, I have to sign this?


    I quickly sign and return the contract, asking, "I''m sorry, but I''d like to take photos of the board meeting. Is that possible?"


    "What?"


    An absurd request.


    Min-young immediately shakes her head.


    "That''s impossible."


    Shoot, what do I do now? Min-young looks at me thoughtfully and then asks.


    "Why do you want to take photos of the board meeting?"


    "Ah, to observe the faces of the board members."


    "Why?"


    How do I exin this?


    Can I convince her if I exin?


    I gave up exining.


    "It''s necessary for painting. There''s nothing better than a painting to persuade people for a painter."


    "."


    Doubt clouds Min-young''s face. Yeah, I would be doubtful too. Min-young ponders for a moment and then says.


    "Do you just need to know their faces?"


    "Yes."


    "There should be photos of the board members."


    I brighten up and ask, "Are their faces clearly visible?"


    "They''re ID photos, so I guess so."


    "Could I get those?"


    ""


    Min-young thinks for a moment and then says.


    "But I can''t match the names with the photos for you. You can find the photos on the inte, but the moment they are matched with names, it bes personal information."


    "I don''t need names."


    "Alright, then. Does that mean you won''t need to attend the board meeting?"


    "No! I must attend."


    Knowing their faces is one thing, but understanding their body types, gestures, and expressions is another. Plus, I need information about their preferred styles of dress. I n to persuade the board in the same way Gustav Klimt did.


    Min-young, looking skeptical, watches me for a moment, but eventually gets up due to time constraints.


    "Okay, please sit in the designated area for other staff and listen quietly. Remember, you won''t have the right to speak."


    "Yes! Understood!"


    As Min-young leads the way, Young-ju pinches my arm and frowns.


    "Are you crazy, what are you doing?"


    Rubbing my pinched arm, I whisper softly.


    "Gustav Klimt, the old Burgtheater."


    Just two words.


    But Young-ju will understand what I mean. She''s not just a curator and docent at the Seoul Municipal Art Gallery, she won it through hard work.


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 Chapter 51 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 51 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    W Tree Hannam, a night at the Italian Bistro.


    Minyoung, pouring an obviously expensive wine, asks,


    "MG Electronics'' stock keeps rising."


    Monica, seated on the windowsill instead of a table, smiles slyly.


    "It''s not skyrocketing, which is a bit disappointing. It''s a project I personally spearheaded."


    Minyoungughs as if it''s absurd.


    "Do you think MG Electronics'' stock is like some local corner store''s? It has a market cap of over 20 trillion. Stocks are priced at 125,400 won each. The market has been up more than 0.7% from the previous day''s close for two months now. That''s a big sess."


    Monica silently smiles and raises her wine ss. Without clinking sses, Minyoung shares a toast and takes a sip of her wine before setting the ss down. Monica then asks,


    "What''s the board''s reaction?"


    Minyoung replies with a bitter face.


    "What about it? If they don''t want to listen to us, they just tell us to back off."


    "Talk to dad about it."


    "It won''t work just because dad steps in. Maybe mom could."


    "Yeah, considering the board, the real owner of the group is your mom. Did you talk to her?"


    "Not yet. It hasn''t been long since she entrusted me with this job, and I don''t want to run to her at the first sign of trouble."


    "Hmm, I see. How about your brothers? Are they managing well?"


    Minyoung nods.


    "The eldest brother is not the adventurous type, so he manages things safely, but growth is minimal. The second brother isn''t interested in management. He mostly approves what the vice president suggests and clears it off, but since the vice president follows dad''s orders, there''s no issue."


    "You''re the first to encounter a problem."


    "It''s not really a problem. I just need to follow the board''s opinion, and it''s not something that''ll blow up into a bigger issue."


    "But isn''t it a pity about that theatre? Evenpared to the theaters in Jamsil or the Seoul Arts Center, it had much more advanced equipment."


    ".."


    Minyoung''s expression darkens for a moment but soon recovers as she says,


    "Painter Ban might be able to help."


    Monica asks with a puzzled look,


    "Junghoon? How?"


    Minyoung picks up her ss and joins Monica on the windowsill. Looking down at the night street and sipping her wine, she says,


    "He suddenly came asking to attend the board meeting."


    "Huh? Why the board meeting?"


    "I was curious too. He even requested photos of the board members."


    "For his painting?"


    Minyoung grins.


    "I couldn''t understand his strange request, but I overheard Junghoon whispering to his employee."


    "What did he say?"


    "Gustav Klimt, The Old Burgtheater."


    Both Minyoung and Monica, who majored in art at the University of Florence, Italy, could guess what Junghoon was nning with just this hint.


    Monica blinks and then breaks into a broad smile.


    "Maybe it''s the best way. The vanity of those pigs is simr to an artist''s creative urge."


    Minyoung winks and adds,


    "The art of creating desire, as you always emphasized. Painter Ban seems to be walking that path."


    Monica raises her ss and looks up at the night sky.


    "Am I right? I told you, Junghoon will be a star of the East."


    Minyoung crosses her arms and looks up at the night sky in agreement.


    "Let''s trust him once. I''ll try to buy as much time as I can."


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 Chapter 51 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 51 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Paju, Chairman Yu''s vi.


    A moving truck, not even half-filled with a 2.5-ton load, arrives at the front of the garden. The mover steps out of the truck, whistles admiringly at the impressive house, and announces, Madam, you have arrived.


    For the first time in her life hearing the term "madam," Mom blushed and got off holding my brother''s hand, who had been seated next to her. I had to ride in the luggagepartment since there was no space. It''s illegal to ride in the back of a truck, so I had to hide under a tarp and sneak on like a stowaway.


    "Damn, I really need to buy a car soon."


    It wouldn''t be difficult to buy a car with the extra money in my bank ount. Maybe I should splurge this time?


    I grabbed my visually impaired brother''s hand as he got out of the passenger seat. It''s quite rude to suddenly grab the hand of a visually impaired person, but my brother is a bit excited right now. He tightly grips my hand, not knowing who it is.


    "Bro, we''ve arrived."


    "How is it? Is it really a nice house like Mom said?"


    "What are you talking about? I got this house with my own ability. It was me who showed it to Mom."


    "Ah, that''s right. My brother is amazing, really."


    "Haha, Bro. Try rubbing your feet on the floor."


    "Like this? Wow, is this awn?"


    "Yes, there''s grass like this from the entrance to the house, and all around the house. It''s a ce where you can walk around and even if you fall, you won''t get hurt."


    "That''s great, really."


    "Give me your right hand."


    My brother gives me his right hand. I hold his hand and point here and there, exining.


    "This is the house, and over there on the right is a swing. Near the swing, there are a lot of hydrangeas blooming. On the opposite side, there''s a small pond, but I haven''t filled it with water yet. Let''s raise some fish thereter."


    "That sounds wonderful. Just imagining it makes me happy."


    Mom steps back a bit and watches me exining to my brother with a pleased look, then secretly wipes away a tear. I notice and quickly grab her hand too.


    "Come on, it''s a happy day. Why are you like this? Let''s unpack quickly and order ck bean noodles. I''ll treat you to sweet and sour pork today!"


    We had discussed it earlier with Mom, so assigning rooms was done quickly.


    The house already had new furniture and electronics, so all we brought from our old home were clothes and some household items.


    We threw out all our old furniture and appliances.


    Choosing a budget moving service turned out to be a good decision. It would have been a waste to spend money on something that only took a couple of hours to organize with just the two of us.


    After organizing, I took my brother''s hand and showed him around the house, exining how it looked. After eating Chinese food, my brother wanted to ride the swing in thewn. I had ns to meet Youngju in the afternoon, but since there was still time, I took my brother''s hand and headed to the swing.


    My brother, inhaling the deep scent of grass, smiles happily.


    "This ce is really nice, Junghoon."


    "Isn''t it? Did I do well?"


    "My brother always does well."


    "Haha, thanks for thepliment."


    I helped my brother sit on the swing.


    He''s not a child, so he doesn''t need me to push him.


    He gently rolls his feet and slowly swings.


    My brother''s face, with his hair fluttering in the wind.


    Even though his eyes are closed, he must be seeing the wind he is cutting through in his own way.


    Watching my brother makes my heart feel warm.


    I''ll work even harder to make this house, where our family of three lives, even better.


    So that my brother can keep smiling like this forever.


    "Junghoon."


    While alternating my gaze between my brother''s face and the house, making a vow in my heart, my brother calls me.


    "Hmm?"


    "Remember, back in the day when Dad was still with us."


    "Yes."


    "The wandering painter who came to our town and painted a mural on the supermarket wall, do you remember?"


    "Yes, I remember."


    "All the kids in the neighborhood were amazed."


    "Yes, because it was the first time they saw a mural. And they were all country kids."


    "I was the only one among the neighborhood kids who couldn''t see the mural."


    "........................"


    My brother stops the swing.


    "But Junghoon, because of you, I was able to see the painting in my mind?"


    "........................"


    "Back then, just like now, you took my hand, led me to the mural, and exined it to me."


    "Yes..."


    My brother makes a gesture of painting in the air and says.


    "A picture with five big yellow roses,rger than my body, blooming among four red roses. And you told me about the butterfly, mixed with blue and yellow, sitting on the pink rose that bloomed alone in the middle."


    I was startled for a moment and asked.


    "What, you remember that? It''s been over 20 years."


    My brother smiles broadly.


    "Of course, it was the first picture you described to me."


    "........................"


    Right. I was young back then too. I didn''t understand how precious that memory was to my brother.


    He closes his eyes, smiles, and looks up at the sky.


    "I may not know what yellow, blue, red, or pink look like, but I can imagine them."


    Born visually impaired.


    Unlike those who be visually impairedter in life, my brother, who has never seen anything since birth, couldnt truly grasp the beauty of colors through my verbal descriptions.


    Even though I was young, I realize now that''s all I could exin to my brother who didn''t know what colors were.


    My brother, unaware of my pitying look, smiles and says.


    "Someday, I want to see the wonderful paintings my brother makes."


    "........................"


    I can''t irresponsibly say that will happen. Because such a thing is forever impossible for him.


    He reaches out to the sky, grasping at the sunlight as if holding it in his fist.


    "I can only imagine what mom and Junghoon look like, but I feel like I know. So, I believe there wille a day when I will recognize the paintings my brother makes."


    "........................"


    "Don''t overdo it for the sake of supporting the family. You can stop if it''s too hard. Draw what you want to draw. Like the promise you made with dad. Don''t forget that mom and I were already living well."


    "Okay, brother. I understand."


    My brother smiles and extends his hand.


    I grab his hand tightly and give him a hug.


    On such a happy day, I couldn''t understand why I felt sorry, and secretly wiped away the tears I shed without my brother knowing.


    **


    A few hourster, in the city of Paju.


    Meeting with Youngju, I walked around Paju, checking out several real estate properties, and finally found an office space that seemed perfect.


    It was a single-story building located a bit more on the outskirts, away from the downtown area. Originally used as a warehouse, the owner put it up for lease after closing their business. It was muchrger and cheaper than a regr office.


    I was about to sign the contract immediately, but Youngju stopped me, and we sent the real estate agent away. Youngju, grabbing my head, started lecturing.


    "Hey, you crazy boss! Are you out of your mind?"


    "Why? You liked it too."


    "It''s an office, man. Shouldn''t you consider essibility? Is it just about the inside?"


    "Don''t youmute in your car?"


    "You! What about you. Want to walk 30 minutes after getting off the bus?"


    "I''ll buy a car."


    "Oh, look who''s talking... Oh, right, you have the money."


    "Hehe."


    "Hmm, then, let''s exclude essibility based on buying a car, and walk around the neighborhood. We havent seen whats behind the warehouse yet."


    Walking around the warehouse area with Youngju, I imagined what each area could be used for. The open space in front of the factory could be used as a parking lot, seemingly spacious enough for about six cars.


    Youngju seemed quite pleased too.


    It seems like we can settle here.


    Even though it was previously used as a warehouse and had small, high windows, it felt okay since we had such arge space to ourselves. Once I start focusing, I wont even notice the view outside the window, and besides, I used to draw in a semi-basement room.


    I extend my hand to Youngju.


    "Here we start. Our artistpany."


    Youngju high-fives me,ughing.


    "Alright, amateur boss. Lets give it our best!"


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 Chapter 52 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 52 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    <i>4/5 Bonus chapter</i>


    After stopping by the real estate office to ce a down payment and discussing the move-in date with thendlord, we held a meeting at a nearby cafe.


    Unfortunately, there were no cafes within 2 kilometers of our new office, so we had to drive in Young-ju''s car, but luckily there was a convenience store about 100 meters from the office.


    ording to the real estate agent, most of the restaurants in the city center offer delivery services.


    Unlike Seoul, many ces here still take delivery orders over the phone, mostly because they employ their own delivery staff.


    Upon arriving at the cafe, Young-ju ordered our drinks and then red at me as I returned empty-handed.


    Wheres the receipt?


    Huh? I didnt get one.


    Go get it.


    Ah, I can''t believe I forgot. Now that we are a corporation, its crucial to keep track of receipts. Despite being nagged about this, I still hadnt gotten into the habit.


    Ignoring Young-ju''s stern look, I fetched the receipt and tried to change the subject.


    Let me start by exining how ourpanys finances work.


    Young-ju''s fierce gaze softened, perhaps because this was an important topic.


    You know the MG Electronics refrigerator I helped design?


    The Belle poque?


    Right, 2% of the sales revenue will be deposited into ourpanys ount every month.


    Young-ju''s eyes widened.


    But that was a project you took on long before ourpany was established. You couldve kept that as your personal ie.


    Well, I consulted with the financial manager of W Tree Group, and it turns out its more tax efficient to have it under thepanys name. MG was amodating and allowed us to change the contract date.


    Wow, I cant believe arge corporation agreed to that.


    It seems Monica took care of it.


    If its her, she definitely has the power. But how much is the total amount?


    Honestly, Im not sure yet.


    In this industry, settlements are made in the following month, so we havent received the first payment yet.


    The first payment is due at the end of this month. Thest I heard, pre-orders alone surpassed 5,000 units.


    If its 2% of the R/S and the pre-orders are that high... itll sell even more once it hits the stores.


    Yes, ording to Monica, we should be getting over 100 million won a month steadily.


    Wow, thats amazing.


    Out of the 100 million won I had, I used 50 million for the corporation establishment, and once we sign the contract for the W Tree Theater project tomorrow, we''ll get the down payment to tide us over. You will handle the contract, as I mentioned before.


    Young-ju has experience in these matters.


    Its not extensive, but still better than me, who ispletely new to this.


    Young-ju, seemingly having a n in mind, takes out a tablet and shows me the screen.


    For such projects, its best to receive a third as a down payment, and then get interim and final settlements.


    Why? Why not get it all at the end?


    Do you want to pay for materials,bor, and construction costs out of your own pocket first?


    I spoke without thinking again. Better to keep quiet.


    Young-ju continues exining.


    As you said before, our strategy is simr to how Klimt dealt with the nobles andndlords. Do you know how long it took Klimt to finish those paintings?


    Two months.


    Huh? How do you know? They dont teach this in art history.


    Because I saw it myself.


    Not sure what to answer, I hesitate, but Young-ju, thinking it''s not important, moves on.


    Anyway, Klimts paintings werent murals butrge-sized canvas paintings. Even then, it took two months. It was slow because he and his brother worked on them.


    Yes, in the dream I had, only two people touched that canvas. As I listen to Young-ju, I guess what she''s about to say.


    We need to hire people, right?


    Young-ju nods.


    President Yoo is currently cornered due to the pressure from the board. The faster we shut the board up, the stronger our position bes. Therefore, we need to hire people to work quickly. Were not painting on canvas butrge ceiling murals. If just you and I work on it, it would take more than a year.


    We have time, but what Min-young desperately needs is mental space. Young-ju sharply points that out.


    I agree.


    So, lets use a third of the down payment to hire people.


    Who will we hire?


    There are many juniors from school who graduated but are unemployed and just hanging around.


    The sad reality of the art world.


    Most students from non-vocational majors end up jobless unless their families support them. Otherwise, they end up like me, living as a street painter.


    How many people do we need to hire?


    Considering our situation, hiring full-time employees is difficult, so we need at least ten part-timers.


    Ten people.


    Based on the 2023 standards, the monthly minimum wage for 209 hours at 9,620 won per hour is 2,010,580 won. For ten people, thats about 20 million won a month.


    We cant just hire them for a month and then let them go. Even if we manage to gather ten people, we need to work for at least three months. Thats abor cost of 60 million won, plus extra. Considering the frequent overtimes in this line of work, we should expect to pay around 80 million won in wages.


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 Chapter 52 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 52 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Seeing my slightly worried face, Young-ju pats my shoulder and says,


    Dont worry, man. Its not like its cash out of our pockets. This can be covered by the down payment. I think well only need to spend our own money on materials initially. When we receive another third for the interim settlement, it bes profit. If we cut it off in three months, we just need to hold out for about a month and a half. Things will get easier after that.


    In fact, Young-ju is considering the worst-case scenario because thepany can easily be financed with the revenue from MG Electronics refrigerators.


    Alright, lets do that. Do you know any skilled people?


    I didnt pay much attention to social life in school, but Young-ju was different. She was among the most popr in school.


    Young-ju smiles and makes a V sign.


    Ive already persuaded a few. Dont worry.


    Haha, I knew bringing you in first was a stroke of genius.


    If you know it, act like it.


    Yes, Director.


    What director? Im not even an elected director at a shareholders'' meeting. Whats the point of a title?


    But it feels good, right? Well make it big and be real directors someday.


    Dream big, huh?


    Young-ju puts the tablet back in her bag and says,


    I dont want much. Just being able to continue doing this, painting my own pictures, instead of just talking about others''.


    As long as we dont starve in the process.


    Exactly, thats the most important thing. Haha!


    Haha, got it. Ill work hard too.


    Good, President. Youve scheduled a meeting with W Tree, right?


    Yes, at five.


    Wow, its already 3:30. We should head out soon.


    Okay.


    Unfortunately, we couldnt meet Min-young at W Tree Hotel where we went to draft the contract. She was out on external business. Instead, we spent over two hours discussing details with the contract manager and emerged exhausted from the hotel.


    I was drained just blinking throughout the meeting, being clueless about these matters. Young-ju, who strived to increase the order amount even a little, must be even more exhausted.


    As soon as we left the hotel lobby, I patted Young-ju''s back as she bent over and grabbed her knees.


    You worked hard, Director.


    Oh, damn. Is this why people say its better to work for a sry in apany? I feel like throwing up.


    Haha.


    I couldnt help butugh despite being tired. Thanks to Min-young, who had spoken to the contract manager in advance about a reasonable amount, we didnt have to negotiate too harshly and managed to secure a substantial sum.


    Young-ju, holding the signed contract, smiled weakly.


    Our first monumental contract. Our President managed to secure a 300 million won project on our first try. You really did well.


    I patted Young-jus shoulder, smiling.


    If I were alone, I wouldnt have gotten even half of that. Im d youre here, Director.


    Ugh, thats cheesy. Lets not call each other by titles when its just the two of us.


    Ill consider it if you stop calling me President.


    You never lose in words, huh?


    Young-ju shakes the contract.


    We specified in the contract that the down payment of 100 million won would be deposited within a week after signing. Another 100 million for the interim settlement, and 100 million upon final approval from the client. After deductingbor and material costs, this three-month project guarantees nearly 200 million won in profit.


    I cheerfullyughed and linked arms with Young-ju.


    Now, lets go check out the theater, take some pictures, and then have some tripe for dinner!


    What, not treating me to beef on a day like this?


    Thats for when the corporate card arrives.


    "Stingy, even when making a lot of money."


    "I haven''t received any money yet, so I don''t have any."


    "Darn it! Fine, let''s endure with tripe until today. Let''s go!"


    **


    The office of the artistpany, which still has nothing.


    I sit on the old rusty chair, waiting for the delivery of office supplies that came in today. The warehouse, nearly 70 square meters in size, was originally full of trash, but Young-ju and I spent several days cleaning it, so it''s clean now.


    Looking at the checklist that Young-ju marked, I muttered.


    "Today, we need to arrange the delivery of desks and chairs, set up the inte and TV connections, oh! We also need to ask for Wi-Fi. The air conditioner wille tomorrow. The kitchen and bathroom renovations are also scheduled for tomorrow, but it shouldn''t ovep."


    This ce, originally used as a warehouse, doesn''t have a kitchen or a bathroom. These two are essential facilities for transforming it into an office space. Fortunately, money is notcking. How happy is this?


    I open my phone andugh like crazy looking at the amount deposited into the corporate ount.


    "The money deposited from MG Electronics is a little over 200 million, and 100 million as a deposit. Already 300 million in the corporate ount, hehe."


    With this amount, there''s no way I can''t pay my juniors'' sries.


    "Now that the incorporation is done, I need to make a corporate card. I''ll give one to Young-ju to take care of the kids'' meal expenses."


    I never run apany that doesn''t provide meals. It''s only been a month, but I know how precious it is to have lunch provided while working at MG Electronics.


    Let''s wait for a moment; the delivery drivers for the desk, chair, andputer start visiting one by one for instation. Since there are only me and Young-ju working here for now, I ordered only two desks and chairs. As the employees increase, I''ll have to order more.


    After the inte installer left, it feels like I can live here a bit. It''s time to search various things on the PC. The inte speed is so impressivepared to using an oldptop.


    When I feel the urge to y a game for a moment, Young-jues back at the right time.


    I quickly turn off theputer and get up from my seat.


    I knew why Young-ju left her seat on such a busy day.


    I opened the warehouse door and, seeing the crowd following Young-ju as she came in, I smiled happily.


    "My first employees, even if they''re just short-term part-timers."


    We should treat them well. They''re not just employees; they''rerades who we might meet again anytime, anywhere.


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 Chapter 53 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 53 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    "Hello, senior!"


    "Junghoon oppa! It''s been a long time!"


    "Hey! You should call me boss."


    "Thank you for calling me, senior!"


    "It''s only our seniors who take care of us juniors!"


    Seeing the juniors after a long time.


    Among them are familiar faces, and others I only remember by face from passing by at school.


    ''The Ace of the Art Department Yeonjeong, the top of the Painting Department Jiyong, and that guy who was the top of the Oriental Painting Department. Youngju really brought the right people.''


    Having never missed a schrship during my four years at school, I recognize most of the aces from other departments and years. Except for one or two, these are juniors I''ve seen at least once at the schrship ceremonies.


    I greeted the juniors with a happy face.


    "Wee, I''m grateful you''vee to help."


    They wave their hands as if denying.


    "No, senior! We shoulde, of course."


    "That''s right! If senior calls, we are ready to jump even into a fire pit!"


    These guys. Maybe it''s because they''re preparing for jobs, they seem very disciplined.


    Back in school, they used to float around the campus like ghosts with dark circles under their eyes from all the assignments.


    But why do they seem to be ttering too seriously now?


    Their eyes sparkle.


    Hmm, this is not even a formal employment, just a short-term part-time job. Do they need to tter this much?


    I''ve been doing part-time jobs since my school days, but I never acted like this when a senior called.


    I nudged Youngju, who was standing beside me, with my elbow and whispered.


    "Hey, did you lie to them about paying them 500,000 won a month?"


    Youngju chuckled and pped his hands to gather attention.


    "Everyone, we''re not ready to start working right away. We''ll start in a week. Got it? It''s hard toe all the way here, so don''t worry aboutmuting as your workce isn''t here in Paju but at the W Hotel in Hannam-dong. It would be sad to send you back after just greetings, so let''s ask our boss to treat us to a meal, shall we?"


    The juniors cheer loudly and p their hands and whistle.


    I was nning to feed them anyway, so I smiled and nodded.


    "Of course, we should. It''s a bit far, but there''s a good meat restaurant downtown. Youngju, you know the ce, give them the location and the name."


    The juniors pped again.


    After all the juniors left, Youngju finally answered my question.


    "What do you think these juniors are most thirsty for?"


    From what I remember, Yeonjeong from the Art Department is a year junior to us. It''s been just over a year since she graduated. If she hasn''t found a job yet, maybe money is the most urgent?


    "Maybe, money?"


    Youngju shrugged.


    "Depending on the family situation, some might be. But think about it. You''ve prepared for a job, right?"


    "Yes."


    Of course, I couldn''t just do part-time jobs forever.


    I have a dream of doing pure art.


    And like everyone, I''ve prepared for a job to make a living.


    Youngju continued.


    "Remember the interviews?"


    ".."


    Ah, the interviews.


    So ridiculous.


    I saw an advertisement, sent a resume, and got an interview. Then the interviewer said this.


    "Ah, I''m sorry. You''re a newbie. We''re looking for experienced candidates who can be immediately deployed on-site."


    Crazy, then why did you even ept my resume?


    I almost said something if they didn''t at least offer transportation money foring to the interview.


    The problem is that there are quite a fewpanies like that.


    I almostined when they didn''t even give me transportation money after thanking me foring to the interview.


    The problem is that there are quite a fewpanies like that.


    I understand it takes time to train new employees and they prefer to pay a bit more for experienced workers. But if everyone only hires experienced people, where am I supposed to gain experience?


    Moreover, some shadypanies hire employees with 1-2 years of experience and then tell them to leave when it''s time to raise their sry after 3-4 years. Finding another job isn''t too hard. The problem is, after this process repeats a couple of times, the newpanies be hesitant to hire because they feel burdened by the excessive experience.


    I reminisced about the unpleasant memories of job-hunting and said.


    They said they were hiring experienced professionals and not newbies.


    Young-ju immediately responds, knowing she got the answer she wanted.


    Right? It''s simr in other industries. But where do these fresh college graduates gain experience?


    That''s why a portfolio is necessary, and some friends even work without pay to build it. Of course, I couldn''t afford to do that and only looked for paid jobs. Consequently, I ended up doing jobs that couldn''t be added to my portfolio.


    Ah, Young-ju was talking about gaining experience at ourpany.


    "Ah, is working here an opportunity to build a portfolio?"


    Young-ju snaps his fingers.


    "It''s not just any portfolio. You get paid, and more importantly, its a chance to be part of the ceiling painting project at W Tree Hannam''s theater. Its not a typical short-term project but a major one that will take at least three months, as we''ve calcted. It''s the ceiling painting of a theater that will be visited by hundreds of thousands after opening. That''s why they are so excited."


    Now I understand.


    If I had been offered such an opportunity as a junior in my career, I would have been extremely grateful.


    I nodded and handed over my card.


    Its a new credit card, still shiny and sparkling.


    Feed the kids.


    Arent youing?


    I have to work before I can deploy them.


    Eat something first.


    Its okay, Ill order something if I get hungry. You go eat and then head home.


    Wow, the president working while I alone eat?


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 Chapter 53 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 53 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Stop it, since when have you cared about that?


    Giggle, hey, but how much can I spend?


    Just spend it roughly. I don''t know about that stuff.


    Man, I cant believe Im paying for a meal for 11 people. Never even imagined it. These days, a serving of pork belly costs about 20,000 won When did pork belly be so expensive?


    Assuming two servings per person, thats 264,000 won for just the meat. Adding meals, drinks, and sodas, it woulde to about 400,000 won. Maybe even over 500,000.


    Youngju rolls her eyes and snatches the credit card from my trembling hand, chuckling.


    Ill try to keep it under 400,000 won.


    Phew, thats my friend.


    I wave to Youngju and turn around.


    Hey, go ahead. Have a good meal and see you tomorrow.


    Hurry up and leave.


    I feel like I''m about to cry.


    400,000 won. I can''t believe I''m spending 400,000 won on people who arent even my family.


    Ah, should I think of them as family since were working together, even if its just for a while?


    Yeah, lets have a mental victory.


    My juniors are my family for three months, its not regrettable. Not at all.


    After Youngju leaves, Im alone in the studio.


    I stick the prepared paper onto the wall.


    I climbed a shortdder to attach sixrge sheets of paper and started attaching the board members'' photos from the right corner.


    Some at the front.


    Some at the very back.


    Some in the corner.


    Some in the center.


    And I take out a pencil to write down their characteristics observed in the board meeting under the photos.


    It would be nice to know their names, but without them, I write the characteristics under the photos with the same number.


    A-1


    Has a small face for a man.


    Looks more so because of his broad shoulders andrge build.


    More fat than muscle, so not a great fit.


    Has a thick neck, so he usually wears the top two buttons of his shirt undone.


    Raises his left eyebrow when he frowns.


    B-3


    Unlike the photo, has a wavy perm and brown dyed hair.


    Preference is visible withce on the wrists, neck, and ends of the shirt.


    No ck in the wardrobe.


    Prefers pastel tones over primary colors.


    Likes logo y, giving off a nouveau riche vibe.


    C-5


    Looks a bit older than in the photo.


    There are age spots not seen in the Photoshopped picture, but they dont seem necessary for the painting.


    Prefers suits, but doesnt suit him because hes overweight.


    Has three folds on his neck.


    Seems to like luxury goods, but prefers logo-free items.


    A~C is the arrangement in the picture.


    Arranged regardless of gender, based on facial expressions. Those who often had a serious expression were arranged in A.


    During the board meeting, Youngju and I took separate observation notes.


    Youngju might have noticed something I missed, and vice versa. So, I unfold the notebook Youngju left for reference and supplement the content.


    After arranging the photos and making some more adjustments, it was alreadyte at night.


    Looking at the time, it was 1 AM.


    Probably, my juniors and Youngju have already finished their meal and gone home.


    But then, I realized thest bus had already left?


    Too stingy for a taxi, I guess I''ll just pull an all-nighter.


    I need to move quickly for everyone else to move.


    President Yoo didnt contract with ourpany, but rather with me as an individual.


    It will be a problem if the finished artwork isnt mine.


    I sit at my desk, looking at theyout on the paper, and mutter.


    Once Youngju calctes the exact ceiling width with isometric, Ill shoot my painting onto the ceiling and have the juniors draw it exactly as it is, right?


    First, I will draw on a canvas.


    The canvas is square, and the ceiling is round. There will definitely be some leftover space at the edges, and I need to think about how to cover that up. That would probably be thest part of the work, so its not an immediate worry.


    I interlock my fingers and stretch, then smile broadly.


    Alright, shall we start? Up to here with Klimts hints, and from now on, its my own method.


    You can imitate a method, but you cant copy a work.


    Its not just giarism, but also something an artists pride cant tolerate.


    Now, its time to paint my own picture.


    **


    The next day, in the studio.


    Youngju, who no longer goes to the Seoul City Art Museum, parked her car early in the morning in front of the studio.


    Huh?


    The studio door is open. Youngju, squinting her eyes, grumbles.


    Jung-hoon, this guy, theres plenty of materials bought in advance for the office, and he leaves the door open? If anything''s missing, he''s dead today, really.


    Irritated, Young-ju flings open the half-open studio door and her eyes widen.


    What, what is this?


    An obviously unfinished painting.


    But the quality of the work in progress is indescribably excellent.


    On the 200-size canvas, the faces of the people pre-arranged in theyout seem to float, looking as if photos were directly pasted, so lifelike.


    Swallowing hard, Young-ju walks up to the painting and mutters.


    Crazy, Jung-hoon, this guy. I knew he was good, but this good?


    As she says the name ''Jung-hoon'', Young-ju suddenly remembers the current situation and looks around. She finds him sprawled in a corner chair, fast asleep.


    She quietly observed Jung-hoon and then went to her car to get a nket from the back seat. Returning, she gently covered the sleeping Jeong-hoon, taking care not to wake him.


    Quietly cing her bag down, Young-ju once again looked at therge canvas and chuckled as she gazed at the sleeping Jeong-hoon with a newfound appreciation.


    "It seems like I made a good choice choosing the president."


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 Chapter 54 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 54 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    <i>5/5 Bonus chapter thanks to @jiplob on Ko-fi</i>


    W Tree Hotel Hannam, President Yoo Young''s office.


    She raises her head while receiving a report from her secretary.


    "Has the work already started?"


    The hotel secretary, a woman in a neatly tied-up hair and a crisp ck suit, responds.


    "Yes, this dawn, equipment like cranes andrgedders were brought in. About ten employees and CEO Ban Jeong-hun also entered."


    She takes a small calendar from the desk and checks it while speaking.


    "We just signed the contract five days ago, and they''ve already started the actual work?"


    Ceiling paintings are not children''s scribbles.


    Of course, they can be painted over with different colors in case of failure, but they can''t be erased as easily as on a canvas since the work is done from a crane in mid-air.


    The secretary adds more information.


    "ording to the n submitted by Director Seo Young-ju of Artist Company, the entire painting is designed and drawn by Ban Jeong-hun, and the employees copy it directly by projecting the image onto the ceiling with a beam."


    She nods her head, as there''s nothing unusual about this method.


    "What I''m curious about is not the method of work. Does starting the work mean that Ban Hwabaek''s painting is alreadyplete?"


    The secretary bows her head.


    "There''s no separate report on that matter, I''m sorry. Should I find out?"


    She ponders for a moment and then checks the time.


    "How much time do I have until my next schedule?"


    "About 40 minutes."


    She gets up and starts putting on her jacket, saying,


    "I''ll go check it out myself."


    "I''ll apany you."


    Min young and her secretary leave the hotel and head towards the theater.


    The hotel is so vast that they walk for a while before reaching the grand and splendid theater entrance. Two hotel security guards stand at the entrance.


    The guards, who would usually greet her and open the door, look troubled and hastily radio someone upon seeing her from a distance. She gestures to her secretary and says,


    "Something seems to be going on."


    The secretary, also sensing something odd, steps forward and asks the older-looking guard,


    "What''s happening?"


    The guard, sweating profusely and with a troubled expression, replies,


    "We received a request to restrict ess."


    The secretary frowns and looks back at Minyoung.


    "Who''s restricting the hotel president''s ess?"


    ".. Just wait a moment, we''ll confirm through internal radio"


    "Open it now."


    "But..."


    "Do you want me to speak directly with the head of security?"


    ".."


    Intimidated by the secretary''s authoritative tone, the sweating guard is further puzzled when faced with President Yoo instead of the secretary. Yoo Min Young, with an air of charisma that was not visible when she was eating intestines with Jeong-hun, signals the guard to stop.


    "It''s alright, Secretary Jung. Let it be."


    "But President, the situation is..."


    "Enough."


    As Secretary Jung steps back, the burly guard doesn''t know what to do with the president standing in front of him. She gestures towards the radio and asks,


    "Who did you radio?"


    "I, I contacted the team leader."


    "Where are they?"


    "They''re inside."


    Just then, the team leader, who heard the radio, opens the door and rushes out. He runs up to Yoo min, bending forward.


    "President, you''ve arrived."


    She crosses her arms and asks,


    "How should I understand this situation?"


    The team leader bites his lower lip and says,


    "It''s because CEO Ban requested..."


    "Why?"


    Just as the team leader is about to exin, Jeong-hun''s voice is heard from inside.


    "Ah, I made the request. The team leader is not at fault."


    Everyone''s attention turns to Jeong-hun as he emerges from the door.


    Jeong-hun, usually seen in a suit when visiting the hotel,es out in an old work outfit covered in paint stains, smiling as he takes off his gloves.


    "President Yoo, you''re here."


    As Jeong-hun bows his head, she also bows in response.


    After the incident with her mother''s portrait, Min young has been excessively polite to Jeong-hun, a fact witnessed by all the employees present.


    Jeong-hun speaks to her.


    "Can we take a short walk? I''ll exin everything."


    She looks back at the employees and nods.


    "Everyone else, wait here."


    Jeong-hun and Min young walk side by side towards the garden behind the theater. The sweating team leader sighs and looks at Secretary Jung.


    "I''m sorry, Secretary Jung."


    Secretary Jung res at the team leader and says,


    "Don''t you know to report first and then take action?"


    "It''s just that we received the request less than an hour ago. We nned to report it after today''s work, but we didn''t expect you toe."


    "Enough of that, what''s all this about?"


    "CEO Ban requested that no one enter the theater until his work is finished."


    "If such a situation arises, you should have reported to President Yoo first! How can the owner of this ce be restricted from entry?"


    "..."


    Technically, they hadn''t restricted entry, but were simply awaiting instructions on how to proceed now that President Yoo, a special figure, had arrived. Understanding that the other party might feel offended, the team leader bows apologetically.


    "I''m sorry about that."


    Secretary Jung nces again at the first security guard she had dealt with, then asks,


    "What''s the reason for the entry restriction?"


    "Complete confidentiality was requested until the painting is revealed."


    "Hmm."


    That''s an understandable reason. Many artists request such confidentiality.


    After a moment of thought, Secretary Jung coldly states,


    "While the reason is eptable, please adhere to the reporting system. Remember, it''s President Yoo, not CEO Ban, who pays your sry."


    "Yes."


    From a distance, Secretary Jung spots the two figures sitting on a bench near the park next to the theater. She scrutinizes Jeong-hoon, thinking,


    ''Maybe our president is being too polite. Should I upgrade CEO Ban''s status to a more important figure?''


    Secretary Jung''s head spins.


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 Chapter 54 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 54 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Bench next to the theater.


    On a steel bench about 20 meters away from a booth that would be used as a smoking area once Catb opens, I sit next to Min-young and offer her a canned drink I brought.


    Would you like some?


    No, thanks.


    Im sorry for startling you. It seems my request today didnt reach the higher-ups.


    Min-young nods, indicating she heard about it.


    What about the reason for keeping it a secret?


    I scratch my head andugh.


    Actually, the secrecy is to avoid board members. I didnt want to generalize a group I dont even know by just calling them the board, so I asked for everyone to be restricted. I didnt know it would block your entry too, haha. The security guards here are really efficient.


    Min-young pauses, then smiles slyly and points with her index finger.


    So, its because the board members keep interfering and bothering you?


    That too.


    And because they might ask you to paint their faces more beautifully?


    .


    Huh? What? She knows everything?


    I''m momentarily speechless.


    Min-young smiles triumphantly.


    You knew all along?


    She nods with a smile. Embarrassing, but better than her getting angry. Id prefer her smiling like this.


    Min-young speaks with a grin.


    Did you choose that painting for the ceiling to be on my side?


    Hmm.


    To help me cornered by the board. Isnt that right?


    I look into Min-youngs eyes, which seem expectant, and say,


    President Yoo.


    Yes.


    Im not in my studio drawing whateveres to mind. Immissioned and employed.


    Thats right?


    If Immissioned, then I should paint what the employer wants.


    .


    In this situation, I naturally chose the painting that my employer needs most, the one that makes others understand the employers intentions.


    Min-young nods after a long silence.


    I see.


    Why does she look disappointed?


    Did I do something wrong?


    Min-young briefly hardens her expression, then smiles again.


    So, Im not banned from entering anymore?


    Phew, d I didnt say anything upsetting.


    Of course, you were never the target. Besides, who would ban the owner from entering their own ce?


    Haha, thats good. Ill talk to the secretary and make up an excuse for the board.


    Maybe tell them not toe because the paint fumes are toxic.


    Haha, thats a good idea.


    The mood improves. I seize the opportunity to bring up the next topic.


    But I wont restrict entry until the work ispleted.


    Min-young blinks, confused.


    What?


    I smile and raise my index finger.


    On the day we settle ounts, please invite the board members separately. Preferably one at a time.


    Min-young looks stunned, then her expression brightens. Wow, shes quick on the uptake.


    She nods enthusiastically.


    Ill do that.


    Its good not to talk for long, but both she and Mrs. Kang are too sharp. Feels like they see right through me. Cant fool blood, can you?


    After chatting a bit more, Min-young sees her secretary waving in the distance, checks the time, and stands up.


    Oh my, I got carried away. I have another appointment.


    Im sorry, please go ahead.


    Alright, Ill see the painting next time.


    Youre always wee, President.


    She smiles brightly at myst words and walks towards her secretary. I stand up and watch her leave, waiting to wave if she turns back. She is my great employer, after all.


    As expected, Min-young turns towards her secretary and I prepare to bow, but then her voice reaches me.


    Artist Ban!


    "Yes?"


    "W Tree won''t get involved in any incidental ie that arises, so go ahead and have fun with it!"


    "?"


    Min-young shes a thumbs up and leaves,ughing with her secretary.


    Left alone in front of the bench, I scratch the back of my head.


    "What''s she talking about incidental ie?"


    Pondering the meaning of herst words, I stand there for a while. Just then, the theater door bursts open, and Young-ju''s face pops out.


    Looking around, Young-ju yells.


    "Boss!! Hurry up, the angle at coordinates 234-71 is off! There''s a 15cm gap!"


    I quickly raise my hand and reply.


    "Yeah, I''m on my way!"


    I run towards the theater, ncing back in the direction of the hotel.


    Wondering if Min-young''s next appointment is off-site, I see her getting into a luxury car under the guidance of her secretary.


    From a distance, our eyes meet, and she smiles with her eyes.


    Hey, don''t just smile; tell me what you mean by incidental ie.


    I''m quite serious when ites to money.


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 Chapter 55 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 55 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    A monthter, in the lobby of the W Tree Hotel.


    A middle-aged man with a stern expression extends his hand to the receptionist and says gruffly, "Card."


    "Yes, Director Park Kang-ju. Your 10 o''clock appointment with the CEO is confirmed. Here is your card key."


    Director Park, receiving the card from the female employee, frowns and says, "Why not issue personal card keys for board members? Do I always have to receive a card at the lobby whenever Ie?"


    "I''m sorry, Director. It''s a key that leads directly to the CEO''s private room, so free issuance is difficult."


    Director Park arches his eyebrows and res at the employee.


    "What''s your name?"


    "Hyun-ju Roh, Director."


    "I''ll remember that."


    Annoyed at the powerless employee who just handles lobby services, Director Park turns and boards the elevator leading to Min-young''s room.


    Upon arriving at Min-young''s room after the wait, Director Park exims, "CEO Yoo, I''m here."


    Min-young, who had been waiting for the scheduled meeting, greets him, "Wee, Director Park. Thank you for taking the time toe."


    Director Park throws the card key onto the table and sits on the sofa, saying, "I dont understand why I was summoned this early in the morning. Even CEO Yoo shouldnt call me at such ambiguous times for personal meetings."


    Director Park shows difort.


    Min-young''s expression slightly changes at his attitude, but she quickly recovers and bows her head, "I''m well aware that its an imposition, Director."


    "And why did you proceed with this imposition?"


    "It''s about the ceiling painting of the Catb I mentionedst time."


    At the mention of the Catb, Director Park''s face darkens. He was the one most vehemently critical of the theater business among the directors, a project that required a long time for investment recovery.


    "A ceiling painting? Is there a problem? I heard it was assigned to a smallpany for a minor cost. Surely, youre not saying it requires more money?"


    Director Park speaks as if even the nominal fee is too much for arge hotel group like W Tree.


    Min-young shakes her head and replies "No, Director."


    "Director Jeong told me that you called all the board members at different times over two days, just for this ceiling painting? You made mee here at ten in the morning just for that?"


    Director Park''s mood worsens.


    "How many times have I said it? Art is a privilege for the intellectual elite, for the few. Art only has value in the hands of those who can understand and interpret artworks without any documents. While I understand the purpose of creating a theater for the top 1%, I think it''s meaningless to make such arge investment in a giant theater. Think about it, what percentage of that enormous theater do you think will be filled with an audience? Do you think there are that many in South Korea who truly understand the meaning of art? If so, let me be clear, that''s a misunderstanding, a miscalction, and arrogance."


    Director Park presses on like a machine gun.


    Min-young listens silently to his rant before speaking up.


    "The reason I called for this meeting today was to report to the most influential directors of the W Tree board, starting with you, about the progress of the new theater''s ceiling painting. There''s no other intention, so please don''t misunderstand."


    Director Park''s expression softens slightly.


    He perceived Min-young''s words as recognizing him as the most influential person on the board. As far as he knows, today is the first day of calling the directors, and 10 a.m. is the very first appointment.


    "Well, alright."


    Although pleased, Director Park decides not to show it too much and subtly shifts his gaze. Min-young checks the time and stands up.


    "Let''s go see it for yourself and get the report."


    Honestly, he''s not that curious.


    In his view, the theater, already a thorn in his side, is enough to deal with; he wonders why he should care about its ceiling painting. But what can he do when the CEO personally wants to report to the most influential director?


    Reluctantly, Director Park gets up and follows Min-young.


    Internally, he''s calcting how to ry this to Director Jeong, who''s next in line, in a way that doesn''t seem boastful yet subtly shows his superiority, but he doesn''t show it on the outside.


    On the way to the grand theater after exiting the elevator, Director Park walks through a vast za-style street, clicking his tongue. He considers the wasted space. He wonders if it would be better to turn this area into a parking lot and the useless theater into a concert hall that could be rented out for more than 200 days a year.


    If it were up to him, the investment would be recouped in four years.


    But ording to CEO Yoo''s n, unless world-renowned artists perform, the theater would be empty for more than half the year, dying the return on investment.


    ''She doesn''t have half the business mind of her mother.''


    Director Park respects Min-young''s mother, Lady Kang, for her unparalleled business acumen. However, he considers Min-young still inexperienced.


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 Chapter 55 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 55 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Opening the theater door, Min-young asks, "First time at the Catb?"


    "Yes."


    Of course, he''s uninterested.


    When Min-young opens the door wide, Director Park frowns.


    The interior, built with Baroque-style opulence, is overwhelming. Even before entering the theater with the stage, its splendor is dizzying.


    ''How much money was poured into this interior?''


    The report stated that more money was invested in the sound system than in the interior design. The thought of so much money being squandered made my stomach churn, even after a hearty breakfast.


    Min-Young pointed to the opulent lobby and said,


    "We''ve put a lot of effort into recreating the splendor of medieval Austria."


    Director Park red at Min-Young and retorted,


    "How many people would recognize this as medieval Austrian architectural style? Whether it''s German, Italian, or French. The ignorant masses will only think it''s fancy and take pictures for social media."


    ".........................."


    Director Park continued his sarcastic remarks.


    Min-Young bit her lower lip and patiently endured.


    "That may be true, but let''s go inside and see the ceiling painting that''s still in progress. Only about a third isplete, so please excuse the mess inside."


    As Min-Young opened the door to the theater, the sight of many people working was visible.


    The scene where the ceiling was being worked on, with white stic meticulously covering the seats and floor to prevent paint from falling.


    Five cranes were hanging from the ceiling, each carrying two people.


    Young artists holding different brushes were painting the ceiling, their faces showing intense concentration.


    The heat of artistic creation was palpable.


    However, Director Park, who had no interest in how passionately the subcontracted workers were working, narrowed his eyes and scrutinized the painting.


    A massive picture frame upied the center of the ceiling.


    And slightly covering the ends of that picture were red curtains.


    In front of this picture hanging high were a small boy and a dog.


    It was a painting of the boy and dog looking at the picture in the frame.


    There was something unusual about this still-in-progress painting.


    Many ownerless hands holding the red curtain that covered the picture were just that.


    Director Park was slightly surprised by the scale and quality of the project, which was more than he expected. But he frowned upon closely examining the partly covered painting.


    "What is this, just a replica of a famous painting?"


    Director Park grew up in an elite family.


    He had the privilege of receiving education in art from a young age. He dismisses the public''s artistic literacy, but ironically, he himself has a deep understanding of art.


    The picture in the central frame was a famous artwork he remembered.


    ''That''s ''The Elevation of the Cross'' by the German artist Peter Paul Rubens.''


    Perhaps this was a better choice. A painting by a struggling artist leading a smallpany might be less effective than a well-known masterpiece. Maybe that''s why they could cut costs.


    Then Min-Young stepped back and said,


    "The artist in charge of thepany, Mr. Ban Jeong-Hoon, will exin the painting."


    At Min-Young''s words, Director Park finally shifted his gaze from the painting to the side.


    His eyes fell on a tall, handsome young man.


    ''I heard he''s the artist who designed the new refrigerator model for MG Electronics. Younger than I thought. Belle poque, was it? I heard it''s doing well in the market. Of course, it must be more due to Monica Rossellini''s talent.''


    Jeong-Hoon, dressed in work clothes.


    Director Park nced at Jeong-Hoon''s paint-stained apron and nodded.


    "Park Kang-Joo."


    "Ban Jeong-Hoon, Director Park. It''s an honor to meet you."


    A polite and fine-looking young man, but not enough to catch Director Park''s interest.


    Director Park turned his gaze back to the painting and gestured.


    "Are you replicating a famous painting?"


    Jeong-Hoon smiled broadly and replied,


    "It''s a bit embarrassing to call my painting a masterpiece."


    ".........................."


    Thinking he was being witty, Director Park furrowed his brows and red at Jeong-Hoon.


    "I''m not in the mood for jokes."


    Jeong-Hoon looked surprised and asked,


    "Are you not talking about the ceiling painting?"


    Director Park pointed at the ceiling painting with an exasperated face.


    "Are you mocking me? That painting over there. You think I don''t know it''s ''The Elevation of the Cross'' by Peter Paul Rubens?"


    Jeong-Hoon smiled naturally and looked at the painting.


    "Ah, you mean the central painting. Yes, it''s the one you mentioned. A masterpiece from 1610."


    Director Park looked at Jeong-Hoon''s unabashed smile with disbelief. He missed his chance to get angry, being so tantly confronted. Jeong-Hoon stepped forward and looked up at the ceiling painting.


    "Don''t just look at the picture in the frame. Try this."


    Jeong-Hoon formed a frame with his fingers and lifted it towards the ceiling.


    "Like this, see the boy and dog looking at the frame, and the red curtain, all in one frame."


    Director Park didn''t form a finger frame, but he looked at all the elements of the painting as Jeong-Hoon suggested.


    Expanding his focus from the central frame, he sees the boy and the dog as part of the whole artwork.


    "The boy and the dog are looking at the obscured painting behind the curtain. So, what is that about?"


    Jeong-hoon smiles at Director Park.


    "Yes, exactly. That''s Patrasche and Nello from ''A Dog of nders.''"


    Director Park''s face contorts in disbelief.


    "You mean, a cartoon? You''ve painted a cartoon on the ceiling of a theater!!!"


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 Chapter 56: The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 56: The Mysterious Art Museum


    Anger, absurdity, irritation.


    A multitude of displeased emotions surface on Director Park''s face.


    How dare they paint a cartoon on this opulent theater''s ceiling. And it''s a Japanese cartoon at that.


    Though the South Korean public might have fond memories of cartoons from childhood, surely someone willin about it being a remnant of Japanese culture.


    Director Park res at Min-young, who is standing back.


    "Director Yoo. I heard you spent 300 million won on this project."


    Min-young silently looks at Jung-hoon. Following her gaze, Director Park, with his arms crossed, says,


    "An exnation is required. Depending on your excuse, we might consider terminating the contract. How dare you paint a cartoon, and a Japanese one at that?"


    Spending 300 million to paint a cartoon scene on the ceiling. This isn''t for VIPs, nor is it for the masses. Surely Min-young wouldn''t think to change this morous theater into one for children''s ys.


    What could they be thinking?


    Jung-hoon steps forward under the harsh gaze.


    "''A Dog of nders'' isn''t a Japanese cartoon but a children''s novel written by the English author Ouida. The original title is ''A Dog of nders and Other stories.''"


    So what? Director Park''s face seems to ask.


    The public remembers what''s familiar. Most would recall it as just a cartoon.


    Jung-hoon continues,


    "In this story, the protagonist Nello is a boy living with his poor grandfather, dreaming of bing a painter. Nello rescues an abandoned dog, Patrasche, and they start delivering milk."


    Well-known content.


    Having received an elite education doesn''t mean one didn''t grow up watching cartoons.


    Jung-hoon adds,


    "Nello loses his sick grandfather, gets kicked out of their home, and his dream is to see Rubens'' painting hidden behind a thick church curtain. But it was an impossible dream for the poor boy, as it required money."


    Old memories resurface.


    In those innocent childhood days, this scene often brought tears to eyes.


    Jung-hoon goes on,


    "On a very cold winter day, Nello heads to the church for thest time. But, like a miracle, someone had opened the curtain covering the painting. Nello views his dream painting and, while dying of cold with Patrasche in his arms, talks about the painting and dies happily."


    Director Park recalls his past but reminds himself he''s not that innocent child child anymore. Business must be conducted with a cool head and precise analysis. He can''t let childhood sentiments ruin it.


    "So?"


    Jung-hoon smiles slightly and says,


    "Can you guess what we named this ceiling painting?"


    Director Park frowns and replies,


    "You just said it, didn''t you? ''A Dog of nders and Other stories'', or ''A Dog of nders.''"


    Jung-hoon turns fully to face Director Park,


    "It''s EL Sistema."


    An unexpected answer.


    Director Park struggles to recall this term from his memory.


    It sounded familiar.


    Jung-hoon points to the painting and says,


    "There''s an additional scene in this painting that doesn''t appear in the cartoon or the children''s book. Do you know what it is?"


    Director Park looks up at the painting.


    Indeed, there''s a scene in the painting that wasn''t in the cartoon or children''s literature.


    "The many hands holding the curtain. Is that it?"


    Jung-hoon nods with a smile.


    "Correct, Director."


    "What does that represent?"


    Jung-hoon leans on the vinyl-covered backrest of the audience seat and exins,


    "I mentioned earlier that the painting''s title is EL Sistema. It''s also the name of an educational program started in 1975 by the Venezun economist and musician Abreu. He taught instrument ying to children from slums who had no opportunity for proper art education."


    Finally, it clicks for Director Park.


    "Oh, that."


    Jung-hoon nods and continues,


    "When this program started, many scoffed at it. They wondered why waste time on learning music, which adds nothing to life, when even industrial education is insufficient. But amazingly, music changed these children''s lives, and El Sistema became known as the orchestra of miracles."


    Jung-hoon smiles, pointing with his index finger.


    "What happened to these children?"


    ...


    Jung-hoon says,


    "To learn an instrument takes a considerable amount of time. So, the children learned patience through practicing. Once they mastered their instruments, they gained confidence and a sense of achievement, and through the process of creating harmony with other children, they learned to be considerate and cooperative. Children who were once filled with despair due to poverty and violence experienced for the first time the feeling of aplishing something."


    Director Park, twitching his eyebrows, retorts,


    "So what?"


    Jung-hoon asks,


    "What Abreu taught the children wasn''t just how to y an instrument. It was how to use art as a tool in life."


    Using art as a tool in life.


    The true meaning art brings to our lives.


    Jung-hoon is right.


    Director Park nods in agreement.


    "That makes sense."


    "Director."


    "Yes."


    "Would you mind closing your eyes for a moment?"


    "..............."


    Wondering what he is up to, Director Park frowns but decides toply and closes his eyes. In the darkness, he hears Jung-hoon''s voice.


    Have you closed your eyes?


    Yes.


    You saw me, remember my face?


    Of course, I remember.


    I was wearing a dirty apron covered in paint. You remember, right?


    Yes.


    What color was the t-shirt I wore under my apron?


    What was it?


    ..


    Dont you remember? You definitely saw me.


    Park, annoyed, opens his eyes to see Jung-hoon.


    I was wearing a ck t-shirt. Is that so important that I need to recall it with my eyes closed?


    Jung-hoon smiles.


    It''s not about the color of my t-shirt, Director.


    Jung-hoon stands up from his chair and approaches.


    We often just nce at things we see and feel. We miss a lot in life, even at this moment.


    What are you trying to say?


    Jung-hoon points upwards,ughing.


    Would you like to look at the painting again?


    Park tilts his head back, doubtful that the massive artwork could have changed so quickly.


    Still dominating the ceiling is Rubens'' painting.


    Dozens of hands hold red curtains.


    Some are men''s hands, others delicate women''s.


    The boy at the bottom of the painting is moved to tears, while an oblivious dog lies on the floor, gazing up at the scene.


    Park speaks.


    What in the world


    Then, his attention shifts from the central painting to faces sketched faintly beside the hands holding the curtains, seemingly their owners.


    Theres


    Jung-hoon''s voicees through.


    Art sharpens our perception of what we see and feel, intuitively understanding beauty and diversity, learning how to coexist yet stand apart.


    ..


    What if these faintly sketched faces were to densely popte around the curtain? Would the masterpiece still capture attention?


    No. The Rubens painting upies less than 10% of the ceiling.


    Even including the boy and dog, it''s less than 15%.


    ''The subject isnt nders dog.''


    Park''s eyes fix on the sketched faces, still too vague to discern.


    He admits to himself that he didn''t understand the painting as he thought he did.


    Exin it to me, Im waiting.


    Jung-hoon approaches Park.


    Remember Neros wish? To see Rubens'' painting, which the poor can''t afford?


    That''s right.


    Ever wonder why the curtain was open that day, in his dying moment?


    .


    Unknown. The original novelist didn''t specify, so it''s just a miracle.


    I dont know.


    Jung-hoon taps his temple.


    It''s a moment for artistic imagination. Can you imagine?


    After a pause, Park speaks.


    Maybe a cleaner was dusting the frame, or a wealthy viewer left early. Or perhaps a sympathetic rich person opened it for Nero, who was just staring at the curtain.


    Jung-hoon snaps his fingers.


    You do have a deep artistic sense.


    Hmm.


    Jung-hoon stands in front of the painting, arms wide.


    Yes, we can imagine various scenarios. A person bringing a ray of light to a poor boy denied art. Whats more romantic than such a story?


    Thats true.


    Jung-hoon grins and snaps his fingers.


    A woman, who had been intently watching Jung-hoon, operates something. Suddenly, the ceiling brightens, and Park, caught off-guard, looks up.


    A beam projector on the floor casts a splendid image on the ceiling, guiding the painters. The faintly sketched faces be distinctly visible.


    There, there!


    The owners of the hands opening the curtain in Nerosst moment.


    Park shivers at the sight of familiar faces vividly drawn in the masterpiece.


    And then, he sees his own face at the forefront. In his usual brown suit and white shirt, his face, slightly idealized, looks serious and dignified.


    My face is


    Jung-hoon''s voice reaches him.


    In thisnd, this country, there are many Neros. Those who, due to financial, mental, or temporal constraints, keep a distance from art. What if you be someone who shows them that the true value of life is to be moved, to love, to hope, and to live passionately?


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 Chapter 57 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 57 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    "Following someone else''s path is never a form of progress."


    As Director Park listens to Jeong-hoon''s exnation while looking at the painting, a saying from his father, who had built a vast rice trading business spanning from Icheon in Gyeonggi Province to Gangwon and North Chungcheong Provinces from a small mill, crosses his mind.


    Unlike his father, who only received elementary education, Director Park, who studied abroad in the United States, always felt small and inadequate in front of his father, who seemed immense. Even now, nearing 60, he feels diminished in his father''s presence.


    Director Park, who always suffered internal conflictparing himself with his father, a man who achieved what seemed impossible, finds Jeong-hoon''s temptation irresistibly sweet.


    An achievement his father never attained.


    He sees it as a golden opportunity to ce himself on the same pedestal as a legend from Venezu.


    His father always said:


    "A young businessman should not fear mistakes. Business, by its nature, is the most absurd adventure and continuous exploration. Even if you fail, you grow that much. Do not fear failure."


    But he was always afraid.


    His father, who started from nothing, would still be at square one even if he lost everything due to failure. But he, who began with much, could lose everything with a failed adventure.


    He always wanted to tell his father:


    What you said was right then, but it''s wrong now.


    Yet, he never had the courage and always remained silent, enduring his father''s scolding.


    "Something not even the giant that is my father could achieve."


    Beauty always resides in solitude, and the masses fail to understand it.


    To enrich their lives by aiding the public''s understanding of art.


    His father, who barely finished elementary education, couldn''t possibly achieve this, not even in his wildest dreams.


    And now, the opportunity to aplish this was right in front of him.


    Director Park''s gaze returns to Jeong-hoon.


    This young painter, or should he be called CEO?


    Jeong-hoon''s figure seems newly significant.


    Jeong-hoon, with a serious face, begins to speak.


    "A person who isn''t an artist but makes people reopen books, informing them that there''s still much worth seeing inside. A person who, even if momentarily, takes them out of the boundaries of everyday perception into a transcended state of time, where they''re not confined bynguage or concepts and can experience the universe in its entirety without conditions."


    The young painter speaks about the person he wants to be.


    Or perhaps, the person he wishes to be may have just been born right here.


    A strong desire surges within him.


    Jeong-hoon continues:


    "Dont you want to lead people out of their internally piled-up beliefs to embrace new and pure perceptions?


    Director Park''s eyes return to the painting.


    He imagines himself opening the curtains for Nero and Patrasche to see Rubens'' painting more clearly. He is very pleased with his solemn and earnest expression.


    He wants to show this painting to his wife and children and, more than anyone, to his father.


    Director Park slowly lowers his gaze, taking in the entire theater, then mutters to himself:


    "Merely seeing with the eyes is not enough. To perceive the subject more freshly, newly, and urately, it''s best to engage all possible senses, including hearing and touch, and to make physical contact. That is the easiest way to feel art.


    As he looks around the now beautifully appearing theater, Jeong-hoons voice reaches Director Park''s ears:


    "A cup without form cannot exist inside. The inside and outside coexist, and they are one. This theater will be the cup that holds the clear water of the many arts born here.


    Director Park is silent for a while.


    Jeong-hoon gives a subtle nod to Min-young, then steps away with the other employees around.


    As Jeong-hoon leaves, Min-young stands beside the contemtive Director Park, speaking softly and gently, her voice echoing:


    "Few humans are endowed with the ability to see paintings, fewer still can feel music, and even fewer have the ability to express these. Therefore, we have a social responsibility to create spaces where these few can be seen by the public, Director.


    Lost in his thoughts and seemingly oblivious to any sound, Director Park murmurs:


    "Social responsibility.


    Min-young nods deeply and says:


    Learning does not tire the heart.


    Director Parks eyebrows twitch subtly.


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 Chapter 57 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 57 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Youngju emerges into the lobby of the theater, poking my ribs with her index finger whileughing heartily.


    "Hey, you should quit painting and go sell jade mats instead. You''d easily top the national sales if you were in insurance, you scammer-like guy. Damn, it gives me the chills. When did you start talking so well?"


    Seeing Youngju''s reaction, I''m convinced that I did well.


    Of course, doing well and the oue can be different, but as long as I''ve done my best within my capacity, that''s enough.


    After all, my job is to do work worth the money I''m paid.


    Anything beyond that is just an extra.


    After sending the other employees, who hade out through another corridor of the theater, back to continue their work, I waited in the lobby with Youngju for Min-young and Director Park.


    The two of them didn''t show up even after a long wait.


    Youngju nced at her wristwatch and said,


    "It''s already been 30 minutes. The next director will be here soon. Didn''t we call them on an hourly basis?"


    "Yes."


    "Sigh, what are they thinking so hard about?"


    Youngju is inwardly flustered, but the two inside remain silent.


    Just when I was about to go to the front door to sneak a peek, at that very moment,


    The theater door finally opens, revealing Min-young''s face.


    "Director Ban."


    "Yes, Director."


    I want to ask what happened right away, but I can''t since Director Park must be right behind her.


    Min-young stares at my face for a moment and then steps back, holding the door open.


    "Director Park has something personal to say to you."


    "Me?"


    Personal? To me? What about?


    Hesitating, I step into the theater, and Min-young says,


    "Director, I have another appointment, so I''ll go ahead."


    Director Park, abandoning his rigid demeanor from before, gives a slight bow.


    "Yes, President Yoo. See you next time."


    "Alright."


    Min-young disappears.


    What''s this? I''ve never met this gentleman before, but what could we possibly have to talk about?


    Standing awkwardly next to Director Park with an embarrassed and distant face.


    After greeting Min-young, Director Park returns to gazing at the theater, standing still.


    After about five minutes of waiting in silence, without amon topic to discuss, Director Park finally turns to me.


    "Should I call you Painter Ban Jeong-hoon, or would CEO Ban be more appropriate?"


    ""


    Both titles feel burdensome. Can''t he just call me by my name? But that might seem disrespectful.


    "Uh, um. I prefer just ''painter.''"


    "I thought so."


    Director Park looks back at the theater and says,


    "Painter Ban."


    "Yes."


    "From today, I''ll withdraw my opposition to the theater project. Of course, this is just my personal decision. Don''t misunderstand it as the opinion of the entire board."


    "That''s sufficient, Director."


    Director Park nces at me and smiles faintly.


    "It was a strategic choice of artwork, wasn''t it?"


    ".."


    Man, are all chaebols like this? So many can see right through people. The upper ss is indeed a daunting world.


    I choose silence instead of answering, and Director Park takes it as an affirmation.


    Director Park is silent again for a while.


    If he called me here for a personal matter, shouldn''t he say something?


    The things he just mentioned seem like what he would have already said to President Min-young. Why repeat the same story?


    Director Park seems to struggle as if he has something difficult to say, his lips moving slightly.


    It feels like he''s gauging my reaction, but what is this situation?


    Just as I was about to excuse myself, citing work, Director Park clears his throat and speaks.


    "Ahem, cough. Painter Ban."


    "Yes?"


    "May I ask you for a favor?"


    "What kind of favor?"


    "Over there."


    Director Park gestures towards a specific space.


    Past the sketches of the board members'' faces surrounding the central ceiling painting, his gaze settles on an empty spot at the edge, thanks to the round ceiling area.


    "Ah, yes. I n to fill that area meticulously, so you don''t need to worry."


    "No, it''s not that."


    Director Park swallows nervously and looks at me.


    "It''s about adding one more person to the painting."


    "Excuse me?"


    "Well, my wife has a lot of interest in art. She personally sponsors an orchestra as well. Next year is our 30th wedding anniversary, and I thought it would be a great gift to include her in that magnificent painting."


    Huh?


    It''s not a difficult task at all.


    The area he''s referring to was supposed to be filled with a dramatic and touching scene of Nero dying in a snowyndscape, as there was nothing else nned to be painted there.


    "Ah, that."


    "If you can do just that, Ill support the artistic activities of Artist Company."


    "Excuse me?"


    "It''s a profit-orientedpany, but it''s filled with artists, isn''t it? I''d like to make a personal donation."


    "."


    "Those employees working on the crane, are they regr staff?"


    "No, no. There are only two employees in mypany, myself and Director Seo Youngju. The rest are short-term part-timers, all juniors from our school."


    "They''re juniors nting the seeds of art in thisnd. Won''t you give me the opportunity to water these flowers?"


    ".."


    Director Park grips my shoulder tightly.


    "If my wife and I can be included up there, I''d do anything."


    "That''s."


    "I''d prefer it if it were next to my spot."


    Huh? But isn''t there already another person''s sketch in that spot?


    Director Park reaches for his phone.


    "Painter Ban, you''re a man, aren''t you? Let''s settle this here. If you do that for me, I''ll call my secretary right now and deposit 200 million won into your personal ount. You can use it to give bonuses to those employees and treat them to good meals. It''s better to receive it personally rather than through the corporation."


    Gosh, 200 million? That''s insane.


    He''s wealthy, right? Ah, of course, he is.


    Well, the sketch in that spot is just another person''s. I can erase it, right? Just move it a bit.


    "It''s... possible."


    Director Park smiles broadly and makes a call.


    "It''s me. Send 200 million won from W Tree Group''s finance team to Painter Ban Jeong-hoon of Artist Company. Within an hour."


    Wow, just a few words and I''ve made 200 million won.


    ''With 200 million, I could feed the kids samgyeopsal every day until their work is done. No, maybe it''s better to give them a higher allowance.''


    After the call, Director Park looks at the ceiling painting with a pleased expression and pats my shoulder.


    "I''m counting on you."


    "Ah... Yes."


    I watch Director Park leave with a broad smile, havinge in with apletely irritated face, and recall the words Min-young had said.


    <i>"W Tree won''t interfere with any side ie you generate, so enjoy it!"</i>


    Wow, so this was the extra ie Min-young was talking about.


    Not just a small sum, but a whopping 200 million won.


    Min-young is really something else. To have foreseen this far.


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 Chapter 58 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 58 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Originally, the n was to invite the directors over two days, but like Director Park''s case, when unexpected dys urred, the schedule had to be extended over three days to amodate everyone.


    The result was a huge sess.


    Except for one or two directors, the rest withdrew their opposition.


    ording to Min young, the one or two who maintained their opposition did so only for face-saving reasons. In reality, they barely contained theirughter and left.


    A Korean beef specialty restaurant near Hannam-dong.


    The junior colleagues had been excited all day about the dinner and celebration nned after work.


    A luxurious restaurant.


    The juniors, unfamiliar with such an expensive meat restaurant, looked around, not daring to even peek at the menu.


    "Senior, are we really eating here?"


    "Boss, aren''t we going bankrupt if we eat here? It looks very expensive."


    Jiyoung, from the Department of Painting, opens the menu, his eyes widening.


    "Whoa! 67,000 won for 130g?"


    Jiyoung whispers, his face turning red.


    "Seniors, let''s just leave? The cheapest meat is 43,000 won for 130g, and that''s hardly a few slices. Let''s just stick to pork belly..."


    Yeongju ps Jiyoung on the shoulder and exims.


    "Shut up, man. The boss is treating us big time because we worked hard. Hey, waiter! The most expensive dish for eight servings per table!"


    We are 12 in total, three tables. Eight servings per table make 24 servings. If it''s the most expensive shrimp meat at 67,000 won per serving, the meat alone costs over 1.6 million won.


    Yeongju boldly announces.


    "Hey, forget soju and beer! Today, we''re going with premium Jinro! Madam! Two bottles of premium Jinro for each table."


    The juniors look at me in shock instead of Yeongju.


    Understandably so, as Yeongju may be ordering, but I''m the one paying.


    Just a month ago, I was trembling over a 400,000 won bill for pork belly.


    But now, I feel as rxed as a chaebol''s youngest son.


    I take a sip of water, smiling at the juniors, who are staring at me, and say.


    "Eat up, and then eat some more. If anyone eats less than three servings, they''re not going home."


    As my words fall, beautifully colored meat arrives on the cart and is set on the table, but the juniors still dare not grill the meat.


    Seeing this, Yeongju personally goes around the tables, cing the meat on the grill.


    "Hey, you know this meat is expensive, right? If you don''t eat it and it burns, it''s your loss."


    The meat turns a lovely brown color, looking mouth-watering.


    Yeongjeong quickly grabs the meat with tongs, flipping it over.


    "This kind of meat should be flipped immediately after touching the me and eaten sliced!"


    Yeongjeong cuts the half-cooked meat with scissors, dips a piece in sesame oil, and looks around. Seeing Yeongju and I smiling pleasantly, she lifts the meat and says.


    "I''ll! Try it first!"


    The meat disappears into her mouth.


    Yeongjeong closes her eyes and shivers.


    "Amazing!"


    No need for fancy taste descriptions.


    But at Yeongjeong''s word, chopsticks fly in a frenzy.


    The juniors devour the meat like possessed, all exhibiting simr reactions to Yeongjeong.


    "Wow, is this meat? Then what have I been eating all this time?"


    "Unbelievable! I chewed twice and it disappeared!"


    "I''ve never had this before. I want to bring some to my mom. She would love it."


    Hearing thest junior, I look at Yeongju. Quick-witted, she quietly goes to the counter. Without saying, she must be asking for raw meat to be packed for the juniors to take home.


    As the alcohol arrives, the kids fill up Yeongju''s and my sses as a start. Yeongju gestures me to say something. I''m not used to this. I stand up, feeling slightly embarrassed.


    Even as they put down their chopsticks to ensure the expensive meat doesnt burn and hold their sses, the juniors look at me.


    I meet the eyes of the adorable juniors and say.


    "Hey, as I said before, thank you foring when things were tough. The ceiling painting was a tough job, but you all worked on it withoutints. Im really grateful."


    I sneak a look at Yeongju, who seems to signal me to say all that needs to be said. Ah, Im not used to boasting like this.


    "Uh, also."


    The juniors wait, holding their sses.


    I spoke with a slightly embarrassed face.


    After discussing with Director Seo Young-ju, we thought that employing our hardworking juniors at the minimum wage wasn''t right. So, um, we''ve decided to raise your sries.


    The eyes of the juniors widened.


    The amount was just over 2 million won a month. It might seem small, but it''s a significant sum for those preparing for employment.


    As the room quieted down, Young-ju stood up with his ss.


    Let''s guess! How much of a raise is it?


    Yeong-jeong, who was the first to eat the meat, caught on to Young-ju''s mood-lifting attempt and shouted.


    10% raise!


    Young-ju exaggeratedly shook his head and raised his thumb.


    No, No! Up! Up!


    This time, Ji-yong raised his ss and shouted.


    20% raise!


    No, No! Up! Up!


    Another junior joined in.


    30% raise?


    No, No! Up! Up!


    Young-ju encouraged them to guess higher with each 10% increment. As it passed 80%, the faces of the juniors changed. From initial excitement to disbelief.


    After building up the atmosphere, Young-ju raised his ss for a toast.


    Lets clink sses!


    The sound of sses clinking filled the air, followed by Young-ju''s voice.


    "It''s a 100% increase, you guys!"


    The room bursts into exmations of awe.


    After quickly downing their drinks, the junior colleagues excitedly chatter about how much they''ll earn with a 100% sry increase over the next three months.


    With a sry over 400, each will take home slightly more than 12 million won over three months.


    It''s not the praise but the money that''s making the whales dance.


    The juniors repeatedly ask Youngju and me if it''s really true before finally believing it after several confirmations and starting to clink their sses and chat among themselves.


    After pushing my portion of the meat to the juniors, I excuse myself to go to the bathroom. After just washing my hands anding out, Youngju, who was leaning against the corridor wall, yfully taps my chest with a smile.


    "Our boss. I know you''ve got a lot of side ie, but can you afford the meat?"


    I smile, looking at the juniors voraciously eating meat at our table from a distance.


    "It''s not like I''m paying for it anyway."


    Youngjuughs and pats my shoulder.


    "But still, you''re raising their sries with your money."


    "What''s my money? It''s all given to take care of the kids'' welfare."


    "Bullshit, welfare. It''s just a bribe, hehe."


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 Chapter 58 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 58 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    First, Director Park, followed by many directors, came to see the work in progress.


    Initially, it was only Director Park, but rumors spread that he made a personal donation and asked for an additional painting of his wife. Soon, directors who had already visited returned to make donations and request family portraits.


    Youngju hints at my wallet.


    "How much did you make in side ie?"


    "Over 200 million in total."


    "Wow, that''s crazy."


    "Enough space for painting?"


    "For now."


    "I''ll give you a bonus, so take it."


    "No need, man. I''m a director of ourpany. Do you think I''m happy for such petty money?"


    "Really? Then it''s fine."


    "Hey! You should ask twice! So heartless."


    "Haha, I''m busy now, so I''ll ask again tomorrow. Tomorrow''s thest day, so think about the amount you want. There won''t be a third time."


    Youngju mps her mouth shut, perhaps thinking a joke would make the bonus disappear.


    I straighten my clothes and say.


    "I''ll be with the kids. I''ll be back soon."


    "Hey, eat something there. You hardly ate any meat."


    "Sure."


    After parting with Youngju, I walk down the long corridor to the VIP room.


    A staff member guarding the door opens the sliding door upon seeing me.


    A six-person table.


    The entire wall is made ofrge ss, offering a refreshing view outside the VIP room.


    Two beautiful women waiting for me smile brightly.


    Monica, the Italian goddess, waving a fork instead of chopsticks, exims.


    "Jeonghoon! Long time no see!"


    Minyoung, the elegant Eastern goddess, also greets me as she stands with a polite bow.


    "You''re here, Painter Ban. Please, have a seat."


    The staff pulls out the chair next to Minyoung, but Monica pulls out the chair next to her and says.


    "Jeonghoon, sit next to me."


    Hmm, it seems like the setting is next to CEO Minyoung, but it doesn''t matter.


    "Have you been well, Monica?"


    "Thanks to you."


    "Thanks to me? What did I do?"


    Monica leans her chin on her hand, smiling.


    "Because of Belle Epoque''s sess, and the painting you made for me gave me strength."


    "Ah."


    Someday Monica will return to her hometown to create her own brand.


    Thinking of it makes me feel like I should be nice to her while she''s still around.


    My life changed entirely due to that museum, but Monica is the one who gave me the opportunity in reality.


    Monica is more talkative than usual, maybe because it''s been a while.


    Minyoung quietly ces meat grilled by the staff on my te, pushes side dishes towards me, and fills my cup.


    After a while of exchanging personal stories, Minyoung finally speaks up during a brief lull in the conversation.


    "I''m really grateful for this time, please have a drink."


    "Ah, yes. Thank you."


    Wow, what''s this drink? Was there such a drink on the menu? It smells faintly of chrysanthemums and sticks to the pte.


    "Wow, this drink is amazing."


    "They say it''s an award-winning drink fromst year."


    "Wow, drinks win awards?"


    "Haha, it does sound strange when you say it."


    The atmosphere is pleasant.


    I feel like I''m soaring high.


    Enjoying such a fine meal, with excellent meat and drinks, in a great restaurant.


    Not long ago, I was just a shut-in painting unnoticed works in a damp, musty basement room. How did my life change this much?


    For a while, we take turns drinking.


    Min-young settles the bill for both ourpany members and this table, then tucks her hair behind her ear. Her face, flushed from the alcohol, is quite attractive.


    I was nning to open the theater next year, but the COVID situation is resolving faster than expected, so Im looking to advance the opening by scouting a performance team. If it goes well, we might open the theater in less than six months. All this is thanks to Director Ban, who eliminated the opposition from the board.


    I appreciated thepliments, but being praised so directly made me feel awkward, so I just smiled. Then, Monica joined in.


    I told you, didn''t I? He''s a star from the East. I''m sure Jeong-hoon will be a star of the world, I guarantee it.


    A star.


    The stars in my heart have already died.


    A painter remembered in the hearts of other stars in a distant future.


    Can I be such a person?


    I''m not sure yet.


    Monica exims.


    Just look at now! Jeong-hoon has already gone beyond reproducing what''s visible to making the invisible visible. Desires hidden in people''s hearts, desires they didn''t even know they had. That''s what he''s bringing to light.


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 Chapter 59 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 59 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    <b>Honor is More Valuable than Wealth (8)</b>


    I felt a mix of satisfaction, anxiety, and relief as I checked the amount of 100 million won in the corporate ount. Once we receive the final settlement, our work with W Tree will be over.


    "Just three weeks left until the deadline, and 80% of the work isplete."


    Originally, I had calcted that 90% should have beenpleted by now.


    However, the workload increased as we added the directors'' families into the paintings. Minyoung had offered to extend the deadline if necessary, but it doesn''t seem like we''ll need it.


    Minyoung is bustling around, busy recruiting world-renowned musicians for the sessful opening of the Catb. Seeing her like this makes me want to finish the theater as soon as possible. Besides, the additional paintings I did for the directors were charged separately under personal sponsorship, so it''s a different matter from my contract with Minyoung.


    It''s a weekend, a day off.


    Since I onlyplete the original paintings and the juniors, including Yeongju, handle the actual work, I rarely have to climb up to the ceiling to paint. asionally, I''ll go up to give detailed instructions to the juniors if I spot something slightly off.


    Rubbing my stiff neck, I turn it side to side.


    "Phew, my neck hurts just from watching. I wonder how the juniors who are actually working feel?"


    Stiff necks and herniated discs are upational hazards for painters.


    Even though it''s a day off, I imagine the juniors are still in their beds, groaning in pain.


    Then, the sliding door of the office opens with a tter.


    Who could it be on a weekend?


    Looking up, I see Yeongju standing at the door with a "why are you here?" expression.


    "Yeongju? Why are you here on a Saturday?"


    Yeongju silently looks at me, then throws her bag on her desk, saying,


    "What about you?"


    "Me? Well, I had nothing else to do."


    That''s a lie. I''m feeling a bit anxious right now.


    I set up a corporatepany for the W Tree project and brought in my closest friend.


    This project will be over soon.


    It''s easy to pay off the juniors who are working part-time, but Yeongju and I need to find more work to keep thepany going.


    That anxiety is what drove me toe in even on a day off.


    If I stayed at home, my head would be in turmoil.


    Yeongju slumps down at her desk, saying,


    "I feel the same. Ugh, it''s so hot."


    Summer''s heat is at its peak.


    Luckily, we installed an air conditioner when we moved in.


    "The air conditioner is on."


    "I know, dude. It just takes time to cool down. What temperature is it set to?"


    "25 degrees. Lower it if it''s too hot. I had set it to 18 degrees when I arrived."


    "Alright, let''s lower it."


    Yeongju goes to the air conditioner, pping her clothes.


    "Hey, you didn''te here for a vacation because you don''t have an air conditioner at home, did you?"


    I chuckle.


    "What are you talking about? Do you think I still live in a basement studio?"


    "Oh, right, you moved. Does your new ce have an air conditioner?"


    "A system air conditioner."


    "Oh, nice. How many units?"


    "Five. One in each room."


    "Wow, that''s better than my house."


    "But it''s still hot."


    "Why?"


    "Only my room is cool. My brother doesn''t turn it on because he''s not hot, and my mom says why use an expensive air conditioner when a fan is enough."


    Yeongju giggles.


    "Mothers are all the same, aren''t they? My mom alsoins about using the air conditioner when it''s hot, saying just take a cold shower and stay still."


    It seems even middle-ss families have simr mothers.


    Our parents scrimped and saved so we could live like this, but I wish they would turn on the air conditioner when it''s really hot.


    "Especially when cooking, the kitchen bes like Africa, but she refuses to turn it on. Even when she''s sweating with a red face."


    Yeongjuughs, "At least my mom turns it on when cooking."


    While we exchange these unconstructive jokes, the heat subsides a bit. Yeongju returns to her desk to turn on herputer. It''s her freedom to do whatever she wants on theputer on weekends. Maybe I should cool off my head with a game?


    What game should I y?


    Ser? Or maybe an RPG? No, RPGs take too much time. I''m already busy enough without investing time in games. I shouldn''t even start. Maybe an FPS?


    While I was sitting at my desk, pondering, I heard Young-ju talking to someone on the phone.


    Yeah, senior. What happened to that thing you asked aboutst time? Oh, the project''s canceled? Why? Don''t know? Are you sure? I heard they''ve been preparing for over five months. Okay. Let me know immediately if the project restarts. Yeah, thanks, senior. Bye.


    After hanging up, Young-ju sighs deeply.


    I was curious about his conversation but pretended not to hear since it could be personal.


    As I search for a game to y, I hear Young-jus voice again.


    Hey, Ji-hyun. Didnt yourpany say they were building a new office? Whos doing the interior construction? Im wondering if we could take on some interior design work. Can you give me the contact or email of the person in charge? Text it to me, please. Thanks. Ourpany? Artist Company. Ill buy you a drinkter. Okay, bye.


    The moment I hear Young-ju''s second call, my desire to y a game shatters.


    While my employee is diligently seeking work opportunities for our next step on the weekend, here I am, the boss, thinking about ying games. I feel utterly pathetic.


    And I''m deeply grateful to Young-ju for working so hard for ourpany.


    But it feels too embarrassing to directly express my gratitude and admiration.


    So, I go to the kitchen and make a sweet iced coffee with lots of cream and sugar, Young-jus favorite, and ce it in front of her. Young-ju raises an eyebrow in surprise at the sight.


    Whats this for, suddenly being so nice?


    Because you''re pretty.


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 Chapter 59 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 59 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    What?


    I said, because you''re pretty.


    ..................


    Young-ju, looking dumbfounded, suddenly lunges at me and pretends to strangle me.


    You jerk! Confess! What did you do wrong? Spit it out! I''ll forgive you if you confess now!


    Ah! It hurts!! It hurts!


    She''s so strong that my face turns red just from a brief mock-strangling.


    Geez! I just gave it to you. I didn''t do anything wrong!


    Young-ju squints at me suspiciously.


    Really?


    Really.


    Hmm.


    Young-ju then looks at me again skeptically before finally taking a sip of the coffee.


    Are you sure you didnt spit in the coffee?


    Crazy! Just dont drink it!


    As I try to snatch the cup away, Young-ju dodges and gulps down the coffee.


    Wow, our boss here. If thepany goes under, you could open a caf!


    Why would thepany go under?


    There''s 500 million in the corporate ount.


    Over 300 million in my personal ount.


    It might be small for a business, but it''s not bad for apany that''s just starting with only two people.


    At my words, Young-ju flinches, then puts down his cup and bes serious.


    Jung-hoon.


    Yeah.


    You know our current project ends in 3 weeks?


    I know.


    We need to find the next job. Things get tough quickly if the work stops.


    I know.


    Im aware but clueless about what to do. I have no experience running a business, nor do I have many contacts like Young-ju towork with. I dont even know where to start looking for work. So far, we''ve been lucky to get continuous work, but theres no guarantee that will continue.


    Young-ju, resting his chin on his hand, says, Ive been reaching out to people who joined otherpanies to find work we can bid for.


    I know, I heard him making calls earlier.


    Young-ju sighs.


    The problem is ourpanysck of name value. Were new, and our only project so far is the W Tree theater, which hasnt even opened yet. Without a portfolio, no one wants to entrust us with work.


    That makes sense. Those looking to hire want a reliable firm, and to trust apany, they need a portfolio. Right now, we''re like heading a ball on bare ground.


    Theres no overnight stardom like with celebrities.


    We have to build up work gradually and make our name known in the industry. It''s going to be tough until then.


    Itll work out, Young-ju.


    A baseless, optimistic statement.


    Though its without any solid ground, the moment hope is included, it besforting.


    Young-ju chuckles and shakes her head.


    Yeah, it''ll work out. I believe that too.


    Returning to his seat, Young-ju then suggests, Shouldnt we make a website for ourpany?


    Hmm.


    If we want to promote ourpany to clients, we should at least have a website.


    "Do you know someone in that field?"


    "Yeah, I have a senior from 3 years ago who works in that area."


    "Can you check with her?"


    "Okay."


    Phew, what would I have done without Young-ju?


    I hear the sound of Young-ju''s keyboard, indicating she''s messaging someone. Meanwhile, I sit at my desk, browsing through otherpanies'' websites, lost in thought.


    ''We definitely need a way to promote ourpany. We need to make Artist Company known to the public to get work.''


    How did Klimt manage hispany in the 18th century when it wasnt easy to find information on the inte like now? It makes me admire him even more.


    ''Klimt must have worked hard, one step at a time, just like this, without any easy solutions.''


    Let''s start by creating a website.


    We need a way to let others know what ourpany is about when we pitch for work.


    Since Young-ju''s senior is also my senior, I should try to negotiate a good deal.


    No, even if it costs more, we should make it look impressive.


    If it helps us get more work, Im willing to invest whatever it takes.


    Then, Young-ju''s phone vibrates.


    He was typing on the keyboard, chatting via messenger, but then switches to speakerphone to take the call.


    "Hey, Ji-hyun."


    Ji-hyun? That''s the name of the friend from thepany building the new office he was talking to earlier. The quick response must mean a rejection.


    - Sister, is yourpany really called Artist Company?


    "Yes, I just told you."


    - Wow! Do you have a vacancy at yourpany? Take me with you, will you?


    What''s this about?


    Why would someone from a sessfulpany that''s building its own office want to join a smallpany like ours? While browsing otherpanies'' websites, I turn my head towards Young-jus desk.


    Young-ju, also puzzled, stops messaging and looks at the phone.


    What are you talking about?


    - I was going to connect you to the person in charge, but they already knew about yourpany. But they were saying, how could apany like Artist Company just be doing office interiors? So I asked what they meant, and they sent me a link.


    A link? What link?


    - A news link, from a portal site. There were lots of articles.


    What?


    Young-ju and I lock eyes in disbelief.


    Articles about ourpany? What does this mean?


    Almost simultaneously, Young-ju and I bury our faces in our monitors, furiously typing as ifpeting against each other.


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 Chapter 60 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 60 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Hi Everyone!


    Im picking up a new novel <b>My Daughter is a Music Genius</b>, do check it out!


    P.S. Reached 25 ratings on NU, so there will be a bonus tomorrow! There is another milestone of 5 reviews too, hope we''ll reach it soon!


    As I type ourpany''s name into the search portal, my eyes nearly pop out.


    [New Paradigm, W Hotel Groups #1 Hotel''s New Theater, The Catbs]


    [Art Worlds Rising Star, Artist Company, Turns Theater Ceiling into Art]


    [W Tree Hotel Hannam''s Representative Yoo Min-young, Artist Company is the Best Partner!]


    Not one or two, but over ten articles pop up.


    What in the world is going on?


    Swallowing hard, I clicked on the first article I saw.


    [New Paradigm, W Hotel Groups #1 Hotel''s New Theater, The Catbs]


    Reporter Choi Jin-hyeong | 2023.08.11 10:01


    W Hotel Group, the operator of W Tree Hannam, announced their coboration with the budding artpany, Artist Company, to design the interior of their new theater, The Catbs.


    Artist Company, founded by Ban Jeong-hoon, who gained fame as the designer of the MG Electronics'' groundbreaking refrigerator, Belle poque, and as its co-creator, is a promisingpany expected to earn over 1.2 billion won annually in refrigerator sales revenue R/S for the next five years.


    The W Tree Group''s board highly values Artist Company''s artistic and design capabilities and has entrusted them with the theater''s centerpiece, the ceiling painting.


    The beautiful ceiling painting, an amalgamation of Baroque traditions and 18th-century Austrian Academism, is expected to synergize with the high-quality art performances to be held at the theater.


    W Tree Hannam''s new theater, The Catbs, which saw an investment of 98.1 billion won since 2020, particrly in world-ss sound systems, is set to open to the public by the end of October.


    Yoo Min-young, the representative of W Tree Hannam, has announced the opening performance at the historic Catbs, inviting the renowned Polish pianist Irina Sevanova, known as Titan.


    Irina Sevanova is celebrated worldwide for her interpretation and expression of Chopin''s music and is one of the greatest musicians to have performed at Carnegie Hall.


    The ticketing site, currently negotiating with The Catbs, is doing its best to secure exclusive rights to sell tickets for this performance, expected to be a sce for the people weary from the longsting virus outbreak.


    After reading the article to the end, I swallowed hard.


    "Jackpot."


    Yeongju was speechless.


    Although Ji-hyeon kept calling Yeongjus name through the speakerphone, she just stared nkly at the monitor.


    -Yeongju, can you hear me? Is there something wrong with the phone? Hello?


    It took Yeongju repeating my name about ten times before she finally came to her senses.


    "Ah, sorry Ji-hyun. Let''s talkter."


    -So you go to such a greatpany but don''t even invite me?


    "It''s not like that. I''ll exinter."


    -What should I tell the person asking if they''re really going to take our job?


    "I''ll consult with the boss and call you back."


    Yeongju hangs up the phone.


    As the call ends, I unwittingly turn towards Yeongju.


    Shes looking at me too.


    Without thinking, we both yelled at the same time.


    "Jackpot! There are over ten articles!"


    "Crazy! We got a mention in the Irina Sevanova article! Insane!"


    Huh? Something seems off. Is getting a mention good? Ah, who cares! I''m just overjoyed now!


    "Hahaha! Hahaha! We got massive promotion without spending a dime!"


    I randomly throw whatever is on the table into the air.


    Papers scatter and fall to the floor.


    Normally, Yeongju would''ve scolded me, but today she runs over, hitting me yfully whileughing.


    "Stop the phone calls, damn it! Just pick and choose from whates in! Lay back, damn it! Hahaha!"


    "Right! Even if we just sit, calls wille in, look! You heard that person Ji-hyeon talking about whether apany like ours would take their job, right?"


    "Yeah! Haha!"


    "We did it! We really did it!"


    Jumping around with Yeongju, weugh and celebrate for a while.


    Regaining our senses, we sit down at my desk and check all the other articles, smiling broadly at each other.


    "It seems like Representative Yoo Min-young mentioned us a lot in the articles, right?"


    "Yeah, they couldve just promoted the theater, but they deliberately mentioned us."


    "Maybe the board members put in a bit of effort? Their reputation rises as people see the ceiling painting."


    "Right, our boss is such a strategist. Using the same method as Klimt did, I was totally impressed! I admire my boss!"


    "Haha!"


    Youngju celebrates with a cheer.


    "Wow! Ourpany''s name going out with the Irina Sevanova article. This might even make it to international news."


    Just earlier, she was happy that we got a mention in that pianist''s article.


    "Who is that, by the way?"


    "What, you don''t know?"


    "It''s possible not to know, man."


    I''m familiar with famous pianists from the past, but I didn''t have the luxury to keep up with modern foreign pianists'' performances, given my circumstances.


    Knowing my situation, Youngju exined without any snide remarks.


    "A genius who won the Chopin International Competition at 14!"


    "The Chopin International Competition? The one in Warsaw?"


    "Yes! Pnd, where Chopin was born, was so frustrated always losing the cup to other countries, but then Irina came and swept all the awards. Pnd is making a big deal about her."


    "How old is she now?"


    "Wait, let me check."


    Not remembering her age, Youngju quickly searched.


    Seeing the photos on the portal site, I was genuinely impressed.


    "She''s very beautiful."


    Yeongju rolls her eyes.


    Typical men. Shes thirty-six this year.


    Wow, she looks unbelievably young.


    Foreigners often look older than Asians, but she looks like shes in her mid-twenties.


    Maybe its just a ttering photo.


    Yeongju shows me several photos and says,


    Look, these are from her Carnegie Hall performance. You know Carnegie Hall, right?


    The one in New York?


    Yes, even Horowitz performed there. To stand on that stage is a great honor for any musician. Irina performed there when she was just twenty-two.


    Only twenty-two?


    What was I doing at that age?


    Ah, digging ditches in the military.


    Even though I was the breadwinner of my family due to the absence of my father, I was not recognized as the head of the household since I was a student and a recipient of basic living assistance, and thus was drafted into the army. While I was busy digging ditches, she became a pianist who had already performed at Carnegie Hall.


    Wow, she performed solo without an orchestra?


    She yed concertos and solo performances.


    It must have been nerve-wracking to be alone on such a big stage.


    Shes a genius, so thats expected.


    Really?


    Is it effortless for a genius?


    An ordinary person would naturally be nervous and trembling on such a stage, but a genius, with a strong heart, handles it effortlessly. Is that what defines a genius? I''m not sure.


    That''s as far as my interest in a foreign pianist whose name and face I barely know goes. Now back to reality.


    "What if we get swamped with work? What about the juniors?"


    "Hiring them as full-time employees right away seems like a big step."


    "How about contract positions?"


    "For a year?"


    "Initially. We''ll see how it goes and decideter about full employment."


    "But some of them said they''re going abroad for studies after a short part-time job."


    "Leave it to their discretion. We''ll just take the ones who want to work, right?"


    "Okay, I''ll interview the kids."


    "Okay, I''ll leave it to you."


    What felt like an endless darkness now seems like a bright dawn. Revitalized, Youngju says we still need a website and goes back to her desk to call a senior she knows for help.


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 Chapter 60 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 60 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Two weekster.


    Arriving at the theater for the final touches on the ceiling painting, I stood in the center of the audience seats and looked up at the ceiling. Surrounded by slightly nervous juniors, I meticulously inspected each detail.


    "Hey, Youngju. Look at this."


    Youngju, who was at herptop, rushes over.


    "Where?"


    "Here, at the coordinates..."


    I pointed out the coordinates on the original painting disyed on Youngju''sptop.


    "See that nk space next to the finger?"


    "One sec."


    Youngju pulls out a telescope from around her neck and looks closely, then frowns.


    "Yeah, I see it."


    "And about this part. The neck looks a bit unnatural. I think the issue is with the neck wrinkles, so let''s erase and redo it."


    "Where?"


    "Here, the woman in the dress."


    "Oh, yeah. Why''s that like this?"


    As thepany''s CEO and director begin pointing out a few issues with the painting they''ve been diligently working on, the faces of the waiting juniors stiffen.


    Regardless of that.


    Being nice to the juniors is one thing. The work needs to be done right.


    I ryed the points that needed correction to Youngju and then addressed the juniors.


    "Guys, we''ve got a week left. It looks like it''ll take about three days to make the modifications. If we finish by then, I''ll give you four days off. I promise, so let''s do our best until the end!"


    The juniors'' faces brightened at thebination of a carrot and stick approach. Who wouldn''t like paid leave?


    As the juniors climbed into the crane to head up to the ceiling, Youngju came over to me.


    "Hey, if the boss stares at them like that, they''ll be too nervous to work."


    "I can''t just not care, can I?"


    "Check in asionally, but don''t hang around there. If you have any instructions, tell me. If you''re there all the time, it''ll make them nervous."


    "Alright, got it."


    Youngju was right. Even I would be ufortable if the boss was ring like that.


    After checking the painting onest time and ensuring no further modifications were needed, I kept my eyes on the artwork until I left through the back door of the theater.


    I couldn''t shake the feeling that something was stillcking despite numerous revisions. Perhaps it was just my worry. Art doesn''t be perfect with multiple revisions, but I still felt greedy for more. In such cases, it''s better not to look at the painting at all.


    As I stepped into the lobby, I saw a familiar and weing face. It was President Yoo Min-young.


    While being monitored by an employer is usually not pleasant, Min-young is a bit special to me. She, along with Monica, are strongly associated with opening doors for me.


    "President Yoo!"


    Min-young, who came with her secretary, greeted me with a bright smile.


    "Is the final work going well?"


    "Yes, no issues. We will definitely finish in a week."


    "That''s good to hear."


    "When does the preparation for the performance start?"


    "As soon as the ceiling painting is done and those stic covers in the audience seats are removed, the next team cane in."


    Right, of course.


    The theater is currently a mess. stic sheets stained with dried paint that had dripped from the ceiling are strewn about, making it resemble a haunted theater or ruins.


    I scratched my head andughed.


    "Haha, we''ll clean up and leave it spotless."


    Min-young smiled softly and said,


    "Oh, and Mr. Painter."


    "Yes?"


    "Could you please exin the ceiling painting to me one more time?"


    Huh? Are there still people from the board meeting who haven''te?


    "Of course. Where are they?"


    "Not now, in two weeks."


    "Is it a board member?"


    "No, a private individual."


    A private individual? Why do I need to exin it to a private individual? Well, it should be fine. It''s a request from Min-young, so can''t I do at least that much?


    I readily epted.


    At that time, I didn''t think much of this meeting.


    But fate was once again about to lead me somewhere.


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 Chapter 61 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 61 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    <i>Bonus chapter for 25 ratings on NovelUpdates! Next bonus at 50 ratings or 5 reviews, achieving these targets will also help people find the novel.</i>


    Ikseon-dong, Jongno.


    It''s been a long time since I''ve been here.


    Back when I used to earn my living by painting portraits every day, the pretty streets that seemed like unreachable stars now catch my eye anew.


    The ceiling painting of the theater is in its final stages.


    Afterpleting the painting, the finishing work involves filling in very small gaps with paint. The thick outer lines are already done, so there''s nothing more for me to oversee.


    Heeding Youngju''s advice to go out and get some fresh air, I stepped out of the hotel and instinctively headed towards Jongno. As much as I love walking, trekking from Hannam-dong to Jongno is too much. I''m not a schr from the Joseon era on my way to take an exam, and there''s no way I, a modern person, would walk for hours.


    I was about to take a taxi, but my old habit of saving made me choose the bus instead. I got off near Nakwon Arcade.


    I nced in the direction of the art museum, but decided to first take a tour around Ikseon-dong before heading there. I made my way to a cafe I could never afford to visit back in my portrait-painting days. It''s a ce where, on weekends, a long line wraps around the entire cafe.


    I''ve never been inside, but from watching it for a long time, I know that on weekdays, you can enter without much wait.


    The pretty entrance of the cafe.


    I''ve passed by it hundreds of times, but entering now feels awkward. My pockets are full, but my mind still seems stuck in the past, feeling like I don''t belong here.


    I entered the cafe hesitantly, almost stumbling.


    It''s a busy ce, so the staff doesn''t greet the customers. I prefer it that way. I wish nobody would pay any attention to me. Approaching the counter, the employee, who seemed to have sold their ability to greet, asked me directly.


    How many are you?


    Just me.


    Yes, please take a seat at a 2-person table, not the 4-person ones.


    I looked around the cafe.


    Why make such a fuss when there are no other customers? All the good spots are 4-person tables.


    I''ll move if other customerse.


    I''m sorry, but we don''t allow seat changes here.


    Ahh, I see.


    Please take a seat over there.


    The ce the staff pointed to.


    A small table near the corridor leading to the restroom. It''s a spot where both front and back views arepletely blocked. With no other choice, I ordered a coffee and headed to the spot I was directed to.


    These days, few cafes bring the beverage to your table like before. In this corner seat, I have to fetch my own coffee, which costs 9,000 won. Its ironic that a single cup of coffee is more expensive than a 8,000 won pork cutlet at a kimbap restaurant.


    After waiting for a while, the bell rang, and I, carrying my coffee, sat in this cramped spot and let out a sardonicugh.


    Is this what you really wanted, Jeong-hoon? Toe all this way for this? It''s pathetic.


    And it wasn''t just an empty sentiment.


    This cafe, frequented by students younger than me.


    I had always resisted the urge toe here every time I passed by because the price of a single coffee was more than two meals for me.


    I had promised myself that one day, when I made enough money, I would definitelye here.


    To think the illusions I envied were this empty.


    Thats when a couple approached the seat next to mine. The man, holding his coffee, grumbled.


    Ah, this isnt a good spot. Should we just leave?


    The woman shook her head.


    Weve already ordered. Lets just sit.


    The man reluctantly took the seat behind me, while the woman didnt sit down. Instead, she took out a hand mirror, checked her face, then walked around the cafe taking photos with her phone.


    In reality, sitting in a corner like this, you can''t enjoy the view or the interior, but in her photos, it would probably look like she''s in the best spot, enjoying the most expensive menu, luxuriating in leisure while others are working.


    Watching them, I felt a sense of self-disgust among those whose life goals revolved around boasting to others, showing they are superior. Staring nkly at the coffee in front of me, I threw away the straw and gulped down the coffee in one go, then stood up to leave.


    Staying here made me feel like I was bing one of them.


    Of course, this isnt to condemn everyone whoes to a beautiful cafe with good people to have a pleasant time. What I detested was the act of dressing up a squalid reality for a photo, to boast about it.


    Needing a break from a squalid reality? For some animals, that squalor might be their entire world.


    That''s what I thought.


    Others might have called the basement room I lived in a dump, but for me, it was my only sweet home where I could stretch out and restfortably.


    I''m not ashamed of it.


    Not in the past, not now.


    What does it matter if I live in a dump, as long as I''m happy?


    Rather than repeating hopeless escapism, it''s better to live in a hopeful squalor.


    I wandered around Ikseon-dong, tasting things I had longed for when my pockets were empty.


    A cream bread for 6,000 won.


    Sure, it was filled with ck sesame cream and was really delicious. But 6,000 won for it?


    A simple Korean-style doughnut sold in a traditional Korean house.


    I had always wanted to try their dried persimmon doughnut.


    It was as good as I had hoped. Really good.


    But a baby fist-sized doughnut for 4,000 won.


    It''s gone in just one bite.


    I went into a ce to try brunch for the first time: fried eggs, bacon, pastrami sandwich, all for 16,500 won. I just stood up and left.


    I can''t tell if I''m too cautious or these things are abnormally expensive, but I just can''t bring myself to buy them. Seriously, a sandwich more expensive than pork belly? Are they sane?


    Maybe someday, if I''m in love and want to treat my beloved, but not alone. Not worth the money. Instead of swearing off such ces, I''ll save it forter.


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 Chapter 61 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 61 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Walking slowly towards my old home, I lingered in front of a familiar building entrance.


    Probably someone new has moved in.


    A small window flush with the ground.


    I took a quick nce through the window.


    When I lived here, I hated it when someone peered inside like this. Not wanting to give the new tenant the same experience, I suppressed my desire to look in and turned towards the art museum.


    Shuffling along with a bitter smile, I wondered.


    What am I doing right now?


    Was it a mistake to start this journey, trying to fulfill past envies?


    Or was it a wise choice, realizing through this that such actions are futile?


    I''m still not sure.


    At the art museum, I smiled faintly as I looked at the still ongoing Klimt exhibition. The entry fee was much more expensive than a sandwich, but with this money, I could dream. To me, this is far more meaningful than a gourmet experience that disappears after a few bites.


    I bought a ticket at the unmanned kiosk and entered, immediately greeted by the sound of music.


    Descending the familiar underground stairs with closed eyes, I opened the door to the museum, and the surging waves of music enveloped me.


    Lost in the illusion of a wind, deeply inhaling the scent of art, I headed to the empty center of the museum. The art museum, dazzling in golden light. This ce, drenched in Klimt''s gold, is where I should have been from the start.


    While some find happiness in delicious food or beautiful cafes, my happiness lies right here.


    Sitting on the central rock sofa, I closed my eyes and breathed in deeply.


    The musty smell of a basement mixed with mildew, oddly familiar andforting.


    Is it because it''s simr to the smell I''m used to at home?


    Slowly opening my eyes, I saw the wall in front of me turning ck.


    Thick trunks created by golden waves.


    Klimt''s Tree of Life, growing right before my eyes through digital media art technology.


    Starting from the left, a thick branch splits into two thinner ones, curling and coiling as they grow.


    As the branches form, the trunk rises higher, stretching out new branches. And above them, another thick branch forms.


    I rxed,fortably letting go in this dizzyingly familiar sensation.


    A journey to a familiar dream.


    This ce has be the mostfortable spot in the world for me.


    ---


    Argh!


    As always, it takes time to adapt to my surroundings after falling into a dream, but this time it''s particrly intense. Like that winter day with biting cold winds when I first met Teacher Muha.


    When I fell into such weather before, it was winter in modern times too, so I had thick clothes on. But having fallen here from a summer day in Seoul, I''m dressed in a short-sleeved shirt and shorts.


    Can the weather in dreams be this realistically cold? It''s freezing.


    Huddling and shivering, the biting cold was unbearable.


    The wide roads and ornate buildings in the distance told me I was back in Austria, but it was so cold, it felt like my eyes were freezing.


    Looking around for a ce to escape the cold, I noticed a peculiar building. It was pretty with a blend of beige and golden hues, but I couldn''t determine the era of its architecture. It was a small building topped with a golden globe decorated with flowers.


    Above a little more than ten red steps, an borate door was visible, and above it, an inscription read:


    Der Zeit ihre Kunst, Der Kunst ihre Freiheit.


    How do I know this phrase that''s not in English? Isnt it a basic for anyone studying art, no matter where they are?


    To every age its art, to every art its freedom.


    The Secession, created by Klimt and others in opposition to the conservative Austrian art world. This phrase is engraved at the entrance of their exhibition hall. And this museum was built when Klimt was 35 years old.


    Meaning, Ivended in a time at least 5 yearster than myst dream.


    Just then, another bone-chilling wind pierced through me. I shivered and hunched my neck.


    Ugh. This is insane. Let''s save myself first.


    I ran up the red steps and tried to open the door.


    Damn it! I''m freezing to death here!


    Frustratingly, the door wouldn''t budge.


    My hand, waving through the air as if touching water, danced a futile dance.


    With no other buildings around, I had no other option but to stick to the wall beside the door to at least avoid the wind. But the low temperature was inescapable. I stamped my feet for about ten minutes, shivering.


    Then, my savior appeared.


    A short man with sses too small for his face and a Hitler-like mustache.


    A man with a broad forehead and short, dark hair, styled like modern haircuts, approached, cutting through the wind.


    He lowered his head against the wind and upon reaching the door, lifted his face.


    I didn''t recognize him.


    It definitely wasn''t Klimt, and his brother had already died of pericarditis by this time, so it must be someone else entirely. It doesn''t matter, just open the door and let me in, sir. I might die out here.


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 Chapter 62 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 62 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Wow, it''s not an exaggeration to say I almost died.


    As I followed the man with the Hitler mustache and sses into the building, a warm sensation greeted me. Still, it''s cold. Heaters aren''t a thing in this era. Is there a firece around?


    I looked around frantically, but there was nothing like that.


    Who would be crazy enough to put a dangerous firece in an art gallery?


    The inside was at least better than outside, so I had no choice but to wait for my body to warm up.


    I was still shivering while watching the man with the Hitler mustache put his bag and coat on a table on the first floor. The man, who had been touching his mustache, looked around the space enclosed by white, clean walls and muttered.


    "Should I renovate the ceiling?"


    The ceiling? It looks clean and nice as it is. It seems already finished.


    But this person. Talking about interior design, he doesn''t seem to be a painter. He looks more like an engineer.


    The man with the Hitler mustache briefly inspected the first floor, then went down the stairs leading to the basement.


    Will the basement be warmer? No, it might be colder.


    After hesitating for a moment, I followed him down, not because I wanted to follow the unknown Hitler mustache, but because of the faint musicing from below. A song that every Korean knows.


    Beethoven''s Symphony No. 9, Movement 4, Ode to Joy.


    The beautiful and grand musicing from the basement. It always sounded like the music that yed when I descended the stairs to the basement of the art gallery. Compelled by an obsession to go there, I followed the man with the Hitler mustache down a bitter.


    The basement was cramped.


    Ifpared to the size of a modern room, maybe about 24 pyeong? [T/N: One pyeong is equivalent to approximately 3.31 square metres or 35.58 square feet]


    It''s not small for a space, but for an art gallery''s basement, it is.


    But I had to stop halfway down the stairs to the modest basement and catch my breath.


    "Whew."


    A painting being drawn a bit higher than a person''s height.


    It''s only about 2 meters high, but the length is an astounding 34 meters, nearly finished.


    And a man hanging from adder, mixing paint.


    Klimt.


    Klimt in his 30s is here.


    The man with the Hitler mustache, who descended before me, looked up at Klimt and said.


    "How is your work going, Klimt?"


    Klimt looked down from thedder, smiling.


    "You''re here, Hoffmann."


    As the name of the Hitler mustache, Josef Hoffmann, came out of Klimt''s mouth, my head turned sharply, and my eyes widened.


    ''Josef Hoffmann! The architect who handled the design of the Stoclet Pce built in Brussels, Belgium, and a founding member of the Vienna Secession with Klimt.''


    I can''t believe I thought this person was a Hitler mustache.


    Klimt climbed down thedder and stood in the middle of the basement, looking up at the painting with a serious face.


    "I''ve been thinking a lot because this is something new for me. I''ve already made several revisions."


    Hoffmann stood next to him and said.


    "It''s just a painting that will be erased after the exhibition, why worry so much? I heard you used cheap materials for the painting."


    "Well, I''m painting on ster applied over a grid of wood."


    "Using tin-ted drawing pins, colored ss buttons, and fake jewels, I see."


    "Right."


    "The first exhibition isn''t far away. It''s already December. You should finish soon, it''s nearly the end of 1902."


    Not much left of 1902?


    Then it''s December 1901 now.


    The Secession was founded in 1897, and this work was exhibited in 1902, so the timeline fits.


    Klimt shook his head seriously.


    "This isn''t just a simple painting, Hoffmann. It''s an expression of my respect. Even though it''s a mural that will be erased after the exhibition, I don''t want to leave a painting that would embarrass the Father of Music in heaven."


    Hoffmannughed and said.


    "It''s ironic that you, the leader of the Vienna Secession aiming to break tradition and conservatism, are painting a 34-meter picture in honor of Beethoven, a symbol of orthodoxy and conservatism."


    Klimt mentioned the Father of Music. That''s Beethoven.


    And that painting is his masterpiece, the Beethoven Frieze.


    A mural that still exists in Austria today.


    But it''s not the real mural left by Klimt.


    I etched the painting into my eyes with trembling sight.


    This mural was erased after the exhibition ended, just like the conversation between these two people.


    The painting that is currently on disy was restoredter by the Austrian government.


    This means that no one living today has seen the real mural painted by Klimt.


    Who could have the fortune to witness such a thing?


    How much value should be ced on such luck?


    I couldn''t take my eyes off the painting, moved to tears.


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 Chapter 62 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 62 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Klimt said, crossing his arms.


    "Stop that talk, Beethoven was a true artist who didn''t follow trends and didn''t consider patrons'' tastes, making his own music, a deity of music who sublimated his physical ws through art. I want to express my ample respect for him."


    Hoffman chuckled and nodded.


    "Wagner''sprehensive art style exhibition would be a first in Austria, it should be fresh."


    Hoffman mentioned Richard Wagner.


    He was a Germanposer who dealt not only with music but also with art, philosophy, literature, politics, visual and theatrical arts, an artist who brought all forms of art together inprehensive exhibitions. Wagner, whobined music, poetry, and dance into a pioneering whole and was radical at the time, greatly influenced the activities of the Vienna Secession.


    Klimt smiled and said.


    "Make sure the Ode to Joy* resonates during the exhibition." [Symphony No. 9]


    "Yes, of course. But does it have to be performed by the Vienna Philharmonic?"


    "Certainly. The Vienna Philharmonic, known for its conservative sound, still rejects the evolution of instruments. They don''t just insist on tradition. They reject the evolution of instruments that would make ying easier, mistakes less noticeable, and save the musicians'' energy, they y the original sound of the instruments, which aligns well with the spirit of the Vienna Secession."


    "Hmm, understood. Let''s do that."


    Hoffman, admiring the painting, asked.


    "But Klimt."


    "Hmm?"


    "What did you mean by a painting you are trying for the first time?"


    Klimt gestured with his eyes to the left end of the painting.


    "View the painting from left to right in order."


    Hoffman''s head moved a whopping 34 meters from left to right.


    "I''ve seen it all."


    "How does it make you feel?"


    "Um, let''s see. It felt desperate and dark, then ornate, and finally, a future filled with joy and hope was visible."


    Klimt beamed with a smile.


    "Good, you saw it well."


    Klimt looked at Hoffman and said.


    "Have you ever seen aic?"


    I turned my head sharply while listening to their conversation and looking at the painting.


    ''Aic? Why suddenly talk aboutics?''


    The world''s firstic magazine was Ellie Sloper''s Half Holiday, a strange title published in 1884.


    It was a tabloid weekly publication that cost a penny and featured serials, current affairs, and prose fiction but is remembered not because it was artistically ormercially sessful, but because it was the firstic magazine.


    The real advent ofics was around 1890. There wereics even in that era.


    But then as now,ics were often viewed not as harmless railway literature but as something evil and were criticized.


    Especially artists of the time did not recognizeics as art. Yet, the word ic'' came from Klimt''s mouth.


    Hoffman, in line with the Vienna Secession''s aim to break traditional norms, nodded and said.


    "I have, it''s more interesting than you think. It mayck in contemtion or emotional depth, but in terms of topicality, it has the power to evoke public empathy more easily than traditional art."


    Klimt nodded and gestured towards the painting.


    "There''s aic element in that painting."


    What?


    I looked back and forth between Klimt''s face and the painting. What is this about?


    Comic elements in Klimt''s painting? That''s unheard of.


    Hoffman looked closely at the painting again and nodded.


    This was Klimt''s innovative approach.


    A hymn to Beethoven''s sublime spirit, dedicated by Klimt: the Beethoven Frieze.


    This painting is based on Richard Wagner''s interpretation of Beethoven''s Symphony No. 9 and is divided into five parts, with three narrative sections.


    First section.


    The middle and bottom of the painting are empty, and the top is filled with images of women flyingnguidly.


    Suffering humanity begs the strong for happiness.


    Thenguidly flying women represent humanity''s longing and aspiration, expressing hope and anticipation for the future.


    A golden knight, leading them towards hope, is where they head.


    People flying towards him implore the knight for salvation.


    His powerful weapons and innerpassion and ambition be a force leading the struggle for happiness.


    Angels armed with music hover over the warrior, flowing across the sky, and human figures symbolize eternal humanity, encouraging this strong warrior, Beethoven.


    A world hostile to humanity''s pursuit of happiness, the golden knight d in art''s armor is desperately hoped to pave the way.


    Second section.


    The emergence of forces antagonistic to human longing.


    A giant gori is Typhon, who even the gods could not oppose, and his three daughters, the Gorgons, are by his side.


    The three sisters, symbolizing disease, madness, and death, are howling.


    On the right, women symbolizing lust, debauchery, and excess stand like pimps, with humanity''s longings and desires soaring over these hostile forces, flying behind them.


    The three women in provocative poses seem to hinder our path to happiness.


    The woman of desire, with a secretive expression, tries to draw our gaze to her alone,


    The woman of lewdness, with closed eyes, faces us, ready to plunge humanity into an inescapable abyss.


    The woman of excess, with sagging breasts and swollen belly, shamelessly looks elsewhere.


    Behind the three women, Typhon''s shadow and fur envelop them, and the swirl of snakes forms a thick barrier like armor.


    Klimt expressed through this painting that humanity must cross this hostile world to reach thend of happiness.


    A monster breathing fire, symbolizing powerful hostile forces, shows that humanity is infinitely weak and exposed to numerous constraints and restrictions.


    Third section.


    A kiss to the world.


    A group of women floating in water is drawn horizontally at the top of the painting.


    Moving to the right, a naked man and woman are seen kneeling and praying.


    If the suffering weak humanity''s feet are bound to the earth, the women symbolizing humanity''s longing are flying in the sky.


    Art shows us the way to the kingdom of ideals.


    There, only pure ecstasy, happiness, and love exist. Holy angels sing in chorus.


    The climax of Beethoven''s Symphony No. 9, the final chorus


    "Joy, you shine with eternal light from heaven. A kiss for the whole world!" seems visually expressed here.


    The knight in golden armor shares a moment of overflowing happiness with a woman, and behind them, numerous women sing in chorus.


    Why is the knight naked?


    Armor was needed when facing hostile forces, but now thatplete happiness is achieved, it''s unnecessary.


    There''s no need even for clothes, as there''s nothing harmful.


    Klimt conveys in this scene that humanity has attainedplete happiness and achieved a perfect victory over evil.


    I nodded as I interpreted the painting from a narrative perspective.


    Klimt wanted to express a story through this painting.


    Was it because I never knew?


    The Austrian artist, Klimt, was inspired byics, which artists had been looking down upon.


    At this moment, I''m somewhat shocked.


    Unknowingly, my mind tried to draw lines and separate in the realm of art.


    "This is art and that is meremercial illustration."


    Where did I go wrong?


    When everything that satisfies the intellectual curiosity of all people is art.


    Why have I been separating them until now?


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 Chapter 63 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 63 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    <i>1/2 Bonus chapter thanks to @Chip from Ko-fi</i>


    Staring at his work, Klimt opens his mouth.


    "Hoffman."


    "Yes."


    "This painting will also receive harsh criticism from critics andmentators, won''t it?"


    "............"


    As Hoffman struggles to respond, Klimt smiles.


    "Isn''t that true? Even now, most critics say Klimt is nothing but a cheap salesman, dazzling people with his mboyant decorative effects and gold, a symbol of capitalism."


    Hoffman speaks with a stern face.


    "It''s rather the critics andmentators who scribble garbage, seeking to gather attention and make money. You''re definitely not one of those people."


    Klimt raises his index finger, smiling.


    "In Klimt''s paintings, there is no tradition, no artistry, no cultural conservatism. He''s just a lowly painter who denies academism, sphemes against God, and indulges in vulgar eroticism. That''s how I''m being evaluated."


    "............"


    "But isn''t it funny? Despite such evaluations, people still line up all year round tomission paintings from me, and my pockets are getting fuller. Ironically, while I don''t conform to the times, the times still want me."


    "Hmm."


    Klimt, with his arms crossed, walks around the painting and says,


    "A critic once said that Klimt draws mosaic art with ornate gold because his father was a goldsmith."


    Looking up at the golden parts of his painting, Klimt speaks,


    "As you know, my style has changed significantly. Do you know since when?"


    "I''m not sure."


    "From right now. Before painting this, I didn''t use much gold, mindful of the critics. But in this painting, I''ve used a lot of gold."


    "That''s impressive."


    I listened to their conversation while looking at the painting.


    After painting this, Klimt went on one of his few trips in life. In 1903, during his trip to Italy, he saw the Byzantine style mosaics in the Basilica of San Vitale in Ravenna.


    He was deeply impressed by the mosaics in the triforium above the church''s arched windows, depicting stories of sacrifice from the Old Testament, such as Abraham and Melchizedek, and the Sacrifice of Isaac. From then on, Klimt began to conceptualize paintings with a golden mosaic effect, which led to his golden era, including the famous ''The Kiss''.


    Klimt, again with arms crossed, says,


    "After this exhibition, I n to travel."


    "I thought you didn''t like traveling."


    "That''s true, but what do you think is the most important thing a painter should do well?"


    "Isn''t it painting?"


    "No, simply painting can be done by anyone. What a painter should really excel at is the act of seeing. Even if you look at the same thing and paint the same picture, how you perceive the subject can result in entirely different paintings."


    "So you''re traveling for study. Where are you going?"


    "To Italy. To the Eastern Roman Empire, where the Byzantine Empire, which fell in just 53 days, was located."


    Klimt smiles at Hoffman.


    "People describe my paintings as merely decorative trash. So, I decided to go to the Eastern Roman. To learn about the incredibly ornate culture and art of the Byzantine era. If they say I''m ornate, I''ll show them even more ornateness."


    Hoffman ps andughs softly.


    "That''s so like you, haha."


    Klimt looks at his painting again and speaks,


    "The critics'' saying that a great artist must be hungry has turned the pursuit of profit by artists into something wrong. Consequently, a prejudice has emerged that themercial nature of popr culture hinders the development of culture and art."


    Hoffman agrees.


    "The error of confusing longing for art with aversion to mainstream culture is a staple in cultural criticism."


    Klimt nods and continues,


    "The purpose of creative activity should not be dictated by intellectuals'' definitions. Artists cannot be castrated ording to some arbitrary imperatives dered by critics."


    "That''s right."


    Klimt smiles at his painting.


    "Comics are lowly? I assure you, the quality of popr culture will draw an upward curve over time. If art remainscent in reality, it will fall behind popr culture. Maybe in about 100 years, our children will read moreic magazines than visit art galleries." [T/N: Ahem.]


    **


    With a jolt, I emerge from the dream.


    Still in the midst of majestic music, sitting alone in a vast space, I shake my head vigorously, trying to hold onto the fading thread of consciousness.


    Everything Klimt said in the dream was right.


    And he predicted modern society as if he had seen the future.


    Ask any student you meet on the street.


    Who painted the lunch on the grass?


    How many would answer douard M?


    But if you ask who wrote Dragon Ball, Some might know the name of the Japanese manga artist. [T/N: Ahem. Ahem.]


    Those who know the creators of "Dooly the Little Dinosaur" and "Fly Superboard" might outnumber those who know Edgar Degas by 60% in our society.


    Indeed, society has flowed just as Klimt said.


    The preference for popr culture and the perceived decline in the progression of art is not a misstep.


    The moment artists chose to embrace a critical view of capitalism and a wariness ofmercialism as their mission, they chose their own stagnation.


    As Klimt said, modern popr culture increasingly provides opportunities for more people to consume culture.


    The famousedian Charlie Chaplin said,


    I started this job to make money, but from there, art was born.


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 Chapter 63 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 63 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Do you know Hitchcocks Vertigo?


    A mystery thriller film made in 1958 in the United States, now considered one of his masterpieces. Yet, at the time, it was just anothermercial film.


    Many ssics we admire today were once the mainstream culture of the past, subject to criticism.


    Artists, despite being the most deeply imprinted beings of their time, conform to their era and are swayed by critics.


    Is Vincent van Gogh, who never sold a painting for its true value in his lifetime, the only real artist?


    Does enjoying recognition and wealth in ones lifetime disqualify someone as an artist?


    Why do those aiming for pure art reject the interference of popr culture?


    Why dont they understand that what they do will be considered popr and mainstream culture a hundred yearster?


    I rested my chin on my hand, lost in thought, and let out a wry smile.


    Even the great Mozart had his performance durations decided by the number of yawns from the emperor. Perhaps it''s inevitable.


    An artist being conscious of the publics gaze is unavoidable.


    Creating art unaffected by anyone and purely my own? Thats an incredibly difficult task.


    Of course, there were those who managed to do it, though most remained as artists who starved to death during their lifetimes.


    I reflected again on the dream I had today.


    What should I truly learn from it?


    Not to heed the critics?


    To conform to the times and ride the wave of popr or mainstream culture?


    No, that wasnt Klimts message.


    Theres no rule saying that pure art cant learn from the advantages of popr culture.


    Meeting the preferences of the masses and pursuingmercial value does not contradict the spirit of art.


    Art achieves more value when it can be consumed as a daily necessity, rather than being an untouchable, noble entity.


    Perhaps this is what Klimt wanted to convey?


    Lost in deep thought, my phone in my pocket vibrates.


    Oh, its Youngju.


    - Shit.


    Whats up?


    Youngju started with a curse. I assumed something had happened at the theater and quickly got up to pack my things.


    Whats wrong, what happened?


    - The director is looking for you, hurry back.


    Is there a problem?


    - Shit, today is the best day of my life.


    What? Is that sarcasm? What exactly happened?


    As I left the art gallery, I asked,


    Why, even if a junior made a mistake with arge painting, it shouldnt take long to fix. What happened? Did someone spray paint on the ceiling?


    - Crazy, how many kids are here. If there was such a bastard, would the kids have let him go?


    So whats the problem?


    - The guest, a guest has arrived. Thats why the director is looking for you.


    A guest? Who is it?


    - Shit, I never thought the day woulde when I would personally wee that person. I could die happy now.


    What are you talking about?


    He keeps beating around the bush instead of getting to the point, irritating me, so I raised my voice a bit.


    So who is this guest, huh?


    - Irina, Irina Sevanova is here, you idiot!


    ........................


    Who was that again?


    I remembered it was the name of the genius pianist Youngju had mentioned recently.


    Shes here now? Isnt there more than a month left until the performance?


    - She usuallyes in a week before the show to manage her condition, but it seems she came early this time. Maybe because of theck of performances due to COVID.


    Ah, that makes sense.


    I heard that lesser-known artists chose other jobs during the COVID era to avoid starving. It must be the same for famous artists, unable to perform.


    "Are you making a fuss over nothing?"


    - What? Its nothing? You spheme right now. Do you know how great Irina is...


    Got it, Im hanging up. Ill be right there.


    - Hey you! XXXX...


    She seems to add a curse, but I dont want to hear it.


    I hung up and took a taxi to the hotel.


    Taking a taxi instead of a bus should be considered sufficient respect for the other party.


    Just before arriving at the hotel, I called Minyoung, who told me toe to her room.


    As I entered the lobby to get a key card and went up to Minyoung''s room, I heard German.


    "Was hast du so gemacht? Es freut mich, Sie kennenzulernen."


    "Viel zu tun gehabt fr die Uni."


    Huh? Isnt that Monica''s voice?


    When the elevator noise ends, I hear Minyoungs voice.


    Mr. Ban?


    Yes, it''s me.


    Pleasee in.


    As expected, Monica''s voice, sounding pleased, approaches.


    Junghoon!


    Monicaes running.


    Maybe because shes Italian, or its just her nature, she''sfortable with physical contact.


    Monica asks me how Ive been while linking arms with me.


    Have you been well?


    Yes, Monica. How about you?


    Me? Always busy. Let''s go in.


    Monica is always stunning, like a goddess.


    Not that I have a romantic interest in her. Monica feels like an unapproachable goddess. Friendly, but always with a sense of distance.


    Of course, it''s the same with Minyoung.


    Despite the East-West differences, they both have a simr goddess-like aura.


    If I turn the corner in the hallway, Ill probably meet that pianist Youngju is so enthralled with. Shes in her 30s, so older than me. Since shes foreign, I can just call her by her name, right?


    Lost in these thoughts, I step out of the hallway and bow to Minyoung, who stands up from the sofa upon seeing me, then raise my head.


    And then, I froze, beholding an incredible embodiment of beauty that filled my eyes.


    ''Is she a person or a doll?''


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 Chapter 64 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 64 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    How should I describe her?


    If the Snow Queen who took Kai away in Andersen''s "The Snow Queen" really existed, wouldn''t she look just like this?


    She doesn''t feel like a human, more like a human-sized doll standing there.


    A woman with long eyes butrge, blue pupils.


    The line from her forehead to her nose falls straight,


    And her lips, though they form a smile even when still, give her a cold impression due to her expressionless face.


    Her ck straight hair makes her look calm. When she stands up, she is much taller than Monica and Minyoung.


    Easily over 176cm tall.


    But there''s one thing about her that doesn''t seem to fit her doll-like appearance.


    Her arms, revealed by her sky blue short-sleeved blouse.


    Usually, women with such looks have delicate arms, but hers are muscr, almost like a lean man''s. Especially the forearm muscles are so developed that they hardly seem like a woman''s.


    Monica nudges me and says,


    "Jung-hoon, snap out of it."


    "Ah."


    This is crazy.


    I''ve been staring at someone I''ve never met before without even greeting her.


    But I heard them speaking in German earlier. I don''t know any German, what should I do?


    I greeted her in English first.


    "Hello, I am Ban Jung-hoon."


    Irina bends her knees slightly in greeting.


    "I am Irina Sevanova."


    Oh, by her ent and pronunciation, she must be a native English speaker. Well, she is a world-renowned pianist, so she must speak English. No problem with the conversation then.


    Minyoung invites her to sit down.


    "Let''s sit and talk."


    Monica, Irina, and I sit down, and Minyoung, who was sitting in the main seat, says,


    "Artist Ban."


    "Yes."


    "I''m sorry for calling you out suddenly when you seemed busy outside. It was unavoidable because Irina, who was supposed to arrive in two weeks, came early."


    Wasn''t she said to be a famous pianist?


    Can someone like that move so impulsively?


    Has the COVID era disrupted social order this much?


    I swallowed what I was thinking and shook my head.


    "It wasn''t anything important, so don''t worry. Should I exin the ceiling painting as I mentionedst time?"


    "Yes, please."


    Monica clings to me again and says,


    "Jung-hoon! Me too! I want to hear the exnation too. I heard the painting is amazing."


    I smile and look at Minyoung.


    I painted it, but technically, the painting is the property of the W Tree Group.


    Minyoung smiles and nods.


    "Of course, Monica is qualified to see it too. Go and take a look together."


    "Okay!"


    Hmm, this Monica.


    Her image seems to be changing from when I first saw her.


    At first, she seemed like a cold city woman, a career woman, but she''s bing more friendly. Maybe it''s just how she acts when she gets closer to someone.


    Minyoung stayed behind due to her schedule, and when I arrived at the theater with Monica and Irina, Yeongju and the juniors working on the finishing touches froze like ice.


    "This way."


    As I was about to exin the ceiling painting to the two who were looking up in the middle of the theater, I stopped and pped my hands towards the staff, who were frozen and staring in our direction.


    "Come on, everyone, finish up. We need to wrap up quickly and go on vacation, right?"


    The juniors reluctantly resumed their work but kept stealing nces our way. Yeong-ju, who should have beenparing the original and the ceiling painting on herptop, was tantly staring at Irina''s face.


    I sighed at Yeong-ju''s behavior and shook my head.


    ''Well, Yeong-ju is a fan of Irina, so it can''t be helped.''


    I''ll have to ask for a phototer. Then, Yeong-ju will probably treat me like a god for at least a few days.


    Standing between Irina and Monica, I exined about the ceiling painting. I left out the conman-like exnations I used to persuade the board members and mixed in some humorous anecdotes about their ridiculous reactions to make it more enjoyable.


    After the exnation, Monica chuckled and said,


    "Those pigs would fall for such a story, Jeong-hoon. You''re truly amazing."


    "Ha ha, thank you."


    Irina, silently, with a look of mncholy in her eyes, just quietly observed the ceiling painting.


    In the world of art, including popr culture, tastes differ, so not everyone will like a painting, and one should not take lukewarm reactions personally.


    I stepped back to give them enough time to fully appreciate therge painting and whispered to Yeong-ju standing beside me.


    "People will think youre staring holes into her, you know. Stop looking already."


    "She''s so pretty. Is she a person or a doll?"


    "She is a person, indeed. She does look exactly like a doll, though. If it weren''t for those bulky arms, every man would be all over her."


    Yeong-ju looked at me with disdain and scowled.


    "Idiot, do you know how much muscle power pianists use? World-renowned pianists all have strong arms like that. Ever heard of Valentina Lisitsa? Her arm muscles are no joke either."


    "Who''s that, another pianist?"


    "Uncultured twit."


    "What, do you know all the BTS members'' names?"


    ""


    "Uncultured girl."


    "You little"


    "Anyway, I''ll try to ask for a photo, so just wait quietly."


    "Really?"


    "Only if you stop staring at her like that."


    "From now on, I absolutely won''t look in Irina''s direction."


    "Okay, fangirl."


    Yeong-ju tried desperately not to look in Irina''s direction. Such a cute kid.


    I chuckled to myself and went back to stand beside Monica and Irina.


    "Have you seen enough?"


    Monica quickly turned to me and smiled, but Irina was still looking at the painting.


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 Chapter 64 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 64 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    ''What''s this? I thought she was lukewarm about it, but she''s watching for quite a long time.''


    As a painter, it''s an honor to have someone look at my painting with such a detailed eye. I gestured Monica towards Irina and then waited a bit longer.


    Monica stepped back with me and waited for Irina before whispering,


    "Where did you go?"


    "Jongno."


    "The same ce I went to find Jeong-hoon in the past?"


    "Yes, I just remembered the old days and went there, but it was pointless."


    "Why?"


    "Those things that I used to admire and like now seem so empty, you know?"


    Monica smiled with her eyes and said,


    "I see, I was thinking of going to Jongno too."


    "Huh? Why Jongno? Do you have an appointment?"


    Monica gestured towards Irina and said,


    "I was thinking of showing Irina around Korea."


    Huh? Are they close?


    "Do you know each other?"


    Monica looked at Irina''s beautiful profile. "Irina came to our school during our time at the Florence Academy of Art. She was visiting a professor, and we greeted each other then."


    Hmm, what kind of ce is the Florence Academy of Art that it bes aworking hub for artists worldwide? I''d like to visit before I die.


    "That''s nice," Monica said, as if she had a good idea.


    "Ah! Jung-hoon, are you busy right now?"


    "Hmm? I can delegate the finishing work to Young-ju, so not particrly."


    "Then, can you show us around Jongno?"


    "Eh?"


    "You know Jongno well, right? You worked there for a long time."


    "Well, yes, but..."


    "Please? Please?"


    Wow, the Italian goddess is disying her charm. I can''t resist this. I scratched my head and nodded.


    "Alright, but Monica will pay."


    "Of course!"


    Well, that''s fine then.


    I need to try everything I couldn''t afford earlier.


    Others'' money might change my perspective, right? Hehe.


    I chatted with Monica for a while, then noticed Irina looking at me. Her expressionless eyes reminded me of a mannequin staring my way.


    I unfolded my arms and asked, "Are you done looking?"


    Irina nodded slightly. I was about to suggest moving on to Jongno after asking Young-ju for the photos, but I closed my mouth as she began to speak.


    "Can I call you Ban?" she asked.


    Hmm, Europeans think Ban is my name. Teacher Mucha also thought so.


    "It doesn''t matter, call me whatever you''refortable with."


    Irina looked back at the painting.


    "Cold winter, the wishes of a freezing boy fulfilled by many intellectuals and the wealthy," she murmured.


    "If you weren''t tasked with convincing these board members, who would you have chosen as the hand that opens the curtain in your painting?" she asked.


    That''s an unexpected question.


    If I had no such intention or responsibility?


    I wouldn''t have painted it at all. That''s the answer.


    But she asked assuming I did.


    If I were free of such intentions, who would I have painted?


    Her question had a freshness I had never considered.


    "I think it would have been the artists of thisnd," I replied.


    "Artists?"


    She looked at me. I smiled and continued, "Art is more valuable when it can be consumed as a part of our everyday lives rather than as untouchable, noble beings. What could be more valuable than artists themselves opening that door?"


    Monica''s mouth formed an ''O''.


    Irina silently nodded, looking back at the painting.


    "If that were so, would you have painted past artists like Michngelo, Picasso, or musicians like Mozart, Beethoven?"


    "No, I wouldn''t have."


    Her gaze returned to me.


    I thought of Klimt from my dream and said, "Every art carries the imprint of its era. The artists we remember are those most deeply marked by their times. If I had painted such a picture, I would have chosen contemporary artists for future generations."


    Surprise appeared on Irina''s usually impassive face. She stared at me for a long time.


    Embarrassed by her intense gaze, I heard Monica whisper behind me.


    "You would have been in that painting too."


    Huh? What does that mean?


    Monica whispered again.


    "Just say that."


    What? I barely knew her until recently. Even if it were true, the chances of painting her would be almost zero.


    Contemporary art masters like Jasper Johns, Gerhard Richter, or Edward Ruscha would have been more likely protagonists. I doubt she would expect me to say otherwise.


    ""


    Confused by Monica''s whisper, I look at Irina. I see a longing in her eyes. But I don''t want to lie. Choosing silence over false words, I feel sorry as Monica steps back, but I still believe my choice is right.


    Whether it was genuine expectation or Monica''s misunderstanding, Irina looks at my face for a long while before turning away.


    Ignoring Monica''s expression, which seemed to say, "Why not offer a little service when it costs nothing?" I approached Irina and said,


    "There''s a big fan of yours here, would you mind taking a photo with her? In return, I''ll guide you through Jongno after today''s schedule. I believe only a local guide can give you the real feel of Seoul."


    Irina nced at Monica and then asked,


    "Ban himself will be guiding?"


    "Yes, I know a lot of good restaurants and sights."


    Irina pondered for a moment and then nodded.


    "Okay."


    "Right this way, please."


    Yeong-ju, who had been eagerly listening like a rabbit, looked jubnt. Oh, such a fuss.


    After taking a photo with Irina, Yeong-ju bowed 90 degrees and shook hands, spending 10 minutes exining how big of a fan he was. In moments like this, I regret that Yeong-ju is fluent in English due to his studies abroad.


    Having finally managed to peel Yeong-ju away, I led the way, saying,


    "Now, shall we really see Seoul?"


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 Chapter 65 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 65 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    <i>2/2 Bonus chapter thanks to everyone on Ko-fi</i>


    What would you feel if 90% of the passersby on the street turned to look at you and yourpanions?


    If you enjoy attention, you would relish the stares.


    If you are introverted, the gazes of the pedestrians would be overwhelming.


    But what if every look was mixed with envy, respect, and admiration?


    Even thetter would probably feel good.


    That''s exactly how I feel right now.


    "Wow, it''s like being a celebrity."


    Ikseon dong, Jongno.


    Even though it''s a weekday afternoon and not crowded,pared to other downtown areas, many people walking here, inside cafes, and in clothing stores, are all looking at us.


    Isn''t it obvious?


    Even Monica alone would draw attention, but she''s apanied by the Ice Beauty, the Snow Queen.


    Monica is morous.


    She exudes the pinnacle of dazzling beauty, as if a Hollywood actress had descended.


    Irina, on the other hand, is theplete opposite.


    Cool, calm, and emitting a beauty that seems untouchable.


    If the French artist, Auguste Rodin, had sculpted a beauty out of ice, would it feel like this?


    Of course, I, stuck in between, must look like a celebrity manager to them, but some men look at me with eyes mixed with envy and jealousy. I don''t mind such aggressive stares.


    "Over here."


    I led them to thest ce we visited, shocked by the brunch prices, but Monica stopped at a different store.


    "Junghoon. How about this ce?"


    ".........."


    It''s the same cafe I visited earlier.


    The one that was terribly rude and gave me a seat near the bathroom for being alone.


    "Ah, that one."


    Monica sticks to the cafe door, peers inside, and widens her eyes.


    "Wow, it''s really pretty. Built in a Hanok style."


    That''s exactly why this cafe is famous.


    Realistically, how good can coffee taste in Korea, a country not known for coffee?


    Many Korean cafespete more with interior design than taste.


    As seen earlier, the younger generation frequents expensive cafes not for the taste of the coffee, but to take pictures in a stylish interior.


    Monica, too, seems to like the elegant Hanok-style interior, sticking to the cafe door. Irina looks inside with simr interest.


    At that moment, the employee who seated me near the bathroom earlier freezes as she looks out the window and sees Irina and Monica. Even though she''s a female staff, she looks more shocked than the male passersby.


    Men''s gazes are always on women.


    But women''s gazes are always on other women.


    I''m a man, so I don''t understand why.


    The fact that female fans dominate the fanbase of girl groups is also honestly beyond myprehension. But that''s just how the world works.


    As the two beautiful women linger at the cafe entrance, suddenly, people start to crowd around.


    The cafe is still rtively quiet inside, but the entrance is bustling like a crowd watching a drama shoot. Reluctantly, I agree to enter if that''s what they want.


    I open the cafe door, saying, "Actually, this is one of the most famous ces in Ikseon Dong. It''s just a bit unfriendly."


    Monica widens her eyes and asks, "Unfriendly?"


    Our conversation is in English, so few understand, but since I speak with the door open, it''s audible inside. Furthermore, as the goddesses outside seem to be entering, the cafe customers'' attention also focuses on us.


    I briefly exin what happened earlier.


    Irina frowns first. Monica looks upset and res at the dazed employee inside the cafe before closing the door again.


    "No matter how pretty, I won''t visit a shop that doesn''t appreciate its customers. Let''s go somewhere else."


    Hmm, should we?


    Just as we were about to turn back to our original destination, the cafe door opened and the same staff member ran out. She approached me, the only one who looked Korean.


    "Wee, we have a window seat avable with a good view."


    "..............................."


    Ah, I almost swore.


    Okay, I get that they would offer us a good seat since we are three. I can even understand giving me a two-seater when I was alone. But running out to solicit customers now? When earlier, they didnt even greet me when I was by myself?


    Frankly, my feelings were more about indifference than actual displeasure, but they plummeted even further now.


    I twitched my eyebrows stiffly and said,


    "Do you not remember me?"


    "Excuse me?"


    "I was here a few hours ago, alone."


    "............................"


    She genuinely seemed not to remember.


    Huh, I thought I wasn''t that forgettable.


    I red at the bewildered employee and said,


    "I hade here earlier to scout out ces to bring thedies. There was no greeting, no ''enjoy your meal''."


    Honestly, I was upset about the seating, but that wasn''t entirely the employee''s fault, so I made up another excuse. After all, the employee had indeed been unfriendly.


    The employee looked visibly panicked, ncing around frantically.


    Ah, I spoke in Korean.


    As I also looked around, I saw the crowd that hade to watch us now murmuring among themselves. Well, it''s a business after all, I shouldnt make it worse.


    "Monica, Irina. Let''s go."


    As I red at the employee onest time and was about to leave, someone in the crowd shouts.


    "Irina! Yes! The world-famous pianist Irina Sevanova! I knew I recognized her!"


    "Wow, really? I''ve seen a video of that too!"


    "She''s a genius pianist! And she''s so pretty!"


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 Chapter 65 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 65 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    As the people mor, the staff member''s face turnspletely ashen. A world-renowned pianist visiting their establishment  an important marketing opportunity is slipping away right before their eyes.


    The staff member tries to approach us to detain me, but upon seeing Monica''s icy stare, they simply back off.


    Hmm, Monica. I don''t think she did anything that bad. Don''t re like that.


    But what is this feeling?


    It''s like I''m the United States, wielding nuclear missiles and threatening others.


    Feeling it''s a bit too much, I quickly lead the two away from the spot.


    However, passersby recognizing Irina as a celebrity start following us.


    A crowd forms behind us, stretching out like a festival parade.


    Then, Irina makes a call somewhere.


    In less than a minute, six burly foreign bodyguards encircle us.


    I''m bewildered, experiencing this for the first time.


    Monica whispers to me with a smile, "Of course someone like Irina wouldn''t go around without bodyguards. She prefers to be alone because she dislikes the hustle and bustle, but she always has bodyguards nearby, ready to intervene."


    Wow, what kind of life does Irina lead?


    The smallest of the bodyguards looks to be about 190cm tall. The crowd, which had been boldly taking pictures and crowding us, backs off with frightened faces as the racially mixed group of bodyguards, ck and white alike, make their imposing presence felt.


    Suddenly, the surrounding atmosphere bes morefortable.


    I feel somewhat embarrassed by this unfamiliar sensation of being physically free but not from the gazes of others.


    I walked a bit faster, but for some reason, the brunch ce seemed further than usual today. Eventually, we entered the donut shop we had seen earlier.


    I was intimidated by the prices, but at least this ce was friendly, had great tasting donuts, and seemed to appeal to foreigners with its Korean-style reinvented donuts.


    Once inside the donut shop, fortunately, there was one table for four left. I had been worried about not finding a seat in a smaller establishmentpared to the cafe we visited earlier, but it worked out well.


    I sat the two down and picked donuts that seemed to suit foreign tastes, ordered drinks, and finally returned to our table.


    ''Thankfully, the bodyguards didn''te inside.''


    But that doesn''t mean they disappeared from sight.


    They''re still standing outside the cafe, in a very intimidating posture.


    Seeing the cafe owner''s slightly troubled face, I quickly spoke to Irina, "If they stand there like that, it''s going to hinder business."


    Irina nods and makes a call to the security team. Then, all but one of the bodyguards disappear.


    The cafe owner, who had been watching us from the beginning, throws me a grateful look when the bodyguards leave.


    Perhaps because of that, when our drinks arrive, the owner brings us two extra service donuts.


    I cut the donuts in half and serve them on the tes of the two, saying, "This is called a ''decadent donut,'' give it a try."


    Monica examines the donut, loaded with white cream, and asks, "What''s decadent about it?"


    "Milk."


    "Ah, milk cream."


    "It tastes a bit different from the usual milk cream you''re used to."


    Monica tries a bite after hearing my exnation and smiles, apparently pleased. "It''s delicious! Try it, Irina."


    Irina quietly cuts a piece of the donut with a knife and puts it in her mouth. Seriously, is it because she''s European? Who cuts a donut with a knife?


    I watched Irina''s reaction, but she didn''t say much. She quietly takes another bite, which seems to indicate it''s not bad.


    I introduced them to unique donuts like ''personality donuts'' and ''raw rice wine donuts,'' which they wouldn''t find in foreign countries. Monica seemed quite satisfied, and although Irina didn''t show much reaction, she kept eating.


    As the attention on us gradually dispersed, I asked Irina, "What music will you be ying at your next performance?"


    Irina''s expression stiffens slightly.


    What''s this? Did I say something offensive?


    Monica intervenes with augh. "Haha, that must be a new question for Irina, right?"


    Huh? What''s so special about this question?


    It''s just a normal question, isn''t it?


    Looking at Irina, her face is still stiff. What, did I really mess up?


    Monica exins, "Irina is famous for ying only Chopin''spositions all her life, didn''t you know?"


    Wow, is that so?


    Hosting a world-famous pianist, and I didn''t know such a basic thing.


    I quickly apologize, "I''m sorry, I''m quite ignorant when ites to music."


    That''s a lie.


    In fact, I love music.


    I like most music genres, including ssical, which is one of my favorites.


    I just don''t know much about contemporary pianists.


    Maybe the only name I know is Nam Su-hyun, a world-renowned pianist born in our country?


    Thankfully, Monicaes to my aid,


    "Not knowing isn''t a crime. Honestly, Jeong-hoon is a busy person in many ways. Being a painter who digs deep into art is not a w."


    Phew, truly thankful.


    I conveyed my gratitude with my eyes and looked back at Irina.


    Perhaps because of Monica''s words, Irina, having rxed her expression, wipes the cream off her mouth with a tissue and says,


    "I will y Chopin, in the past, present, and future."


    In the past, present, and future?


    What''s with her?


    Is she a Chopin enthusiast?


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 Chapter 66 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 66 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    I find it somewhat iprehensible.


    Isn''t that so?


    To speak frankly, it''s good for a painter to have their own style, but what happens if they limit themselves by deciding they will only paint a certain type of painting? Obviously, there''s no development.


    Of course, it''s important to be the best by focusing on one thing.


    In our country, the esteemed painter Kim Whanki also made a name for himself by concentrating on pointillism and moon jars.


    But that''s a decision made after experiencing and going through a lot.


    Isn''t Irina too young to be digging only one well already?


    Even if she''s a genius and has solidified her own style from an early age, isn''t it too early to create boundaries and limits?


    But the person in question is a world-renowned pianist.


    It feels a bit presumptuous to make suchments.


    "Is, is that so?"


    Irina looked at me and asked.


    "Do you like Chopin?"


    What''s this, suddenly a fire seems to ignite in her cold eyes. I feel uneasy, as if saying I don''t like Chopin here would result in getting stabbed in the head with the fork she''s holding.


    "Yes, I like him."


    It''s not a lie.


    I really do like Chopin.


    Irina nods silently and then goes back to eating her donut. Phew, did I just dodge a bullet? While I was internally simting what to say if she asked what kind of music I liked, Monica reaches out a hand of salvation.


    "What are we having for dinner?"


    Ah, good topic change! Perfect timing.


    "Well, I only know about Bigos when ites to Polish food. I''m not sure about your taste preferences."


    Honestly, I only know about it because it was described on the menu of a restaurant near my college.


    It was expensive, so I never tried it, but I''ve tasted a bite from a friend. Its pork or beef cooked with German-style pickled cabbage, simr in appearance to spicy stir-fried pork but quite different in taste.


    But thankfully, at least I know the name of one dish.


    I cautiously looked at Irina and asked Monica.


    "Do you have any particr cravings? Maybe something like Korean food?"


    "Beef tripe!"


    "Huh?"


    "I want to eat beef tripe, Junghoon."


    What, so it wasn''t just to spare me the embarrassmentst time? She genuinely enjoyed it? But Monica might be fine with offal dishes, would Irina, whocks experience with such cuisine, like it too?


    Monica looked into my eyes and quickly said to Irina.


    "In Pnd, there are also dishes with beef offal, right? What''s it called, I''ve tried it before."


    "ki."


    "Ah, right! That one. There are offal dishes in Korea too, and they are incredibly delicious. Want to try?"


    Irina just nods her head. Apparently, unlike music, her taste in food is not limited.


    "Then let''s go to a ce I know."


    **


    At nine in the evening.


    After finishing my guide work in Jongro and before going home, I stopped by the office and opened the door, seeing the lights still on. As expected, Youngju was still there, not having left work.


    "Whye to the office straight from the theater? Shouldn''t you go home?"


    Youngju, who was buried in the monitor, suddenly looks up.


    "Where''s my Lady Irina?"


    Lady? Freeze to death.


    Don''t they say you curse the king when he''s not around? What''s with the dy''?


    "She went to the hotel, ah, I''m tired."


    Youngju quickly gets up and clings to me.


    "How is she? What kind of person?"


    "Ah, back off, you pest."


    "I''m dying of curiosity! I''m dying, you hear? Tell me quickly!"


    "Make me a cup of coffee."


    "Okay!"


    If it were any other time, asking Youngju for coffee would have resulted in a beating. But now, I''m the king.


    I sit backfortably and take a sip of the coffee Youngju made, then slowly start to tell the story.


    "She''s incredibly quiet, hardly speaks."


    "Right! That''s Irina''s image. Ice beauty! Queen of snow!"


    "But it''s not like she''s expressionless."


    "Huh?"


    "She doesn''t speak much, but her expressions change frequently."


    "Really?"


    "Yeah, but her eyes almost never change. It''s more the mouth and cheeks. Still, you can understand her mood."


    Maybe I''m too observant.


    So, my goddess has a cute side? Seeing Youngju''s expression as if thinking this, I asked.


    "But does she only y Chopin?"


    "Yeah, she''s famous for performing only Chopin in all her concerts. The New York Times even recognized her as the pianist who understands Chopin the best, given her dedicated research on him."


    "Is that so?"


    Youngju sped her hands and spoke dreamily.


    "Taking photos and talking with someone I''ve only seen in videos. Today is the glory day of my life. I''m waiting to buy tickets as soon as they go on sale. I''ll definitely get RVIP seats."


    Wow, RVIP seats for a famous pianist''s concert are over 300,000 won.


    Well, considering the incentive I gave to Youngju, that amount should be manageable, right?


    "If you talk to CEO Min-young, maybe she''ll give you a ticket or two?"


    "Really?"


    "Should I ask?"


    "You are my absolute savior! I pledge my utmost loyalty!"


    "Fine, as I am a bit bored, bring some snacks."


    "Yes~~~~~~~~"


    Youngju bowed and scurried off to the kitchen.


    Such an endearing kid. She really seems to like it.


    I asked Youngju, who was pouring snacks into a bowl.


    "When will the ceiling painting be finished?"


    "Day after tomorrow."


    "Did you inform the hotel?"


    "Yeah, they said a piano ising in the evening the day after tomorrow."


    "A piano?"


    "It''s for Irina''s performance."


    "Why so early?"


    "Irina is that kind of pianist. Honestly, many arrive a day or two before the concert. But Irina is different. Shees in at least 1-2 weeks early, adapts to the piano at the venue, and adjusts her condition to deliver the best performance."


    Hmm, aside from the excessive praise, she does seem remarkable.


    If a pianist shows such dedication and sincerity towards their performance, the praise is well-deserved.


    Should I sneak in a request for my ticket when Youngju gets hers?


    Honestly, besides university music department orchestra performances, I''ve never paid to go to a music concert.


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 Chapter 66 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 66 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    As Youngju brings over snacks, she pulls a chair next to me and sits down.


    "Tell me more about Irina. What did you have for dinner?"


    "Tripe."


    "Wow, you went to a tripe restaurant with a Polish pianist?"


    "It was Monica''s idea; she insisted on it."


    "Does Monica really like tripe that much?"


    "Don''t even start, she''s now into tripe''s lining too."


    "Wow. What about Irina? Did she not throw up after eating it?"


    I chuckle and reply.


    "She even scraped clean the fried rice with kimchi. I heard Polish people eat offal dishes too?"


    "Wow! How did the tripe look when eaten by a goddess? Did it shine or transform into snowkes or something?"


    "Are you crazy?"


    "No, why?"


    Are you seriously asking that, or just kidding?


    "Irina is a pianist, not an alchemist, right? She just ate well and left."


    "Did she seem to enjoy it?"


    "Yeah, she ate quietly, not saying a word."


    "That''s exactly her image."


    "It was ufortable being with her, so quiet. It would have been really awkward without Monica."


    "That''s Irina for you. She''s always been like that."


    "But why does she only y Chopin?"


    "Don''t you know?"


    "Hey, I only learned her name because of you."


    "An ignorant beast you are."


    "Just exin it to me."


    Youngju pauses for a moment, then speaks with a serious look in her eyes.


    "Irina is an orphan."


    What? Really?


    Isn''t it true that to be a world-ss pianist, you need early specialized education and expensive lessons from a young age? She looks so noble, like shees from an aristocratic family. Was she really an orphan? Is that even possible?


    Honestly, it''s hard to say this, but art requires money.


    Being a star in popr culture, where one can be an overnight sensation, is different from pure art. It takes a lot of time and a tremendous amount of money to start earning from actual art. It''s a harsh truth, but artes from capital.


    Orphans don''t have money.


    Therefore, it''s tough to survive in the pure arts industry, especially music. ssical instruments are expensive, and so are lesson fees, which are beyond imagination.


    Seeing my surprise, Youngju gives me a thumbs up, as if she expected it.


    "That''s why Irina is remarkable, isn''t she? She''s the hope for all the poor in the world."


    If that''s true, that alone makes her a person worthy of respect.


    Comining about her being a bit aloof and cold seems like a petty thing to do.


    Suddenly, I see Irina in a new light. If I had known this from the start, I would have treated her more kindly.


    Regretting today''s event, I ask.


    "But how did she start ying the piano? And what does being an orphan have to do with only ying Chopin''s music?"


    Youngju snaps her fingers and says.


    "Irina has been living in an orphanage attached to a church since she was a baby. She had this dream when she was four."


    A dream? Maybe because it''s something we have inmon, I suddenly be curious.


    "What kind of dream?"


    Youngju''s eyes lose focus as if she''s dreaming herself.


    "A very dark night. The sound of a piano echoing in the church. A girl in pajamas drawn by the piano sound on a night when everyone is asleep, going to the church. The sound of Chopin''s music filling the empty chapel."


    That''s kind of scary, isn''t it?


    "Poltergeist?"


    Youngju''s expression suddenly turns sour.


    "A horror movie?"


    "Well, you said there was piano music in an empty chapel. Isn''t that like objects moving on their own?"


    "Shut up, you mood-killer."


    "Then what is it?"


    Youngju looks almost offended, like a believer whose faith has been insulted, and says,


    "It''s from an interview with the German music magazine ssick in 2015. Irina said this at that time."


    Youngju puts her hands together as if praying and recites Irina''s interview.


    The windows of the church.


    The moonlight through the mosaic coloring countless lights,


    The starlight projecting the shapes of heaven,


    Mixing majestically and mysteriously at night.


    Someone called me to the chapel.


    It wasn''t in anynguage,


    But I clearly felt it.


    He was calling me.


    His call was calm, radiant, and beautiful.


    His call was calm, bright, and beautiful.


    Looking back, that was the memory


    Of the piano sounds the priest yed on days without mass.


    It seemed to be that.


    A baby in pajamas, toddling through the too vast and deste church corridor.


    When I opened the door to the chapel.


    I found the salvation I''d longed for all my life.


    Not a cross, but salvation through music.


    And soon after, I realized.


    The one who called me in the darkness was Chopin.


    The one who extended a hand of salvation to me.


    Youngju exhales as if she''s just had a drink of soju.


    "Wow, isn''t that amazing?"


    Yeah, even I think thats a pretty cool story.


    "So she only performs Chopin?"


    Youngju shakes her head.


    "You can''t say Irina only performs Chopin."


    "What do you mean?"


    "She doesnt just y Chopin; through the piano, she sends her lifelong admiration and praise for him."


    Sending lifelong admiration and praise to the one who saved her from hopelessness. That''s why Irina only performs concerts with Chopins music.


    Just like someone spends their lifetime praying to God,


    She sends her lifetime of prayers and praises to her savior.


    "Hmm, that''s kind of cool?"


    Youngju gives a thumbs-up and gestures with her eyes.


    "Wee to the Church of Irina,rade!"


    Forget that, put it away.


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 Chapter 67 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 67 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Minyoung''s business acumen was exceptional.


    Two days before the opening of Irina''s concert tickets.


    The theater''s ceiling painting waspleted, and with the board''s approval, Minyoung invited about a hundred journalists to the theater.


    Overwhelmed by the grand Baroque-style interior of the theater''s lobby, the journalists were busy taking pictures. Standing in front of the theater''s inner doors, Minyoung spoke into the microphone.


    Thank you to the journalists who havee from afar. I am Yoo Minyoung, the representative of W Tree Hannam.


    Instead of apuse, a myriad of shes went off.


    Dressed in a suit as instructed, I stood next to her, feelingfortable in my newly tailored suit.


    ''I did well entrusting Monica with this.''


    Monica, originally a designer of men''s luxury fashion.


    Though my hands trembled at the price of over two million won for a single suit, I went through with it, considering Minyoung''s words about frequently facing the media in the future.


    Italian luxury truly lives up to its reputation.


    It''s not just wearing clothes, but the feeling of the clothes embracing me.


    Ufortable yet beautiful clothes tend to cling to the body, whilefortable ones are often loose-fitting. This suit, however, fits snugly while feeling as if I''m not wearing anything.


    When I first received it, I thought, ''What''s the difference from a suit bought in Dongdaemun?'' But once I wore it, I realized it''s a different level. Even with the same design, the fit around the body feels significantly different.


    Minyoung gestured towards the theater and spoke.


    Our new theater, Catbs, will be a refuge protecting true art from all dangers of the world, much like the early Christians who fled persecution to underground tombs during the Roman Empire.


    Huh? So that''s what it means.


    At Minyoung''s signal, several security guards opened the doors to the inside of the theater.


    Now, we will reveal the New Paradigm of Korean art, the Catbs.


    As the doors opened and the journalists entered in an orderly line, the excitement grew among those waiting behind.


    Finally, when all hundred journalists had entered, they paired up in small groups to take pictures around the theater. Minyoung didn''t stop them but captured their attention with her amplified voice.


    The pride of our theater, the ceiling painting.


    Wow, hearing it put that way makes me feel exhrated.


    The journalists'' eyes unanimously turned to the ceiling. Minyoung looked at me and said.


    For the ceiling painting, the artist and representative of Artist Company, Ban Jeong-hoon, will exin.


    The intense gaze of nearly a hundred journalists.


    Standing here for the first time, my legs were shaking with nervousness.


    But I couldn''t afford to create a lifetime of embarrassing memories, so I clenched my teeth and managed to control my nerves.


    Holding the microphone handed to me by an employee, I recited the exnation I had given before the board. Initially, my voice quivered due to nervousness, but as the journalists focused on the painting I was describing, I gradually rxed.


    As I mentioned the story of A Dog of nders, which was a good angle for a news article, the journalists'' interest peaked. Of course, I left out the part about the owners of the hands opening the curtain being board members, as agreed with Minyoung beforehand.


    When one journalist asked why the painting depicted Asians instead of familiar European nobles, Minyoung stepped in, exining that it featured Koreans because it was a Korean painting.


    After about an hour of the theater''s opening ceremony, Minyoung finally ended the event by inviting the journalists to a buffet at the hotel. I wasn''t sure why we had to feed the journalists, but if Minyoung said so, there must be a reason.


    An hour-long event, but I was exhausted.


    All I did was hold a microphone and exin for about ten minutes, but I feltpletely drained.


    Dealing with people is truly the hardest thing.


    After the journalists left, I crouched on a secluded bench in the theater lobby. Young-ju approached me. She always worked in a suit at the Seoul City Art Museum, so her dressed-up appearance seemed less awkward than mine.


    "Were you very nervous?"


    "Yeah, I felt like dying. I really admire you. How can you speak so naturally in front of so many people?"


    "I also struggled at first, but you get used to it."


    I wonder if I''ll have to do this kind of thing often.


    Thinking about it, I can''t understand how artists like Andy Warhol, who always had journalists following them, could focus on their creative work. Even this brief interaction was so draining for me.


    I spoke, pressing one eye shut.


    "How about the others?"


    "They were told toe to Hongdae by seven."


    Three months of work.


    Yesterday marked thest day of the long project. It was also thest day of work for the juniors.


    Today is the final day of the grand journey, a day to rx, loosen the belt, eat, and drinkfortably.


    At least there''s aforting schedule behind.


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 Chapter 67 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 67 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    "You all worked hard! Cheers!"


    As Young-ju, the mood maker, stood up to propose a toast, the juniors who had worked hard for the past three months happily emptied their sses. Although the atmosphere hadn''t fully warmed up since the event had just started, given their youth, the drinking session would quickly heat up.


    Young-ju, returning to me as I sat in a corner, sipping soju, said,


    "You''ve worked hard, boss."


    "Yeah, you too. Who did you decide to leave behind among the juniors?"


    Young-ju had individually interviewed the juniors to select those who would stay with ourpany.


    "Three. The rest said they would use the money they earned this time for travel or as study abroad funds."


    Out of ten, 30%. It''s not as many as expected, but it''s a sufficient number.


    It''s a suitable number to manage a still rtively smallpany.


    "Who?"


    "Yeonjung, Jiyong, Jiyeon."


    Yeonjung, the ace of the art department, Jiyong, the ss president of the painting department, and Jiyeon, the top student of the Oriental painting department.


    The most skilled ones stayed with us. It''s a very satisfying oue.


    "I''m relieved."


    Youngju said with a smirk.


    "Smart move, what else? Working hard to enter a designpany only to get a modest starting sry. It''s better to stay with a smallerpany that pays more. These three realized that early on."


    We must continue to do well.


    We owe it to our juniors who trusted us and stayed, to keep providing them with financial rewards.


    Youngju massaged my shoulder, asking,


    "Aren''t you tired?"


    "No, I''m okay."


    "I returned the theater ess card key when I came out today. You haven''t returned yours yet, right?"


    "No."


    "Do you have any ns to meet President Minyoung again?"


    "I don''t know."


    "If you do, return it then. If not, return it at the hotel lobby."


    Yeah.


    I''m sure there will be an opportunity. I''ll return it when the time is right.


    Is it because I thought it was thest time?


    Today''s drinking session was very long. We celebrated withrades whose future reunions are uncertain, until four in the morning.


    The next day, at two in the afternoon.


    Thanks tost night''s prolonged gathering, I slept in and went to the hotel to return the card key and to check the painting onest time.


    Since I had to return the key at the lobby, I first went to the theater and was puzzled to see the security guards stationed there.


    Knowing none of the foreign security guards spoke English, I couldn''t ask them anything and was wondering what to do when one who recognized me opened the door.


    Ah, I guess I can go in.


    But aren''t these Irina''s security guards?


    Seeing them in front of the theater, Irina must be inside.


    There was an opening ceremony yesterday, but she''s already warming up in the theater?


    The performance is still two weeks away.


    With the guards only outside, the inside was empty.


    I listened for piano sounds, thinking she might be ying, but it was silent.


    If I had heard piano sounds, I would have waited.


    She''s a world-renowned pianist.


    Even though the guards let me in, I couldn''t dare to disturb her.


    With a hopeful heart, I quietly opened the theater door.


    "Wow."


    An empty theater.


    In the center of the stage, there stood a ck grand piano.


    Its sleek curves, silent yet overwhelming presence.


    A Steinway & Sons piano.


    I recall hearing in my school days that owning one of these pianos was a dream for music students.


    Since 1853, only 42,000 of these pianos were made, each requiring a lot of effort. It takes 12,000 parts and two years to make one, a 100% handcrafted piano.


    ''I guess a pianist like Irina would y such a piano. I wonder how much it costs?''


    At least two hundred million, probably.


    What kind of sound does such an instrument make?


    Curiosity welled up, but I didn''t dare touch the expensive piano owned by someone else.


    I forced myself to look away from the piano and turned my attention to the ceiling painting, my original purpose.


    The ceiling painting,pleted after three months, revealed its majestic form as I sat in one of the best velvet seats, which had been covered in stic.


    "So much has happened."


    My circumstances changed rapidly over the past few months.


    From a street artist living in a semi-basement.


    But now, I am the CEO of a smallpany and live in a house in Paju.


    I''m neither tremendously sessful nor famous as a painter.


    But I am very satisfied with the present.


    A year ago, I couldn''t even dream of such a life.


    The happiest part is living with my family.


    Dinners of convenience store meals thrown together in a pan with sugar and syrup.


    But now, I eat warm meals prepared by my mom.


    We removed thebel of basic living recipients that we had maintained since dad passed away.


    My hands trembled when I submitted the paperwork, not because I regretted it, but out of overwhelming emotion. It took nearly 20 years to submit that document.


    That day, we all returned home and cried in our respective rooms.


    Worried that showing our tears to each other might lead us to cry together.


    Looking at the ceiling painting, I smiled faintly.


    ''It''s all thanks to that peculiar art gallery.''


    What would my life be like if I hadn''t encountered that gallery in the alley of Jongno?


    What if I had passed it by?


    ''I would probably still be wandering the streets of Ikseondong, painting portraits.''


    The thought makes me worry about the gallery.


    The gallery with hardly any visitors. I don''t know who the owner is, but what if, after finally making money, the art museum closes down? Should I think of a way to regrly support it?


    While my mind was immersed in various thoughts, my eyes were continuously searching for imperfections in thepleted ceiling mural.


    Then, I heard a very small and beautiful sound in my ears. Was it an auditory hallucination?


    Turning my head, I froze as I saw the beautiful ice maiden sitting alone at the piano on the stage.


    Irina Sevanova.


    The so-called Titan, all alone, ying the stunningly beautiful piano.


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 Chapter 68 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 68 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    The enchanting piano sound, intoxicated with the pinnacle of romantic lyricism and elegant sweetness.


    "It''s Chopin."


    It''s a bit embarrassing to say, but I can only barely recognize that it''s Chopin.


    I''m not sure what the title of this music is.


    Being such a famousposer, I only know that I''ve heard this piece before.


    A quiet and romantic piece.


    A melody that flows like dreaming on a spring night, evoking numerous sweet memories.


    Art is as much as you know.


    Does the same apply to music?


    If I learn more about this beautiful piece, will I feel more? Or does ignorance enhance the raw emotion that music offers?


    Very quiet and peaceful, yet filled with mncholy as it soaks into the night.


    A movement drawing tender memories with sensitive sensibility.


    This was the emotion felt through Irina''s performance.


    A log cabin by a desertedkeside.


    A mans pained face, merely watching a beautiful woman walking at night, from a small boat.


    The performer is definitely a woman, but a man''s imagees to mind.


    Probably because its Irina''s performance, known for understanding Chopin the best.


    Irina''s performance,sting a few minutes, is so quiet yet emotionally overwhelming.


    "It''s a fortune."


    Notparable to the luck experienced in a strange art gallery, but who else in the world could watch Irina, renowned as the world''s best pianist, perform alone in such a magnificent concert hall?


    If Irina bes a pianist who leaves her name in history, people of the future will surely envy me at this moment. I closed my eyes, entrusting my body and emotions to the music.


    When I unwittingly sway to the musical message she conveys, her piano sound disappears as silently as it arrived. I sat with closed eyes, feeling the aftertaste.


    Finally, when I opened my eyes, I tried to leave quietly.


    Irina must have been checking her condition before the performance. I didn''t want to be a nuisance.


    But when I opened my eyes, I couldn''t achieve my original intention.


    On stage, Irina, sitting at the piano, was looking at me.


    Embarrassed, I quickly stood up and bowed.


    "Sorry."


    The vast theater.


    But my voice echoes loudly in the quiet theater.


    Irina, sitting on what seems to be hundreds of piano chairs, smiles softly and speaks.


    "How was it?"


    "Excuse me?"


    Irina closes her eyes and imitates me.


    Bending and straightening her back, making a strange pose as if heading an invisible ball.


    Could it be that I did something like that?


    Embarrassment reddens my face.


    "Oh, it was so beautiful."


    "You seemed to be seeing something."


    "................................"


    I did see a fantasy in the music. But it''s too embarrassing to tell her.


    "Haha."


    "Will you tell me what you saw? It''s important to me."


    Why would what I felt matter to her? Suddenly, I realized, as artists in different fields, she might be seeking direction for her performance from my feelings.


    If I asked someone looking at my painting the same question, I would want a sincere answer. If I understand her the most, I should give her a correspondingly sincere response.


    "Um, unrequited love, maybe?"


    A smile ys across Irina''s face.


    Wow, she''s so pretty when she smiles.


    Behind her beautiful face, I can almost see a fantastical explosion of ornate snowkes.


    "Do you want to continue?"


    Embarrassed, I idly scratched my head.


    "Actually, it''s a bit embarrassing to say, but I''ll be honest since you''d want that."


    I took a breath and coughed before speaking.


    "It reminded me of a teacher from my middle school days."


    Irina gestures for me to continue.


    "I don''t know about Pnd, but in South Korea, students from teacher''s collegese to schools for practice. They usually stay for about a month, not much older than the students themselves. The teacher who came to our ss in middle school was a very pretty woman."


    Irina, seemingly interested, turns around and sits facing me.


    Having spoken loudly enough for Irina on the stage to hear, I gestured to ask if I coulde closer. She signals for me to approach.


    Not climbing onto the stage, I sat in the front row of the audience and continued.


    "Unrequited love, or puppy love. I experienced that as a middle schooler."


    Thinking back, it was childish, but it was painfully intense at that time.


    "I hated going home. So, I''d stay back pretending to exercise, just to steal nces at her. I couldn''t even speak to her, but just watching was enough. When Iter found out she was in a rtionship with a male teacher who came with her, I went home and cried alone, haha."


    It was embarrassing to speak of, but strangely, the words came out.


    Is it because we are the only two in thisrge theater? Last time, I thought she was quite ufortable, but why this change?


    Maybe it''s because I learned she also had a tough childhood like me?


    Honestly, I find my own change peculiar.


    Irina nods and says,


    "Do you know Nam Soo-hyun, the pianist?"


    Of course. He''s a superstar born in South Korea.


    He dominated the Chopin and Beethovenpetitions and is a phenomenal pianist who even made it to the Billboard with his ssicalpositions.


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 Chapter 68 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 68 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    "Yes, I know him. The mysterious pianist who suddenly disappeared one day."


    Nam Soo-hyun vanished at the peak of his youth and prominence.


    No one knows where he went.


    I heard from his friends that after traveling to Norway, they lost contact.


    Irina continues.


    "When he performed at the Chopinpetition, a renowned poet was moved by his music and wrote a poem."


    "Did that happen?"


    "It was a big topic in Pnd."


    "I should look it up."


    "I''ll tell you about it."


    Irina sits straight on the piano bench and closes her eyes. Then, she recites a poem.


    <i>I was suffering for a long time.</i>


    <i>I realized I loved you a bit toote.</i>


    <i>I didn''t know.</i>


    <i>The moment I realized love</i>


    <i>Could be such a painful day.</i>


    <i>Just before arriving at the beautiful ind right before my eyes,</i>


    <i>In the rain, in the storm, feeling alone.</i>


    <i>There''s no avoiding, no escaping,</i>


    <i>Love that I crashed into with my bare body.</i>


    <i>Giving up breeds obsession.</i>


    <i>Giving up breeds pain.</i>


    <i>The moon breeds loneliness.</i>


    <i>Knowing it''s a love that won''t turn to me,</i>


    <i>I still think of you alone, steadily.</i>


    <i>If you, who hold the starlight in your eyes,</i>


    <i>Are thinking of me now,</i>


    <i>It wouldn''t be so overwhelming, would it?</i>


    <i>A time that never came from the beginning,</i>


    <i>At this dark and darkerkeside,</i>


    <i>I only watch you leaving,</i>


    <i>Opening a door of light that doesn''t shine on me,</i>


    <i>Muttering the only trite phrase I know, alone.</i>


    <i>I love you.</i>


    The scent left in Chopin''s music by a world-famous pianist''s performance is felt through the poem.


    The pain of love that exists in everyone''s heart.


    Love is said to be a beautiful journey like a miracle, and a brave adventure.


    But there are always those who never take on the journey or adventure,cking the courage at the moment.


    Simrly, we also have memories where we couldn''t say a proper word in front of someone we love in our hearts, no matter how much we try to muster courage.


    The emotions I felt in the music and the poem resonate.


    I nod my head vigorously.


    "If I had written a poem, I might not have left such a beautiful one, but I think I would have written about simr emotions."


    Irina smiles gently. But wait. Then, how amazing is Irina who recreated Chopin''s emotions left by such an incredible pianist? No wonder she''s called the best.


    Without realizing it, I blurt out the words in my heart.


    "Irina is an amazing pianist."


    Oops, what nonsense did I just say.


    I said it as if I''m acknowledging something so obvious.


    I hope she''s not offended.


    I sneak a nce at Irina.


    Fortunately, she seems pleased.


    Irina turns her gaze to the ceiling painting and says.


    "You are also a wonderful painter."


    Wow, even if it''s just a serviceablement, it feels really good to hear it from a world-ss pianist.


    I wish I had recorded it.


    No, then I wouldn''t know that Irina said it, so it would have been a treasure for generations if I had captured it on video.


    Irina looks at my painting and says.


    "Color is the keyboard, the eyes are the hammers, and the soul is the piano with many strings."


    I raise my eyebrows at Irina''s words.


    What she just said.


    It''s because that was a phrase by the painter Wassily Kandinsky who tried to capture music on canvas.


    ''She knows about art, too.''


    Many know the name of the famous painter, but few know the words he left. She must have had a great interest in art. Maybe that''s why Minyoung asked me to exin the paintings.


    Irina simplified it, but Kandinsky''s statement is actually longer.


    "Our hearing of colors is so precise. Color directly influences the soul. Color is the keyboard, the eyes are the hammers, the soul is the piano with many strings. The artist is the hand that, by touching this or that key, sets the soul vibrating automatically. The harmony of colors has the ability to touch the human soul directly based on the principle."


    Kandinsky, an abstract painter, was deeply moved by the performance of Austrianposer Arnold Schoenberg in 1911, forming a friendship and attempting to paint his music. Kandinsky''s paintings are still loved today.


    I smile and say,


    "Do you like Kandinsky?"


    She must if she memorized it.


    But surprisingly, Irina shakes her head.


    "I don''t really like abstract art."


    "Ah."


    That''s possible.


    There''s a saying that beginners look for the paintings of the past.


    Abstract art, a current trend in modern art, is difficult to understand.


    I''m one of those people, too. That''s why I understand Irina''s feelings.


    "It''s not just Kandinsky who painted music. There''s Klimt, too."


    Irina seems to already know as she says,


    "You mean the Beethoven Frieze."


    "Yes."


    "It''s a pity, if Klimt had known Chopin then, he might have left his music in paintings too.


    Hmm? That''s not quite right.


    Klimts admiration for Beethoven wasnt just due to a simple appreciation of music. The golden knight oveing physical ws. Klimt praised Beethoven because he embodied the ideal artist that Klimt''s philosophy spoke of.


    Irina is a hardcore fan of Chopin.


    Its not a good idea to correct her mistaken belief.


    It''s like insulting BTS in front of the Army.


    If you dont want to be stoned, better keep your mouth shut.


    Just then, as if a lightbulb appeared over Irina''s head, contemting the words she had just uttered, I noticed her face brighten.


    Seemingly struck by a good idea as she alternated her gaze between my face, the ceiling painting, and the piano, Irina pped her hands once and eximed,


    "That''s it! You should be the one to paint it!"


    Huh? Paint what?


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 Chapter 69 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 69 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    The next day, at the Artist Company office, Paju.


    Yeongju shows interest when I tell her about what happened yesterday. Being a fan of Irina, this project must seem incredibly appealing to her.


    "So, you''re saying she wants you to draw Chopin''s piano music?"


    "Not exactly, she wants me to illustrate not her own piano music but Chopin''s."


    "Chopin?"


    "Yes, it seems she ns to carry it around during a world tour. She wants toy it around the piano during performances."


    "Like a prop?"


    "Seems like it."


    After a moment of thought, Yeongju says with a serious look in her eyes.


    "This is a make-or-break situation. Drawing music is definitely not an easy task."


    "...................."


    If Irina had asked me to draw a portrait of Frdric Chopin, I would have epted without a second thought. That would have been much easier.


    How am I supposed to draw Chopin, whom I''ve never even seen?


    Chopin lived during a time when photography existed, and his photos are avable. Moreover, there''s a portrait by Eugne Dcroix, a master of Romanticism.


    In Dcroix''s painting, Chopin seems anxious, eyes fixed on the void, probably because Dcroix captured him ying the piano, not just posing for a portrait.


    In the painting, Chopin appears unable to contain his emotions, deeply serious before his music. If I can incorporate these physical features into the portrait, it shouldn''t be too difficult.


    But Irina''s request is to draw his music.


    As Yeongju said, thismission could either earn the admiration of musicians like Irina or harsh criticism, especially since it''s Chopin''s music.


    Beethoven, Chopin, Schubert, Bach.


    The greatest musicians, none superior to the others.


    Touching any of them would bring immense pressure.


    I bite my lower lip.


    ''This is like messing with Admiral Yi Sun-shin from a Korean perspective.''


    King Sejong and Admiral Yi Sun-shin  two figures you don''t want to get wrong.


    Mishandling Chopin, revered globally and in Pnd, could bring my budding Artist Company into crisis.


    Yeongju, watching me in deep thought, asks,


    "What will you do? Will you ept themission?"


    "........................"


    Honestly, I want to avoid it. No, I want to hide.


    Isn''t this task too big for me to handle?


    I''m not Klimt.


    As the saying goes, a sparrow trying to imitate a stork might split its legs. There''s no saying I won''t end up like that.


    But what if I seed?


    Irina is a superstar in the ssical world.


    If she uses my painting as a stage decoration during her tour, Artist Company could get global publicity without spending a dime.


    Even if it doesn''t be a global sensation, it''s fine.


    The painting used as stage decoration will inevitably be a topic of conversation.


    Even if people don''t like the painting, they''ll be curious about it, and journalists will write articles to satisfy the audience''s curiosity.


    That alone makes it worth the challenge.


    Then, the office door opens, and Ji-yong, Yeon-jeong, and Ji-yeon enter, each carrying their PCs. The desks and chairs arrived in the morning, and the PCs just now.


    My heart feelsplicated as I watch the three juniors assembling their PCs.


    ''If I were alone.''


    If I hadn''t started apany and was still a solo painter, I would have seen this as an opportunity rather than a challenge.


    But humans, cunning creatures, fear losing what they have.


    Yeongju sits on my desk, watching the juniors.


    "There have been over 50 articles about the ceiling painting. Minyoung CEO seems to have put in a lot of effort."


    "Ah."


    That many, huh?


    Well, nearly a hundred journalists came then.


    Yeongju shows me some documents, saying,


    "We''ve had over 30 business inquiries in the past few days. Here''s a selection."


    It''s good news.


    I review the documents Yeongju hands me, marking a few with a pen.


    "Let''s take these twopany logo design requests. For branding design, exclude the stationery and focus on graphic motifs."


    "The seventh one is a catalogue design, requested by the Seoul Arts Center."


    "The Seoul Arts Center?"


    "Yeah, they''re nning an exhibition of Jeong Seon''s paintings in two months and have requested a catalogue design."


    Wow, ourpany must be doing well. The Seoul Arts Center making a request...


    "Ji-yeon could handle it well, right?"


    Ji-yeon was the top student in the oriental painting department.


    She maintained the top position from her first year to graduation, so she''ll do well.


    Yeongju nods in agreement.


    "Yeah, but the pay isn''t great. It''s just a simple catalog request."


    "It doesn''t matter. Right now, we need jobs that can be used as portfolio pieces more than immediate money-making opportunities."


    In truth, the cost of running thepany with five employees, including me, is sufficiently covered by the refrigerator R/S project from MG Electronics. Thepany is at a stage where relentless effort is needed to keep it going, but this effort should be focused more on gaining experience than making money.


    "Please review the ones I checked."


    Uh, what are the priorities?


    You decide that. The kids are inexperienced, so let''s start with just two at first. Including you, pair up and take charge.


    Got it.


    Yeongju, pausing from checking his list for the arts center, stops and stares intently at me.


    Hey.


    Yeah?


    Do that.


    His words are abrupt and disorderly, but I know what Yeongju means. She looks at me silently for a moment and shrugs his shoulders.


    Scared?


    What are you talking about?


    Do it, thepany will handle the rest. You just take on the challenge.


    ..


    It''s okay, kid. Honestly, what''s the worst that can happen if your work fails?


    ..


    Yeongju grips my shoulder firmly and says,


    If it turns out to be crap, do you think Irina will will set it up on stage?


    Huh? I hadn''t thought of that.


    Yeongju continues,


    Even if you fail, the only person who''ll know is Irina, so what''s there to be afraid of?


    Right, that makes sense.


    If Irina doesn''t like the painting, it won''t end up on stage anyway.


    I look at Yeongju with wide eyes and break into a grin.


    You''re right.


    Chicken.


    Who''s a chicken?


    You, who else?


    Are you joking?


    You''re scared right now.


    No, I''m not.


    So, you''ll do it?


    I smile slightly and nod.


    Yes.


    Yeongju ps my back hard, eximing,


    That''s it, be my boss! Go and face it, I''ll take care of things here!


    I look at Yeongju quietly and then extend my fist.


    Counting on you, Director.


    Leave it to me.


    Our fists meet in the air.


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 Chapter 69 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 69 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    W Hotel Hannam, Italian bistro.


    Monica, holding a wine ss, opens her eyes wide.


    Chopin''s music?


    Minyoung nods while eating prosciutto.


    Yeah, Irina mentioned it earlier. Shemissioned Painter Ban for the job.


    Monica puts down her ss and crosses her arms.


    Painting music isn''t easy. Jeong-hoon isn''t an abstract painter, is he?


    He still hasn''t established his identity. Who knows what kind of painter he''ll be?


    Right, Jeong-hoon is still in his 20s.


    A painter spends a lifetime perfecting their style.


    Some painters find their unique style only after turning 60, so it''s too early to conclude anything.


    Monica nods and then looks worried.


    But isnt it too difficult a request to paint Chopin''s music? Which piece did she ask for?


    Minyoung shakes her head.


    She didnt specify.


    Hmm, Irina knows all of Chopin''s music, so maybe any piece would do?


    Probably.


    A nocturne would be nice then. It''s one of the most famous pieces.


    Maybe, but Painter Ban will decide.


    Silence falls between them for a moment. Both, savvy in business, ponder whether this project will benefit Jeong-hoon.


    After a while, Minyoung changes the topic.


    How''s your brand doing?


    Monica leans on her chin and replies,


    Im in the middle of building the factory. It should be operational by mid-next year.


    Where will the stores be?


    One in Mn, one in Rome, and one each in Venice and Naples.


    Starting with four?


    Yeah, I spoke with La Rinascente. If sales are good in Mn, they''ll let me in.


    As Monica mentions Italy''s top department store, Minyoungs eyes widen.


    Youre already discussing that far?


    Monica sips her wine with a smile.


    Why, I''m Monica Rossellini.


    Although she''s currently designing electronics in Korea, Monica is a former lead designer for a global brand. Her preparation tounch her own brand is well-known in the fashion industry and is highly anticipated.


    Min-young smiles and raises her ss.


    "Here''s to sess, friend."


    "Thanks."


    "Did you finish talking with the vige people?"


    At the mention of the vige, Monica''s face lights up.


    "Yes, when I shared the news, people who had left the vige started showing interest."


    "If there are jobs in their hometown, they''d want to return."


    "Wouldn''t they?"


    "How many will you employ?"


    Monica shrugs.


    "It depends on how sessful I can make the business."


    "Wouldn''t the initial factory employment be at least two hundred?"


    "Yes."


    "Isn''t that about the number of people in the vige who could work?"


    Excluding those too old, too young, or already running businesses in the vige, it probably is. Monica smiles and says,


    "My goal is to bring back all those who left and even attract new people."


    Seeing Monica''s happy expression, Min-young smiles.


    "It''s unfolding just like in the painting."


    Monica grins, showing her gums.


    "Yes, I''m going to work hard to make our vige as happy as in the painting Jung-hoon made for us. I look at it every day and promise myself that I''ll create a hometown just like in that picture."


    Min-young nods and then looks out at the night view from the window.


    "Paintings have a strange power. They''re not just momentarily moving but can also instill a sense of purpose in people."


    Monica raises her ss, looking at the night view alongside Min-young.


    "May such fortune also befall Irina, the pianist of Chopin''s music."


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 Chapter 70 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 70 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Artist Company at night.


    Quiet office filled with unexpected ssical music.


    I am sitting alone in a corner left empty in my workspace, with only a chairid out, listening to Chopin''s music ying in the background.


    In front of me is arge, white, nk canvas, but I am unable to paint anything on it yet. I havent decided what to draw.


    Painting Chopin''s music.


    The first thing I need to decide is which piece of music to paint.


    I remember a piece from the movie ''Secret'' that had deeply touched me in the past.


    ''Chopin Etude Op. 10 No.5. The piece with the subtitle ''ck Keys'' was an etude practicing with ck keys.''


    Hmm, is it a bit odd to use a practice piece for painting music?


    But of course, it''s a Chopin piece, no matter if it''s a practice piece.


    It''s too beautiful a piece to be merely considered for practice.


    What else should I consider?


    The first piece thates to mind is Chopin Nocturne Op. 9 no 2, the most famous piece yed by Irina.


    This piece, called Nocturne, meaning ''night piece,'' is probably the most famous of Chopin''spositions. Even those unfamiliar with ssical music recognize it immediately upon hearing it.


    Moreover, Irina had recited a poem written by a journalist after listening to this piece, so its understanding is deeper.


    Of course, Chopin Nocturne in B t minor, Op. 9 no 1 is also a beautiful piece.


    What else is there?


    Ah, there''s also Etude Op. 10 No. 3 Tristesse.


    It''s a sad and beautiful piece by Chopin, known as ''Song of Farewell.''


    Chopin''s music is delicate, beautiful, and sad.


    Like his small stature, as recorded in history, his music has a strong feminine touch.


    Another piece thates to mind is the so-called ''Funeral March,'' Chopin piano sonata Op. 35 no 2.


    When I first heard this piece, I didn''t think of it as a funeral march. It sounded more like music for a grand wedding.


    Robert Schumann had said about this piece:


    ''It starts with dissonance, passes through dissonance, and ends in dissonance. Only Chopin could start and end like this.''


    Rachmaninoff was also a very enthusiastic fan of this sonata.


    I listened to each piece on the list.


    Being shorter than typical ssical music, I went through the list in a couple of hours.


    Then a thought struck me.


    ''It''s absurd to understand his music without knowing his life.''


    The same goes for art in my field.


    To interpret a painting, one must understand what was happening in the artist''s life at the time.


    For instance, let''s analyze Van Gogh''s ''Starry Night.''


    This painting was created while he was in a mental asylum.


    The starry night that Van Gogh, groaning under mental anguish, saw.


    If we didn''t know this, we might have thought that Van Gogh painted such a night sky as part of decorative art.


    But we know.


    Despite his mental anguish, he could paint such a beautiful night sky because there really was such a night sky in his imagination, being confined in the hospital, unable to see the actual night sky.


    Painting is such an act.


    It requires an infinite understanding of the subject.


    I was deep in thought when I picked up the phone.


    It wasnt toote at night, so a call wouldnt be rude.


    Irina''s voicees through from the other end.


    -Hello, Jeong-hoon?


    Ivee a long way.


    Knowing the phone number of a world-renowned pianist and having her recognize me right away.


    Irina.


    -What brings you up sote?


    Where are you now?


    -At the theater, practicing.


    Irina, is there a fixed time for your practice at the theater?


    -I always do it from the moment I wake up until I go to sleep. Why?


    May Ie and watch?


    -That''s fine.


    Can Ie now?


    -I''m practicing until 12, is that okay?


    Its nine now.


    I''ll be there around ten if I leave for the hotel now.


    At least Ill have two hours to watch.


    Yes, I''lle now. I wont disturb you, just observing from behind.


    -Alright.


    After hanging up, I picked up my bag and murmured, thinking of Klimt and Professor Mucha.


    To draw, first you must see. And if you''re going to paint music, of course, you must listen first.


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 Chapter 70 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 70 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    At twelve o''clock at night.


    For the past two hours, I secretly sat in the back row of the theater, listening to Irina''s performance. Even though it was just a practice, Irina''s music was wless as if it were the real deal.


    Of course, there might have been minor mistakes, but I wouldnt have noticed them.


    As the practice ends, Irina, who had never looked in my direction, finally turns her gaze towards me.


    She must have guessed I was somewhere in the theater since I called beforehand.


    Noticing me looking around, I quietly raised my hand to indicate my location.


    Irina nods and stands up from her seat.


    Looking back, Irina, who had been ying the piano for two hours straight without a score, seemed dazzling as if she was wearing a dress, though she was actually in tracksuits.


    Irina, havinge to me after the practice, finally asks why I hade to watch.


    What''s the matter?


    Just doing my job.


    Your job?


    Painting.


    Irina pauses to think for a moment and then nods slightly, smiling.


    Have you eaten?


    I had ate lunch, so I''m thinking of skipping dinner. Did you eat, Irina?


    I don''t eat anything before my practice is over.


    Huh? Didn''t she say she practices until right before she sleeps? Then, has she been fasting all day?


    You haven''t eaten anything since morning?


    Irina gently smiles and ces her hand over her chest.


    A heart full from food knows no passionate love.


    A heart full from food knows no passionate love.


    Probably, these words express the emotions found in Chopin''s music.


    She is making these efforts to better express Chopin''s essence.


    She truly is an incredible musician.


    I got up and looked at the clock.


    There must be a restaurant open at this hour... Ah, the hotel will have prepared something, right?


    Meticulous Minyoung wouldnt have missed this.


    The hotel will probably provide a meal in a room service style.


    Irina''s eyes change momentarily when I bring up the restaurant.


    The food Jung Hoon introduced me to was delicious.


    Huh? Ah, she must be talking about the grilled intestines.


    I looked fondly at the foreigner who enjoyed our food.


    If you ever want to eat Korean food, just let me know.


    It''s toote now, isn''t it?


    I smiled broadly and gave a thumbs up.


    Korea is a country of the night. You can still find plenty to eat at this hour.


    Irina looked surprised. After all, in Europe, there are hardly any restaurants open past midnight. I saw her surprised look and stood up.


    Shall we go eat?


    A person who sat in front of a cold air conditioner all day long, only ying the piano.


    For such a person, a warm bowl of soup is necessary.


    Even on a hot summer night, the theater is quite cold.


    Debating between galbitang and sundae-guk, I remembered Irina had no aversion to internal organ dishes and headed to the sundae-guk ce I used to go with Youngju when our ceiling painting work endedte. The bodyguards had to work night shifts because of this, but that''s their job.


    Irina was really amazed that there are many restaurants open at this time and that women could walk around alone or even drunkenly at thiste hour. In Europe, walking alone past 10 pm could be dangerous, regardless of gender.


    As someone who''s never been outside Korea, it''s a foreign concept to me.


    When we arrived at the sundae-guk restaurant and ordered two bowls of soup and boiled meat, the meat arrived first. Irina was surprised again when the food came out within five minutes of sitting down.


    Everything''s really fast in Korea, Jung Hoon.


    Irina, holding the meat that doesn''t look appetizing to foreigners, asked.


    Which part of the meat is this?


    Hmm, what''s oxtail in English? I don''t know.


    It''s probably somewhere near the top of the pig, try it.


    Do I just eat it like this?


    No, dip it in ssamjang or sesame oil, and eat it with kimchi or leeks.


    Irina, a bit scared, cautiously dips the oxtail in sesame oil. She makes a curious face and tilts her head.


    It''s not bad, but I can''t quite ce the taste.


    Well, as long as it''s not bad, that''s fine.


    It gets tastier the more you eat. Try it with the raw onions and peppers.


    She grimaced when eating the raw onions and peppers, but when the sundae-guk arrived, she followed my lead in slurping down the rice mixed soup.


    Wow! This is delicious.


    I''ve always wondered.


    Why do I feel so good when a foreigner says our food is delicious? What does it matter to me whether they like it or not? Anyway, I still don''t know the reason, but it feels good.


    Eventually, I couldn''t resist and ordered soju too.


    Irina, who had tasted soju at a grilled intestines restaurant, offered her ss. Thanks to Monica, who is at the forefront of spreading Korean culture, Irina already knows that others should fill her ss.


    As we drank about half a bottle, a slight buzz started.


    Irina, who had fasted all day and started with alcohol for her first meal, was a bit more buzzed than me.


    Her face quickly turned red, and she startedughing for no reason.


    What''s this, suddenly so cute?


    Even the icy beauty Irina bes cute when drunk. It''s a shame to enjoy this cuteness alone.


    As she sips her soju, Irina asked.


    So, Jung Hoon. Will you keeping to watch my practice?


    Is that okay?


    You really want toe every day?


    If you allow it.


    Irina looked genuinely happy.


    Then will you eat with me every day?


    Wait, has she been eating alone until now? Suddenly, I feel sympathetic.


    "Should I?"


    "Really?"


    Irina''s face lights up with genuine joy. What''s the use of being a world-famous pianist if you have no friends to eat with, wandering aimlessly abroad? I wouldn''t do it.


    "Just do me one favor in return."


    "Anything, tell me."


    I look at Irina, filled with anticipation, and smile mischievously.


    "Tell me about Chopin, who he was to you."


    ""


    Irina blinked, seemingly caught off guard by the unexpected question. However, she then showed a beaming smile I had never seen before.


    "Of course! Let me tell you how great Chopin was! He was born to a French father and a Polish mother. He performed in front of the Russian emperor and received des, and then"


    Wait, did I just see Irina''s face ovep with Young-ju''s?


    Is it my imagination, or do I sense an intense fan vibe from her?


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 Chapter 71 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 71 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    <i>1/2 Bonus chapter thanks to @SomeoneRandom from Ko-fi</i>


    The night at the empty theater.


    I am allowed to go up on stage, sitting next to Irina''s piano, having a conversation with her.


    "Chopin showed talent for the piano from a young age. By the age of seven, he had alreadyposed two polonaises."


    "What are polonaises?"


    "They are Polish dance pieces like this."


    Irina ys a brief piece. Oh, I''ve heard this before.


    "Is this also Chopin''sposition?"


    "Of course. Bach, Mozart, Beethoven allposed polonaises, but Chopins are considered the best."


    Irina stops ying and says,


    "At that time, the Polish media said about the young Chopin, ''We thought geniuses were only born in Germany or Austria, but finally, a genius has emerged in our country.''"


    Irina, usually not so talkative, is now full of praise for Chopin.


    "Moreover, Robert Schumann, having seen Chopin''s performance, said this: ''Take off your hats, a genius has appeared!''"


    Yeah, I get it, I''m great too. Now, tell me something that will help with the painting.


    "Did he not marry?"


    "Yes, but he had a lover for over 10 years. It was almost like they were married. George Sand was the woman. Known for dressing as a man to enter salons and spreading rumors with many men, but in fact, it was known that there was unteral devotion from her in their rtionship."


    Irina continues.


    "Chopin''s health deteriorated, and he recuperated in Mallorca,ter returning to Paris, but not much time was left for him. Chopin asked for Mozart''s Requiem to be yed at his funeral, but as the church did not allow female singers, it took two weeks to persuade them. Eventually, the church conceded, and he wasid to rest with the music he loved."


    "Where was he buried?"


    "His grave is in Paris, but as Chopin loved Pnd dearly, he had Polish soil sprinkled on his grave, and his heart, as per his will, was given to his sister andter ced in the Holy Cross Church in Warsaw."


    Wow, even back then, they could remove a person''s heart and send it to their homnd.


    Chopin''s love for his country was immense.


    "Where did you say he recuperated earlier?"


    "It was on the ind of Mallorca in Spain."


    Where have I heard that before?


    As I ponder, Irina smiles and says,


    "Lee Kang-in, a Korean ser yer, yed for RCD Mallorca."


    Ah, no wonder it sounded familiar.


    It''s strange to hear that a Korean yer yed on the same Spanish ind where Chopin recuperated. A feeling of kinship? Or perhaps a sense of connection.


    Irina, watching me nod, says,


    "Is Jung-hoon nning to paint something like Klimt''s Beethoven Frieze?"


    "Well, that''s the direction I''m considering, but it''s not decided yet."


    "Klimt''s painting was inspired by Beethoven''s Ode to Joy, right?"


    "Yes, that''s correct."


    "Ode to Joy was a song form poem by Friedrich Schiller, right?"


    "Yes, that''s right."


    A beautiful poem creates great music, and that music bes humanity''s eternal melody. This poem, written by the German poet Friedrich Schiller in 1785, became a piece through Beethoven that embodies humanity''s pure aspiration for unity.


    Irina snaps her fingers.


    "Do you know Chopin''s nickname?"


    "No, I don''t."


    "The poet of the piano."


    "Ah."


    Hints from Irina, suggesting a connection with Beethoven''s painting, but still, I feel like I''m wandering in a foggy ce.


    Irina''s passionate exnation enters my ears, but I am lost in other thoughts.


    ''Comical imagination.''


    I heard the conversation between Klimt and Hoffmann in a dream. But that doesn''t mean I want a simple answer that integratingic imagination into pure art is the way.


    ''What Klimt taught me was not to define the boundaries of art and to learn and integrate anything, not necessarily to learn something fromics.''


    The boundaries of art, set by someone unknown.


    I have no intention to follow them. Or rather, I have decided not to.


    There was an artist named Marcel Duchamp. He submitted a urinal as a work of art to a museum,beling it ''Fountain''. The museum initially refused to disy this bizarre artwork, but Duchamp protested, arguing that the urinal represented the purification of the stagnant notions in the art world.


    Then, the museum acknowledged his urinal as an artwork and exhibited it.


    Eighty yearster, in 1999, a female artist named Tracey Emin presented a piece called "My Bed". She brought her own used bed and disyed it. While Marcel Duchamp gave a somewhat meaningful name to his urinal, she simply presented her old bed under the in title of "My Bed".


    What really is the essence of art?


    Considering these examples, what we call art might be determined by whether it''s exhibited in a gallery or a museum or not.


    Hypothetically, if we take a washing machine from our house, give it a usible name, submit it to a museum, and it somehow gets exhibited, does our home washing machine be an artwork from that moment?


    In such an art world, what activities ssified as creative should stand on the border of art and non-art? Isn''t everything art? What conditions are needed to be recognized as art?


    The creator and the viewer both have different perspectives,


    What may seem trivial to me could appear beautiful to someone else,


    And what others are indifferent to might be precious to me.


    I clenched my fist and thought quietly.


    If it can bring about a change of heart in even one person, then it''s art.


    I looked at Irina, who was passionately exining Chopin, and thought.


    ''After all, no interpretation of a piece of art can convince everyone.''


    The reason Klimt didn''t exin his paintings was that he didn''t want to uniformize the diverse interpretations that exnations could bring.


    I want to make such artworks too.


    Paintings that can be appreciated by anyone, without the need for an experts interpretation.


    I met Irina and studied Chopin, aspiring to paint like Klimt, not confined by the boundaries of art and non-art.


    But the path is still unclear.


    Klimt faced the same dilemma when he painted Beethoven; it was a new realm of creation then.


    Anguish gives birth to art.


    I still believe in these words said by a professor during a philosophy ss in college. Back then, it seemed like a madmans rambling. But the more I live a social life, the more I find his words to be true.


    It''s past midnight.


    A thunderous sound from Irinas stomach interrupts her exnation.


    Snapped out of my thoughts, I chuckled at Irinas blushing face.


    Shall we go for a meal now?


    Embarrassed, yet looking forward to today''s menu, Irina quickly got up and asked.


    What are we eating today?


    Did it rain briefly today? It still feels humid, doesnt it?


    Indeed.


    "In Korea, on such days, we usually drink makgeolli with jeon*." [T/N: Pancakes]


    "John? Is that a type of meat? It sounds like a person''s name, which is a bit odd."


    "Ha ha, not John, jeon. Come with me. You''ll like it once you try it."


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 Chapter 71 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 71 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Morning at Artists Company, Paju.


    Even on a regr day, the area is quiet, but it''s even more so at dawn.


    A small figure walking in this tranquil neighborhood is Jiyeon, in charge of producing a catalog for the Arts Center.


    Having only worked part-time jobs before, Jiyeon, now in her first proper job, is eager to excel in her first task. Even after work, she spends time at home researching other exhibition catalogs for reference.


    Jiyeon, with her petite stature of 155 cm, had walked a long way from the bus stop.


    People are nice, and so is the work, but the only downside is how far it is from the bus stop.


    Luckily, Jiyeon lived in Goyang, not far from Paju, so themute wasn''t too long. However, the over 15-minute walk from the bus stop to the office was certainly a drawback. She couldnt imagine how much harder it would be in winter.


    Listening to music, Jiyeon thought about herpany.


    Afortable ce with all the staff being old acquaintances from school days.


    She joined because Youngju unnie from Seoul City Art Museum was there as a director, and to her surprise, Junghoon, a popr senior from her college days, was the CEO.


    He lost his poprity a bit after it was known his family was poor, but he was really popr at the start of the semester.


    Junghoon was handsome.


    He was the quiet type, but his good looks made him extremely popr.


    He rarely talked about himself, so not much was known about him, but since art students often stayed up all night for projects, his face was a familiar one.


    But back then, Jiyeon never imagined she would end up working at apany led by Junghoon. She thought their paths would never cross since she was from the Oriental Painting department.


    Smiling to herself, Jiyeon muttered.


    The juniors from the Painting department would be so jealous if they knew I was working at Junghoon seniorspany.


    The only w was that he was incredibly poor. But now, hes a properpany CEO.


    ording to Youngju unnie, Junghoon co-designed the hit MG Electronics refrigerator, Belle poque.


    It seemed to be a huge hit, making the news almost every week.


    How much would he be getting?


    Probably more than the sry of a senior executive at argepany.


    Even Jiyeon, who wasnt interested in him during school, is now intrigued. If his old admirers and ssmates found out, it would cause a stir.


    Lost in thought about Junghoon, Jiyeon pped her cheeks and mumbled.


    Stop thinking about useless things! Focus on your work, Jiyeon!


    Today, she has to decide thenguage for the catalog.


    Traditional catalogs for Oriental painting exhibitions often use a lot of Chinese characters. But the exhibition she''s handling is of a Joseon painter. Should she make it look schrly by using many Chinese characters, or create it in Hangul for easyprehension? She needs to decide today.


    "I also have to decide on the print specifications, select the representative painting, and what about the page count? I should work in multiples of four, right?"


    There''s a daunting amount of work to be done.


    With a sense of urgency, Jiyeon hurries to the office and pauses just as she is about to enter the security code.


    "The door is open?"


    She checks the time and tilts her head in confusion.


    It''s now 7:30 AM.


    The official starting time at Artist Company is 10 AM.


    Who else could be here so early?


    Moreover, she can faintly hear musicing from inside.


    Hesitating with an unknown fear, Jiyeon cautiously opens the door.


    And upon seeing the inside of the office, she freezes in ce.


    "What is all this?"


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 Chapter 72 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 72 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    The music filling the space, though not overly loud, is distinctly different from the K-POP she had been listening to earlier.


    Wagner?


    Richard Wagner, the founder of the opera.


    This may seem far removed from our daily lives, but art is more deeply ingrained in our lives than we think.


    The music we always hear at wedding ceremonies, the bridal entrance music, is actually Wagner''s opera Lohengrin, Act 3 ''Bridal Chorus''. Not many know this fact, but the music itself is widely recognized.


    Its Tannhauser.


    Jiyeon, until she was twenty, was a novice in ssical music.


    However, after getting a boyfriend in her second year of college who was a music major, she began attending performances with him and gradually learned, now confidently knowledgeable about ssical music.


    The music ying in the office now is a romantic opera about the struggle between soul and body, using music from the opera about the love, conflict, and redemption of the medieval Grail knight, Tannhauser.


    Who is it?


    Who would be listening to Wagner''s music at this early hour?


    And what about all these paintings in the workspace?


    Unfinished paintings are ced around the workspace.


    The first painting that catches the eye depicts a lone ck piano standing in an autumn field bathed in yellow light. What''s interesting is the use of brush strokes to express the movement of air, not a strong wind but a gentle autumn breeze.


    Wow.


    The grass,id low by the wind, whispers a profound loneliness.


    It feels like hearing the low murmurs of someone carried by the wind.


    Jiyeon, after observing the painting for a while, turns her gaze to the next painting. Like a series, the paintings are arranged horizontally, the second one now catching her attention.


    This painting, unlike the first, has a very dark atmosphere.


    But it uses a variety of colors.


    Half of the painting is the French g, and the other half, the Polish g.


    On the Polish g is a red heart, and on the French g, a skeletal corpse.


    The painting, using a lot of ck mixed paint, has a heavy and dark feel.


    This looks like an Andy Warhol painting.


    A fresh painting with pop art colors.


    Did the same person paint this as the first one? It''s hard to believe that these different styles were done by the same artist. From her perspective, specializing in Oriental painting, the free expression style of Western painting is somewhat enviable.


    Jiyeon turns her gaze to the third painting.


    Again, a ck piano is depicted.


    But the feeling ispletely different from the first painting.


    ck, red, and yellow swirls. The piano in the middle seems to suck a person into it, a whirlwind that feels like it might shatter at any moment as the piano keys are struck.


    Jiyeon spends quite some time in front of the third painting.


    Then, someone''s voice is heard.


    Who''s there?


    Ah!


    Startled, Jiyeon stumbles back.


    She had been so engrossed in the paintings that she had not noticed anyone else.


    Mr. President?


    A man sprawled on the sofa.


    Jeonghoon, looking tired, is washing his face and then looks over at her.


    Why are you here so early?


    Ah


    Jiyeon hesitates, not wanting to appear too eager in front of her boss, but then tries to make casual conversation.


    Oh, just... Why are you here, Mr. President?


    Jeonghoon scratches his head and frowns.


    Can you not call me Mr. President?


    Then, what should I call you?


    You used to call me ''oppa'', didnt you?


    That was different.


    Keep calling me that. Were only three years apart, right?


    Hmm.


    It feels morefortable, but she wonders if it''s appropriate to address thepany president that way.


    Well, over time. But really, what were you doing here? Did you paint these, oppa?


    Jeonghoon looks closely at the paintings, then smiles wryly.


    Yes.


    Wow, oppa, you''re really talented.


    Jiyeon covers her mouth, having forgotten that Jeonghoon had been top of his ss for four years at school.


    Fortunately, Jeonghoon doesn''t borate further, so Jiyeon quickly changes the subject.


    What are these paintings of?


    Chopin.


    Chopin?


    Where is Chopin in these?


    Jiyeon looks back at the paintings then asks.


    What does this first painting mean?


    Jeonghoon, standing in front of the piano in the wilderness, scratches the back of his head and stands up.


    Will you listen to my exnation and see if its convincing?


    Sure!


    Jeonghoon asks as he stands in front of the first painting.


    Jiyeon, have you heard Chopin''s before, haven''t you?"


    "Of course. Who hasn''t heard Chopin''s music in their lifetime?"


    "What do you feel when you listen to Chopin''s music?"


    Jiyeon, who had indeed heard Chopin''s music but found it difficult to describe the feeling, was taken aback by such a direct question. After a moment''s hesitation and a second nce at the painting, her eyebrows twitched.


    Approaching the first painting, Jiyeon examined it closely and then nodded.


    "Chopin''s music feels like it''s manipting emotions. Someone once said that ying his music is like Chopin speaking to you. His whispers, filled with loneliness, frustration, longing, and anger, are all there. Now I understand. This piano in the wilderness and the wind around it, they''re the emotional whispers hidden in Chopin''s music."


    Jeonghoon smiled silently. Jiyeon looked at him and asked.


    "Am I right?"


    He nodded silently and moved to the second painting. Jiyeon immediately understood the meaning.


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 Chapter 72 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 72 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Now that you mention it, I understand. Chopin was born to a French father and a Polish mother. He spent half his life in France and the other half in Pnd.


    Jiyeon points to a painting of a skeleton on the French g and a heart on the Polish g and says, Even in death, his body was in France, but his heart in Pnd.


    Jeonghoons mouth forms an O.


    You know quite a bit about Chopin, dont you?


    Jiyeon, not mentioning it was thanks to a college boyfriend, then asked in front of the third painting, But I still dont understand this painting. This piano amidst the whirlwind.


    Jeonghoon, standing in front of the third painting with his arms crossed, says, Why dont you tell me what you feel from this painting?


    Jiyeon looks intently at the painting, then hesitantly says, Its


    Just speak frankly.


    It feels a bit like a cartoon.


    Hmm.


    You know, like in Dragon Ball, when Goku is concentrating with energy swirling behind him as he''s about to unleash a Kamehameha?


    Yeah.


    Its kind of like that? It seems to express the perspective of someone with mental issues, seeing only the piano.


    Jeonghoon smiles slightly.


    You saw it correctly.


    Jiyeon blinks, feeling somewhat embarrassed for speaking honestly when asked. She didn''t expect herparison of a fine art piece to a cartoon would be well-received, but Jeonghoon calmly continues without any particr expression.


    In Chopins time, musicians had topose symphonies or operas to earn money.


    Really? Like Beethoven and other musicians whoposed symphonies?


    Jeonghoon, with his arms crossed, looks at Jiyeon and smiles. A puzzled Jiyeon asks, Why?


    Think about it.


    About what?


    Our conversation just now. Why did we have it?


    ?


    Our conversation? Oh, why would he think I said that? Lost in thought, Jiyeon suddenly ps her hands.


    Ah! Chopin didntpose symphonies or operas!


    Jeonghoon snaps his fingers.


    Right, Chopin wrote piano pieces throughout his life. Though he loved opera, he left about 200 pieces, 170 of which are pianopositions. He chose and focused on the piano.


    Jiyeon nods, understanding the painting better. Then she turns her gaze to a fourth painting yet unseen.


    A piano in a small concert hall. The faces of about thirty audience members are there, but the piano itself is empty. Is this also rted to Chopin?


    Chopin, recognized as a talented pianist, rarely performed in halls with more than a hundred people. He mainly performed in salons with about 30 people.


    Why?


    Well, its said he had a weak constitution, making it hard to project loudly, and he may have had stage fright. He was afraid of performing in halls full of people watching him.


    Wow, Chopin, of all people?


    Indeed, its strange.


    Jiyeon looks again at the fourth painting.


    Though the piano is empty, the faces of the Westerners in the audience behind the piano are vividly depicted. Unlike the third painting, this one feels more traditional, reminiscent of a recentlypleted ceiling fresco in a theater.


    Are there more paintings?


    Jeonghoon gestures towards a corner.


    Over there.


    Following his gesture, Jiyeon sees several canvases leaning against the wall. Slipping her fingers between them, she pulls out one after another, and then exims in surprise.


    "What''s this one about? It doesn''t seem rted to Chopin."


    A stormy ind.


    A lone house with an orange tin roof, and raindrops falling onto the roof.


    Behind the house, in the middle of a vastke, a small shadowy figure floats. The painting has an overall sad and lonely feeling.


    Jung Hoon, with his arms crossed, said, "Do you know the ''Raindrop Prelude''?"


    "Yes, it''s a piece by Chopin."


    "Do you know Liszt?"


    "Liszt? The ''Devil''s Pianist''?"


    "Yes, Paganini was the devil of the violin, Liszt was the devil of the piano."


    "What about him?"


    "Chopin and Liszt were friends."


    "Really? They seem so mismatched."


    "Yes, Liszt performed on grand stages and earned well, while Chopin gave lessons to nobles and only performed in salons. Chopin envied Liszt''s strong heart. But Liszt envied Chopin too, for his emotional and lyrical qualities."


    "And then?"


    "Chopin met a woman seven years his senior, George Sand, at a salon hosted by Countess Marie d''Agoult, Liszt''s lover. They fell passionately in love, and Sand genuinely cared for Chopin. As Chopin''s health worsened, her fiery love transformed into maternal affection."


    Jiyeon listened with interest as if hearing an old tale, and Jung Hoon continued.


    "Sand took the ailing Chopin for recuperation to Majorca Ind. One stormy day, Sand went to town and couldn''t return home due to the rain. Alone, Chopin worried about Sand andposed this piece. He heard the raindrops hitting the roof rhythmically in A t, imagined those drops forming ake, and himself drowning in it. He visualized his own tears falling over his heart and wrote the piece inspired by that image."


    "Ah... So that''s what this painting represents."


    Jung Hoon nodded and sighed.


    "I guess I haven''t yet managed to convey the meaning clearly enough without exnation."


    Jiyeon, feeling guilty for not recognizing the intent behind the diligently painted piece, coughed and tried to divert the conversation. Then, noticing many paintings still facing away, she went through them one by one with her fingers, and eximed in surprise.


    "Wow! Oppa, how many paintings have you made? Are all these rted to Chopin?"


    Jung Hoon silently scratched his head, and Jiyeon''s eyes widened at the sight of over thirty canvases leaning against the wall.


    "Amazing..."


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 Chapter 73 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 73 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    <i>2/3 Bonus chapter thanks to @Jiblob on Ko-fi</i>


    Lunchtime.


    At 1 PM, after the staff who had arrived at work at 10 AM had spent their morning, the lunch delivery arrived.


    Due to the office location of the Artist Company, it was burdensome to go downtown for lunch during the lunch hour, so they usually ordered food like this.


    Jiyong, who was mixing rice vigorously in arge bibimbap bowl with spicy pork and chunggukjang, asked while eating the rice stuck to his fingers.


    "Where''s the boss?"


    Yeonjeong, opening the packaging of kimchi and chives, replied.


    "He left about 30 minutes ago?"


    Yeongju, who camete, dragged a chair over and said.


    "He went out for an external schedule, so don''t wait and just eat."


    "Okay, Director. Jiyeon, let''s eat."


    As Jiyeon, who had been doing 3D work for the catalog, joined them, the table for four was set. Jiyong, who took a big spoonful of rice, nced at the paintings in the corner and asked.


    "But Director,"


    Yeongju, who slurped chunggukjang, answered.


    "Just call me unni, man."


    "Ah, but it''s still thepany."


    Jiyeon, who had her face buried in her rice bowl, interjected.


    "The boss also said to call him oppa. I''m going to start calling him that now."


    "Ah, really?"


    Jiyong, smiling broadly at Yeongju, asked.


    "Then, unni."


    "What?"


    "About Jeonghoon''s paintings. Did you hear how much he ns to draw?"


    ""


    Yeongju looks at the paintings piling up in the corner.


    Not a single one is finished.


    Most are just the central part of the thought, with lots of white space around them, meaning they are not final works but sketches.


    "I don''t know, I didn''t ask."


    Yeonjeong, holding a spoon, looks at the paintings and whistles.


    "We could make digital media art out of this."


    Hearing Yeonjeong''s words, Yeongju pauses with her spoon.


    It seemed like a good idea. Was Jeonghoon considering it too?


    Digital media art is aprehensive art.


    It''s the opera of the art world, where light and paintings, ces and music be one.


    With that many works, they could certainly create digital media art through looping yback.


    Of course, details like the use of light and music need more thought.


    "Anyone ever made digital media art?"


    Yeonjeong picks up her chopsticks.


    "It was an assignment in my third year."


    "Huh? Do they teach that in school nowadays?"


    "The professor of our major subject was sensitive to trends, so he squeezed it into the curriculum."


    "Were you the leader?"


    Many art school assignments are group projects.


    There''s a significant difference in skill and experience between those who have led a project and those who haven''t.


    Yeonjeong, called the ace of the painting department, nods as befits her name.


    "I hardly ever didn''t take charge when doing an assignment."


    Jiyongughs and interjects.


    "Honestly, if it weren''t for Yeonjeong, the painting department''s assignments wouldn''t have gone on. Hey, remember? The guy who lied about his grandmother passing away four times a year to skip group assignments."


    Grandmother, grandfather, uncle, aunt.


    It''s amazing how many of them pass away during group assignment periods.


    Of course, they''re all healthy and alive. They only pass away during assignments.


    Yeonjeong looks displeased, remembering those times.


    "Ah, it was so absurd I didn''t even want to respond. Just left his name out. Later, when he found out his name was left out, how furious he was. There''s a limit to shamelessness, really."


    Jiyong, waving his spoon,ughs.


    "That guy, did he graduate in the fall? In the end, he was short on credits, hehe."


    Yeonjeong, putting a spoonful into Jiyong''s bibimbap, said.


    "He skipped out on other ss assignments too. At first, when he said his grandmother passed away, everyone just put his name in, butter everyone caught on and left it out."


    Watching the conversation drift off topic, Yeongju interjects.


    "Can you do it again now if you''re asked?"


    Yeonjeong looks at Jeonghoon''s paintings for a moment and says.


    "But what about the work you''re doing now? Aren''t you busy with the work you''re doing already? That deadline is in three weeks."


    Yeongju flicks Jiyong''s forehead with her finger and says.


    "This guy''s here. You two can do it."


    "Should we start right away, then?"


    "No, let''s ask Jeonghoon when hees."


    Alright, then Ill continue with what I was doing until then.


    As lunchtime ends, the employees head off to their respective breaks. Youngju, thest one at the table, continues to gaze at Junghoons paintings, muttering to herself.


    But where did this guy go?


    The announcement of an external schedule was a lie. Youngju had merely watched Junghoon, who was frantically painting, suddenly leave. She checks the time worriedly and shakes her head with a click of her tongue.


    I feel sorry for leaving him to worry alone.


    She wants to share his concerns.


    But Junghoon probably wouldnt want that.


    Doing his own work in his own position. That''s what Jung Junghoon, the CEO of Artist Company, would likely prefer.


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 Chapter 73 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 73 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Should I go to Jongno?


    Whenever I feel this blocked, I have a habit of going to my spiritual home.


    Who knows? Maybe I''ll dream again at the art museum.


    Almost every time I visit an art museum, I dream.


    Right now, I''m walking in a suburban area slightly outside the city of Paju. Paju is an interesting town. The old city is quite worn, but the new city is sparkling, feeling very much like Gangnam or Bundang. The east side of the stream is the old city, and the west side is the new city, but for a walk, the old city side is better.


    Finding an old-looking yground, I sit on a rusted swing and rock back and forth, listening to the creaking sound.


    I used to ride a lot with my brother.


    Usually, he rode, and I pushed.


    My brother wanted to give me a ride, but I was uneasy with a visually impaired person behind me. Not because I might get hurt, but because I was worried he might bump into my back or hip and fall.


    Was it because I was thinking about my brother? Or was it just a cruel coincidence?


    From a distance, a yellow van drives in and stops in front of a building. The driver jumps out, opens the back door, and presses a button, unfolding stairs from the vehicle. Its a van for the disabled.


    Mom?


    The person who gets out of the van.


    Surprisingly, it''s our mom, whom I had seen just that morning.


    After getting out of the van, mom reaches back inside. Then, her hand and my brother''s hand meet.


    I run towards them, waving my hand.


    Mom! Brother!


    Was it because of my unexpected voice?


    Both mom and brother turn their heads towards me.


    Mom, with wide eyes, looks at her wristwatch and asks.


    Junghoon? What about your work?


    My brother fumbles with his hand and says.


    Junghoon?


    I hold both their hands and smile.


    I came out for a walk after lunch, the office is nearby.


    Being close to home and the office, such things happen.


    It''s rare to encounter family in the city during the day. Something I couldn''t have dreamed of when we lived apart.


    Have you guys eaten lunch? Should I buy something tasty?


    Mom dismisses the idea with her hand.


    What time do you think it is? We''ve already eaten. Haven''t you?


    I haven''t. My appetite is gone. But I can''t worry mom.


    Actually, I ate too, haha. But where are you headed?


    Instead of answering, mom looks up at the building where the van is parked. I see the sign for Paju National School for the Blind. Ah, she came for my brother. I quickly offer to help my brother instead of mom.


    Are you busy?


    No, Im free now. Hehe, I''m the boss, who''s going to say anything?


    My brotherughs, holding my hand.


    My brother, so cool. Can the boss of apany just roam around during work hours?


    Well, no, but nobody really says anything.


    Cool, my brother.


    Haha.


    Let''s spend the day like this.


    Its good to work, but from my experience, having time topletely let go can boost efficiency.


    I take my brother''s hand and greet his teacher at the school.


    While my brother is in ss, mom and I sit on a bench outside the ssroom, meeting other parents. They actively exchange information about disability welfare. Mom, always willing to do anything for my brother, is enthusiastic about exchanging information.


    Hearing unfamiliar information pass between them, I fall back into my own thoughts, even among family.


    How should I express it?


    The reason I drew so many pictures was to understand every aspect of Chopin''s life.


    I found stories that matched the keywords about him and verified whether they were true.


    And what was confirmed, I preserved in paintings.


    All the paintings were fine, but that''s just it.


    They weren''t the kind of paintings to be entrusted to a world-ss pianist and explore the world.


    Lost in thought, I receive a call from Youngju.


    Hey, Youngju.


    -Where are you?


    I''m in the city, met my brother and came to the school for the blind.


    -Oh, really? When are youing back?


    Dont worry about me, go do your stuff.


    -Junghoon.


    Yes?


    - Yeonjeong has some experience making digital media art, how about that?


    Digital media art. I had thought about it. The art museum of my dreams would have such works.


    Yeonjeong? Where?


    -She did it for a school project, but we would need to work on the quality.


    Hmm, that sounds good. Worth a try. But isn''t Yeonjeong busy?


    -Yeah, she can make time.


    Alright, Ill head back, let''s have a meeting.


    -Okay.


    I hang up and smile at my phone. Grateful for a friend who worries and thinks with me. After a quick look at mom, chatting with other parents, I peek into the ssroom to say goodbye to my brother.


    Standing at the front of the ssroom and waving at my brother, I realize the absurdity of what I''m doing. Trying to make eye contact with my visually impaired brother. No matter how much I wave, none of the students inside look my way. They are all blind.


    I quietly lower my hand and scratch my head.


    Then, the teachers voice reaches my ears.


    Now, when we converse, we experience nuances in timing. You all know this, right?


    Nuances in timing? What is that? The teacher continues.


    For example, lets say a man tells a woman, Youre really pretty. What does it mean?


    What does it mean? Does he think my brother is blind and stupid? Why is this in the curriculum?


    The teacher adds, What if we say it like this: Youre really pretty. How about now?


    Ah, the feeling changespletely. Thetter seems somewhat sarcastic.


    We, more than others, are sensitive to auditory responses. But we cannot see others expressions. Therefore, we shouldnt react too sensitively. Lets develop the habit of holding back our emotional responses until the other persons intentions are clearly conveyed.


    I couldn''t hear the rest. I stood still, rolling my eyes in thought.


    A change in nuance due to timing?


    I muttered to myself, almost without realizing.


    Chopin, the poet of the piano.


    Yes, the reason why Chopin could be called the poet of the piano.


    It was the technique of using timing to change the feeling, namely, Rubato.


    I''ve got it, the hint.


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 Chapter 74 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 74 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    "Do you need a 200-inch monitor? What will you use it for?"


    Monica, who was called out for dinner, asks while eating braised short ribs. Seeing Monica struggle with chopsticks to pick up the slippery ribs, I show her how to grab the end of the rib with her hands and tear it off.


    Monica looks at me quietly and asks.


    "Isn''t it rude to eat with hands in Korea?"


    "That''s an old saying, it''s okay to eat things like grilled gizzard shad with your hands, as long as it''s not a formal asion or in front of much older people."


    Monica hesitates for a moment and then starts tearing off the braised rib with her hands.


    "Wow, the meat just slides right off. It just disappears in your mouth without needing to chew! The food Jung-hoon introduces is always delicious."


    Hmm, it''s not even an expensive ribs ce, just the old Jongmyo gisaeng restaurant we used to go to. It''s about half the price of a typical Korean restaurant, but it used to be too expensive for us to afford. Monica looks around the shabby restaurant andughs.


    "But I guess I have to give up on the atmosphere when I''m with Jung-hoon."


    "Hmm."


    That''s true. I don''t know ces fit for entertaining such a beautiful woman.


    "But it''s delicious, right?"


    "Yes!"


    "Eat it with rice, it''ll be salty if you only eat the meat."


    For Europeans who are used to eating just one main dish, the concept of eating rice with side dishes seems to be an interesting experience. Monica, with an intrigued expression, ces a piece of rib meat on her rice and eats it, then wipes her mouth and asks.


    "Are you having dinner with me tonight? I heard you''ve been eating with Irina these days."


    "It''s six o''clock now. Irina eats after midnight. I''ll eat again then."


    "Wow, men are lucky. If I eat at this time, I can''t eatter at night."


    That''s why you''re slim. Ordinary people eat snacks at night too.


    Monica puts a piece of kkakdugi in her mouth and chews. Being Italian, she has a habit of wiping her mouth every time she puts something in it. Not all Italians do that, of course.


    "What are you going to do with a 200-inch monitor?"


    I exin my n to create digital media art for Irina''s stage. Since music will be taken care of by Irina''s live performance, I just need to create the rest.


    Monica puts down her spoon, rests her chin on her hand, and listens to my n.


    "But Irina doesn''t always y the same sequence of songs on her tour, right?"


    "That''s right, so I''ll put a different theme for each song. Once the song order is set, I''ll change the file order to make it easy to execute."


    "Oh, that''s a good idea?"


    Monica stretches andughs.


    "Okay, I''ll make it for you."


    Phew, that''s a relief. I was worried about where to get it and reached out to Monica as ast resort. Monica waves her finger and says.


    "But there has to be some benefit for me, right?"


    ".."


    What, there''s a price?


    Well, there''s no such thing as a free lunch in the world.


    Should I draw another picture for her? If that''s what she wants, I can do it anytime.


    "What benefit do you want?"


    "A contract."


    "Excuse me?''


    "Let''s write a contract."


    "About what kind of contract?"


    "About the thing you just asked me for. About my rights and your R/S in the business that wille from it."


    Oh, that.


    I just asked for a device to install on stage, what''s this about rights and R/S?


    "Well... Just handle it yourself. If you bring the contract, I''ll check it and sign it if there''s no problem, so just make it well."


    "Okay."


    Monica resumes eating and then asks in the middle.


    "But have you ever done digital media art? If you do it wrong, it could be worse than just a picture."


    "Fortunately, we have experienced people at thepany."


    "At thepany? Those employees who were students until recently?"


    Monica, who is close with Min-young, knows well about Artist Company.


    "Yes, that''s right."


    Monica''s face looks a bit disappointed. It makes sense because it means putting a work made by employees who have only experienced it as school projects on the stage of a world-famous pianist.


    I smile at Monica''s changing expression.


    "Don''t worry, I''ve got the right point this time too."


    Monica stares at my face and then slowly smiles.


    "Like when you painted my portrait?"


    Her portrait.


    That reminds me suddenly of Deputy Manager Sooyoung. Smiling, I nodded.


    "Yes, although I''m still notpletely confident. By the way, how''s Deputy Manager Sooyoung doing?"


    Monica pushed her hair behind her ears and nodded.


    "She''s been taking a lot of interest in arttely, even going to exhibitions on holidays."


    "Oh, are there any good exhibitionstely?"


    "There''s a Raoul Dufy exhibition at the Hangaram Art Museum."


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 Chapter 74 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 74 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    The originator of the phrase ''melody of colors'',


    France''s Raoul Dufy is holding an exhibition in our country.


    Although he passed away in 1953 and is ssified as a modern painter, he is as famous as the painters of the previous era.


    I remember a phrase from the front page of his art book I saw during my school days.


    "Life did not always smile at me, but I always smiled at life."


    What a beautiful philosophy of life.


    Dufy, who captured various themes like flowers,ndscapes, cities, and figures based on his outstanding sense of color and rhythm, was a painter who sang of the beauty of life through his art all his life.


    I nodded vigorously.


    "That''s a great exhibition to visit. I should go there sometime. But did Deputy Manager Sooyoung always like fine art?"


    Is that a foolish question?


    It''s natural for a member of the MG Electronics design team to have a high interest in art.


    Monica shook her head.


    "Sooyoung is more interested in contemporary design, not much in ssic fine art. Of course, Raoul is not a ssical art painter, but usually, she would attend design exhibitions rather than retrospectives of painters."


    Monica rests her chin on her hand and gestures at me with her eyes.


    "But you changed Sooyoung."


    I pointed at myself and widened my eyes.


    "Me?"


    "Haha."


    Monicaughed and replied.


    "Sooyoung changed her design goals after seeing the portrait you drew for me and the process of making the refrigerator."


    "Her goals?"


    Monica nodded in response.


    "Rather than just aesthetically pleasing designs, Sooyoung wants to create home appliance designs that also share moments of positivity and joy in life."


    I see.


    Raoul, who always praised the beauty of life even amidst pain and trials.


    Perhaps this exhibition was exactly what Sooyoung needed after revising her goals.


    However, hearing that my painting influenced someone''s life goals feels somewhat embarrassing.


    Feeling bashful, I closed my mouth, and Monica shifted the conversation back to work.


    "When do you need it by? Just one prototype, right?"


    "Yes, one is enough. But can it be done within two weeks?"


    "Two weeks? Wow."


    I didn''t want to rush the request.


    Having worked at MG Electronics for a month, I knew the amount of process, cost, and manpower it took to make just one product.


    "I''m sorry, but I really want to make it in time for Irina''s performance."


    After a moment of contemtion, Monica said,


    "It''s feasible since it''s not about making aplete product from scratch in two weeks, but rather adapting existing technology to create a 300-inch size."


    "Phew, that''s a relief."


    After all, who would make a 300-inch TV?


    Even in a house over a hundred square meters, a 300-inch TV would be toorge and straining on the eyes.


    I finished the meal with Monica and after making my request once more, parted ways with her. I had to go back to the office and start drawing. My painting needed to be transformed into a file by by Yeonjeong so she could create the digital media art.


    **


    Although I was treated to a meal, it was just a 15,000 won meal at the driver''s restaurant with braised short ribs.


    No man had ever called me out to such a shabby ce, said his piece, and then left. Jung Hoon is really unique.


    After waving his hand once, Jung Hoon took a taxi and left. Monica watched him leave and then headed towards the parking lot, taking out her phone.


    "Hello, Sooyoung? It''s Monica."


    -Yes, Monica.


    "Please call a meeting right away, and include the technology, design, marketing, and business teams."


    -All of them? Should we just call the heads?


    "Call everyone up to the assistant manager level."


    -What''s the meeting about?


    Monica opens her car door, smiling slightly.


    "It''s a new business item."


    -A new one? I haven''t been informed of anything yet.


    "We''ll start now."


    -Did you get approval from the higher-ups?


    "I''m about to seek that now. Oh, and I need a design coboration contract."


    -A contract? What kind?


    "Just like the one we did with Jung Hoonst time. I''ll see you at the office."


    Monica ends the call, starts the car, and dials another number on speakerphone.


    A deep male voice answers from the other end.


    -Um? Monica. What''s the matter?


    "CEO Jo."


    Jo Jae-hwan, CEO of MG Electronics.


    A person not easily approached by just anyone, but CEO Jo, who personally invited Monica from Italy, is someone she can talk tofortably.


    As Monica turns the steering wheel to exit the alley, she speaks.


    "It seems like the co-designer of Belle poque is about to cause another big stir."


    -Ah, that person. I forgot their name. Will it benefit us?


    "If there''s no benefit, we''ll make one and secure it, right?"


    -Haha, yes, that''s right.


    "Just approve one business for me. I''m heading to the office now to call a meeting."


    -What business is it?


    Exiting the alley onto a long, straight road, Monica steps on the elerator and says,


    "A small exhibition, turning one''s home into an art gallery."


    -Um?


    "We''ll need cooperation from the mobile app development team. It will be operated as a membership, so it''s not a one-time revenue. Let''s venture into the telmunications business, CEO."


    -............................


    "Oh, and I need approval for a single 300-inch monitor."


    Monica, throwing ideas rapidly.


    But CEO Jo knows her well. When she''s this excited, it surely means there''s something profitable in the works.


    Although he doesn''t fully understand yet, CEO Jo gives a hearty approval.


    -Let''s try whatever it is. I''ll hear the report when costs are incurred.


    "I won''t disappoint you."


    Monica''s car speeds along the darkening streets of Gangnam in the evening.


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 Chapter 75 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 75 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    <i>3/3 Bonus chapter thanks to everyone on Ko-fi. </i>


    <i>And a novel promotion offer from me: For every review on NU, I''ll release a bonus chapter (upto 5)! Happy Reading</i>


    It''s one o''clock in the morning.


    Finding a restaurant to go to daily with Irina is no easy task.


    Having quickly exhausted our list of restaurants, I eventually had to rely on the staff''s rmendations to find a decent ce.


    "This is a dish called Dwaeji Gukbap, originating from ces like Miryang and Busan in Gyeongsang-do, Irina."


    "Dwaeji Gukbap?"


    "Yes, it''s a dish where pork bones and meat are boiled together, then the cooked meat is sliced and served on top of rice in the vorful broth. Would you like to try it with more chives?"


    Irina seems fascinated by Korean soups like Gukbap. Honestly, before I had to exin it to her, I never thought of Gukbap or Bibimbap as a sombermoner''s food.


    These were meals quickly eaten by peddlers to get back on the road, by farmers to save time during harvest, or by soldiers to stave off hunger during war. That''s the origin of Gukbap and Bibimbap.


    Irina, being Polish, knows well about the pain of war, considering World War II began with Nazi Germany''s invasion of Pnd. Ever since learning about the history of these dishes, she often says she wants to try Gukbap when asked what she''d like to eat.


    As Irina tasted the steaming soup and blew gently on it, she said, "Hmm, it''s somewhat simr to Sundae-guk, but without the smell and a bit tangy."


    "Do you like it?"


    "Yes, every ce Jeong-hoon rmends is delicious."


    ording to Min-young, sinceing to Korea, Irina mostly dined at the hotel. They wouldn''t serve such dishes there. To truly experience a country''s culture, a hotel isn''t always the best choice.


    Min-young, while discussing Irina, mentioned she looks forward to dinners with me.


    I watched Irina eat with a touch of pity in my eyes.


    "A person starving all day to improve their performance."


    Anyone sacrificing something for their passion, regardless of profession, deserves respect. And honestly, the fact that she''s an extraordinarily beautiful woman also ys a part.


    Who would pass up the chance to dine daily with a beauty?


    Even today, dozens of men ogled Irina on our way to the restaurant. I felt like a victor, walking beside her through them.


    Ah, what am I thinking?


    I bit my lower lip to regain focus.


    "Um, Irina."


    "Yes?"


    "About rhythm."


    "Yes."


    "They say rhythm is the most important principle in musicposition, right?"


    When music came up, Irina put down her spoon. She bes very serious when ites to music.


    "Well, technically, it''s not rhythm, but ''rhythm'' derived from the Greek ''flow'', meaning the flow and movement of sound."


    Ah, so that''s what rappers mean when they talk about flow. It''s just rhythm, why use such an obscure word?


    Irina continued, "Beat, ent, length, regrity, repetition, or change  all these are aspects of rhythm. Since music is perceived as sound by humans, it''s easier to first notice the melody, but the flow of the notes is also a type of rhythm."


    That makes sense.


    Music isposed as rhythm repeats, transforms, and connects.


    The continuous movement in nature inspires musicians, just like Chopin was inspired by raindrops falling on a roof.


    Irina said, "You must have heard music that instantly catches your ear."


    Indeed, like a new song that feels familiar, one you find yourself singing along to before it even ends. Those are usually the hits.


    Yes, a song that seems familiar even though it''s the first time you''ve heard it, and you find yourself singing along before the song ends. Usually, those are the hits.


    "But the sophistication of tone and thepleteness of the performancee from the rhythm. In the case of pop music, the millennial hits usually capture both melody and rhythm."


    "So, did the development of music start with rhythm?"


    "It evolved from rhythm, melody, to harmony."


    "What kind of art is music to you, Irina?"


    "."


    After a moment of thought, Irina answered,


    "The art of time."


    Indeed, just like someone who has spent a lifetime studying Chopin, Irina speaks of the essence of music as the nuances of timing, affirming that music is, in essence, the art of time.


    Having confirmed that her answer aligned with the hint I had in mind, there was no more reason to hesitate.


    Irina nodded in agreement with what she had just said.


    The most important thing to dynamically express the highs and lows of sound is rhythm. Also, paying sensitive attention to the rest notes, just as much as to the notes, is what brings music to life. Because a rest note is also music, just without sound.


    A rest note is also music, just without sound.


    I had indeed caught on to the right thing.


    I smiled slightly and gestured towards the stew.


    Im sorry for interrupting your meal. Your food is getting cold, please go ahead and eat.


    Oh, right.


    And, Irina.


    Yes?


    Your most confident performance. Do you have it recorded?


    ..


    Irina fell into thought and then nodded.


    Theres a live performance album from Berlin in my collection. The piece I performed there, F. Chopin, Nocturne No.13 in C minor, is what I''m most confident about. Ive been wanting to reproduce that sound, but its been difficult.


    Irinas face fell a bit gloomy.


    Reproducing the same sound one has yed is also a challenge in the world of pianists.


    I wonder, is it the same with art?


    Contemporary painters mainly create abstract paintings.


    I''ve heard that even if they perfectly replicate the feeling, the air, and the flow of time, it''s not easy to produce the same painting again.


    I made a note and said,


    "Please tell me about the album that contains the best live performance for each piece. If you can''t think of it now, you can text meter."


    "Why is that?"


    I simply answered with a smile.


    "Let''s start with dinner for now."


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 Chapter 75 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 75 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    A few dayster, at the W Hotel theater.


    Irina, who had be ustomed to the theater where she practiced every day, hesitates upon seeing workers hanging in the air, a scene unlike the usual quiet atmosphere.


    The beautiful Monica, standing in the middle of the stage, ps her hands and shouts.


    "A little more to the left! The wire is twisted, there! No, not there, a bit more to the side! Yes, about 10 degrees to the right. Okay, good. Fix it like that."


    Irina, watching from the audience seats for a moment, steps lightly onto the stage.


    "What''s going on, Monica?"


    Monica, wearing a red blouse, smiles with her charming, simrly colored lips.


    "Have you been well, Irina? I came here at Jeong-hoon''s request."


    "Jeong-hoon?"


    Irina''s face lights up at the mention of Jeong-hoon. Monica doesn''t miss her expression.


    Monica said with a faint smile,


    "You''ve been having dinner together every evening for over a week now, haven''t we?"


    "..."


    A blush spreads over the ice maiden''s face.


    "Oh, well."


    "Looks like you''ve developed feelings*."


    [T/N: Its "," a Korean term derived from Hanja, representing aplex mix of affection, love, and emotional attachment that doesn''t directly trante to English.]


    "Feelings?"


    "Oh, it''s a Korean word. Or was it Chinese? Anyway, it''s a word with a lot of meanings. I learned it because it seems to epass a lot of positive emotions."


    "How do you use it?"


    Monica searches for the character on her phone and shows it.


    "Like this."


    "Hmm, it''s an interesting character. Is this also Korean? Korean seems more concise."


    "This is a Chinese character, but apparently, it''s notmonly used in China."


    "Hmm, I see."


    Irina stops the conversation and looks up.


    A huge TV monitor is being brought onto the stage, which only had wires installed. The workers, pushing the monitor on a wheeled cart, shout,


    "A bit more to the right! Yes! Push it like that!"


    "If you bring it in like that, you can''t hang the wire, you know. Come in from the back!"


    It seems this is what Jeong-hoon had requested.


    Realizing what Jeong-hoon''s artwork might be through the monitor, Irina asked Monica,


    "Digital media art?"


    Monica nodded.


    "It looks like Jeong-hoon is bing a Wagner this time. He''s such an interesting person."


    "Why is he interesting? Digital media art isn''t unfamiliar to modern people."


    Monica crosses her arms andughs.


    "When I first met him, he reminded me of Alphonse Mucha, the Czech painter who represented Art Nouveau."


    Irina, looking at the ceiling painting Jeong-hoon drew, tilts her head.


    "The styles arepletely different. That painting looks like it''s from 18th-century Austria."


    Monica shrugs with a smile.


    "Right, Min-yeong''s mother''s portrait and that painting give off a vibe as if Klimt hase back to life."


    Monica, looking up at the ceiling painting with Irina, said,


    "But now he seems to be following the path of Wagner, who created aprehensive art of poetry, dance, and music. But that might be my misconception."


    Misconception?


    A strange way of conversation, acknowledging one''s own words as a misconception. Irina looks at Monica with a face that seems to ask what she''s talking about.


    Monica gestures with her eyes and says,


    "Look at the angle of the monitor."


    The monitor, being pulled up into the air by workers ondders using wires. Irina, still still watching the monitor not yet hung properly, asks,


    "It doesn''t seem to be hung correctly yet."


    "No, it will be hung at that angle."


    "..."


    Irina looks at the monitor again.


    It''s strange. The painting should be installed at an angle visible to the audience.


    In fact, her request to Jeong-hoon to provide a painting was initiated with the hope that the audience would feel Chopin''s music more deeply. She wanted them to see the painting and music together and experience its lyricism and emotions in detail.


    But the center of the direction in which the monitor is being installed is not the audience seats.


    Instead, the monitor, being installed in a direction that is more visible from where she sits at the piano, will appear tilted when viewed from the audience seats.


    "Will it be visible to the audience if installed like that?"


    Monica, resting her arms on her waist, says,


    "The technology of MG is amazing. Even if viewed at an angle, the panel is clear."


    "..."


    But why hang it like that? This is her stage, not a tech exhibit to showcase MG Electronics'' technology.


    Monica''s voice reaches Irina, who is quietly watching the monitor.


    "The person Jeong-hoon wants to show this painting to is not the audience, Irina."


    What does she mean?


    A painter not showing a painting to an audience, spectators? Then for whom did he paint it?


    Monica, receiving Irina''s puzzled gaze, smiles and says,


    "Jeong-hoon wants you to see the painting, Irina."


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 Chapter 76 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 76 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Two days before the performance.


    Irina, who has been touring worldwide for over ten years, is not particrly nervous as the concert approaches. She simply wakes up at the same time and maintains the same amount of practice.


    She has her performance dresses prepared in advance, so when she arrives in the country of the performance, she focuses on adapting to the stage.


    Skipping breakfast and lunch as usual, Irina arrives at the theater and nods to the security guards outside. Then, the security team leader approaches her and says,


    "Jeong-hoon Ban is inside."


    Irina''s eyes widen in surprise.


    He usuallyes after 9 PM, silently listens to her y, and then they have dinner together when her practice ends at midnight. But now, it''s only 2 PM.


    "When did he arrive?"


    "About 30 minutes ago."


    "Did hee alone?"


    "Yes, but just a few moments ago, CEO Yoo Min-young and Monica followed him inside."


    "....................."


    Min-young and Monica came too?


    Why? Did theye to observe her practice and check on her condition because the performance is in two days?


    Then only CEO Yoo should havee.


    Why is Monica here, who has nothing to do with the performance?


    With these questions, Irina heads towards the theater.


    Passing through the lobby, she steps into the theater with its open door and spots the three people sitting in the front row. As she approaches them, she raises her voice slightly and asks,


    "Why are you here at this time?"


    Hearing her voice, Jeong-hoon is the first to stand up and turn around. The other two also stand up a littleter and bow to her. Irina returns the greeting and asks again,


    "Is there something going on?"


    Jeong-hoon fumbles in his pocket and pulls out something small and ck.


    "The painting you requested has beenpleted."


    Ah, the painting.


    In fact, she''s been curious ever since Monica installed that monitor. Seeing the small object in Jeong-hoon''s hand, Irina nods.


    "You saved it in a USB format."


    "Yes, considering you have to travel for your tour."


    Irina nods and looks at Min-young. Min-young smiles at her, answering her unspoken question.


    "I came to check on the musician and the painting that will adorn the stage of my theater for the first time."


    "....................."


    Irina is at a loss for words. She can''t argue with the ownering to her own theater. Irina''s gaze shifts to Monica. Monica grins and says,


    "I came for a product demonstration."


    Huh? What does that mean?


    Monica points to the monitor with her thumb. Irina looks at the monitor, puzzled.


    "Did you rece the monitor? It''s different from thest one."


    It''s definitely a different product.


    The monitor initially installed had ck stic around the screen edges, but this one has a luxurious finish, with the edges adorned like a golden frame.


    Monica whistles and wipes her forehead.


    "It was tough to match the timing. Jeong-hoon was in such a hurry."


    Jeong-hoon smiles awkwardly. What''s all this about? Monica continues,


    "Let me introduce you to MG Electronics'' new product, the Sepia Canvas Ban Edition!"


    Sepia Canvas Ban Edition? That''s a strange name. Now that she thinks about it, Jeong-hoon''s face turns red as Monica shouts the name. Irina looks back and forth among the three and asks,


    "Van Edition? Is that named after Jeong-hoon''s surname?"


    Monica nods andughs.


    "From 30 inches to 50, 65, 75, 100, 150, 200 inches. Products tailored to customer preferences have been released."


    Irina, still not understanding, looks back at the monitor and asks,


    "Isn''t it just a monitor?"


    Monica flicks her index finger and then runs up to the stage, operating a remote control on top of the piano. As she does, the monitor lights up and a painting beautifully appears, spreading from the center in a circr motion.


    Irina, looking at the painting, asks,


    "The Terrace at Sainte-Adresse. It''s a ude M painting. Why this?"


    The beautiful painting with a blue sea background and gorgeous flowers blooming in abundance appears even more beautiful on the 300-inch monitor. But what does it mean?


    Monica, putting down the remote control, says,


    "Many people want to hang a painting in their home. But there are many considerations to make that a reality."


    Monica raised her index finger and said,


    "First, moving bes a hassle because of all the extra stuff. Plus, you have to consider if the new house even has space to hang the painting. You can''t just find a house that suits a painting."


    She made a good point. Monica then pulled out a small box from behind the piano.


    "Here''s the 30-inch model. Even in a small house, you wouldn''t have trouble hanging a 30-inch painting, right? Plus, it has a stand. If you don''t want to hang it on the wall, just stand it up. It can rotate horizontally and vertically."


    Irina shrugged her shoulders.


    "But isn''t it just a monitor in the end?"


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 Chapter 76 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 76 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Monica showed the back of the box. Though the words were too far to read, Monica pointed to a section with some description and said,


    "This product, as long as it''s connected to Wi-Fi, allows you to view paintings from anywhere. We''ve disabled TV broadcasting and inte-based OTT programs to reduce weight. Only paintings and some music are disyed. As I mentioned earlier, it''s very lightweight. The 30-inch monitor is about the weight of a portable tablet."


    Monica made a gesture as if hammering a nail and added,


    "That means it''s very easy to hang on the wall."


    Irina still looked confused. Monica, observing her expression, operated the remote control.


    Then, the painting slowly rotated and disappeared, and from the center, another painting emerged through an expanding circle of colors. As Irina looked at the remote control with wide eyes, Monica showed her the button and smiled.


    "Users can change the picture to their liking by pressing the remote. You can set a timer for 1 minute, or 10 minutes, even an hour, to switch to different pictures."


    Irina then shows interest.


    "Does it show paintings that haven''t been stored separately?"


    Monica nods her head.


    "MG Electronics owns a telmunicationspany as well. Just install a simple app and pay a monthly fee of 2,900 won, and you can enjoy over 100,000 masterpieces. You can choose paintings to your taste, or let the AI, which considers the user''s preferences through big data, automatically set them for you."


    With just this, your home bes a gallery.


    No need to buy expensive paintings or carry them around when moving. Just this one thing would change the quality of the living room interior.


    Irina smiles, finally understanding Monica''s words.


    "As always, Monica knows exactly what''s profitable and acts ordingly."


    "Thank you for thepliment."


    Monica bows her head slightly and smiles a bit sheepishly.


    "Actually, I came to see Jeong-hoon''s painting, that''s just an excuse."


    "Ha ha."


    Irina''s gaze turns to Jeong-hoon.


    "What did you paint?"


    Jeong-hoon, still slightly flushed from having an electronic product named after him, hesitates before speaking.


    "I wasmissioned to paint Chopin."


    Right.


    He had been asked to paint Chopin.


    Not just his portrait, but like Klimt''s Beethoven Frieze, to capture his music in the painting.


    What kind of painting would it be?


    Imagine.


    Chopin, the poet of the piano.


    If he had created a digital media art piece, did he paint a series of Chopin''s life, filled with loneliness, solitude, meticulousness, and delicacy? What would it feel like to y piano beside a painting of Chopin performing in a small salon?


    Irina feels excited, but calmly prepares to appreciate the painting, moving to sit next to Jeong-hoon.


    Then Jeong-hoon stops her.


    "Your ce is not here."


    "Really?"


    "Over there."


    Jeong-hoon points. There is her piano.


    Is he saying that the pianist''s ce is naturally in front of the piano? Or to sit where the painting is best viewed?


    ''Monica said Jeong-hoon wants the person who views his painting to be me, not the audience.''


    It must mean to go to the best viewing spot.


    Irina hesitates for a moment, then slowly climbs onto the stage and sits in front of the piano, looking at Jeong-hoon.


    Jeong-hoon, holding the remote control, says,


    "Please perform F. Chopin, Nocturne No.13 in C minor, Irina."


    Irina''s eyebrows twitch.


    It''s rude to casually ask a pianist to y. Especially if the other person is a professional. It''s like asking a singer to sing or an actor to perform on the spot.


    Irina looks around the stage again.


    Right, this is a stage. It''s not a rude request to y anywhere.


    Besides, she came to practice anyway.


    There are three unexpected audience members, but soon she''ll be performing in front of thousands, so it doesn''t matter.


    Quietly, she opens the piano lid and ces her hands on the keys.


    As she raises her arms to start ying, Jeong-hoon operates the remote control.


    Irina, who usually ys with her eyes closed and not looking at the keys, nces at the monitor as the image changes ording to Jeong-hoon''s operation. She guesses that it might start with a painting of Chopin''s childhood.


    But the painting on the monitorpletely shatters her expectations.


    "A tree?"


    A single tree stands in the rain.


    A lone tree, standing high and alone, bravely holds itself against the falling rain.


    Irina, having already started her ying motion, keeps her eyes on the painting, performing a quiet and beautiful piece. Expecting the painting to change soon, she stares intently at it until her hands suddenly stop.


    The music, which had been spreading like waves from the stage, suddenly halts, creating a silence more profound than before the performance began.


    Irina''s long eyes flutter.


    She frowns and tilts her head while looking at the painting.


    After ncing at the keyboard and then back at the painting, Irina signals Jeong-hoon with her finger.


    "Sorry, let''s start from the beginning."


    Jeong-hoon silently operates the remote, pulling the screen forward. As Irina takes a deep breath and raises her hands again, Jeong-hoon presses the y button in time.


    Once more, rain falls on the tree in the still image.


    About twenty bars in, the performance stops again.


    Irina, her face flushed, signals again with her finger.


    "From the beginning, please."


    Jeong-hoon maniptes the remote, and the performance restarts. Again, the ying stops, and Irina''s voice is heard.


    "Again!"


    It takes nearly an hour for Irina toplete the piece.


    Perfectly pressing thest note, Irina trembles as she feels the reverberation of the sound.


    Her head is raised to the sky, her eyes tightly closed.


    Jeong-hoon, watching her, smiles at the sight.


    Jeong-hoon softly pped and said in a low voice,


    "Your performance was perfect, Irina. Your performance in Berlin was filled with such perfection and inner delicacy."


    Snapped out of her reverie by Jeong-hoon''s words, Irina still gazing upwards, smiles brightly.


    Tears glistened in her long, beautiful eyes.


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 Chapter 77 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 77 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    [MAN ssic] Pianist ''Irina Sevanova'' a Titan among Titans!


    [Culture News, MAN, Reporter Eun-seong Park]


    Irina Sevanova, known as the giant of the piano, is a musician actively touring worldwide starting from Europe, and she is also the hope of all the impoverished.


    The Holy Cross Church in Warsaw, Pnd, known to the public for housing Chopin''s heart, is where she grew up in the orphanage.


    Abandoned in front of the church barely three months old, at four years old, one night when everyone was asleep, she was drawn to the sound of Chopin''s piano in the chapel, where she first pressed the piano keys and knew this was her world.


    Chopin was the cross of life and the savior for the hopeless child.


    Now, she has be the savior and role model for other hopeless children.


    Born in Pnd in 1994, Irina started ying the piano at the age of four and held her first solo recital at seven. Gaining recognition from winning the Chopin Piano Competition in 2002, she gradually became famous worldwide, especially after turning 16 in the mid-2010s.


    Her performance of F. Chopin''s Nocturne No.13 in C minor at a solo concert in Berlin in 2010 received critical acim and is cited as the reason for her current poprity. Her beautiful, doll-like, expressionless appearance also contributed to her fame.


    In 2011, she started her first North American tour and held her debut concert in Korea, garnering high expectations from many fans. She is currently an honorary professor at the Warsaw Music Hall.


    Before discussing the performance, the writer recalled his evaluation of her.


    There is nonguage in Irina''s performance. Reflecting on his own experiences, where focusing on the keyboard hinders piano ying and focusing onnguage hinders writing poetry, he perceives a moment of immersion, emptying himself, as meditative, elegant, lyrical, rich in nuance, and emotionally felt. Sometimes it dramatically intensifies, changing the atmosphere.


    However, her recent performance in Korea is said to be different from her previous performances.


    Firstly, her ying style became more delicate, with a strange charm in her keyboard touch and rhythm.


    It was a perfect performance that she hadn''t been able to replicate since the 2010 Berlin concert.


    Her clean octave jumps, lingering notes, and the cunning push and pull of following the notes reached an artistic level.


    It''s probably because she understands Chopin, one of the world''s most belovedposers, better than anyone else, despite being a strong keyboardist and a woman.


    We can''t hear it, but if we''re lucky enough to hear Chopin y, I''d probablypare it to Irina''s performance this time.


    Wondering who is superior.


    The writer was greatly impressed by this performance.


    Also, W Tree Hannam''s ''Catb,'' which opened with the world-renowned pianist''s performance, is receiving much attention. This medieval castle, built in the Baroque style, brings the soul of its visitors to Austria''s Ringstrasse.


    The recently discussed theater''s ceiling painting is also very beautiful.


    It was unusual to see most of the audience entering before the performance, looking up to admire the ceiling painting. After the performance, photos verifying their attendance and the beautiful ceiling painting circted on social media, bing a topic of discussion.


    This performance differed from her others as it also included digital media art, with tranquilndscapes and rainy scenes that matched Chopin''s delicate music, receiving positive reviews.


    Netizens on SNS expressed regret that Irina''s performance was only held once, eagerly anticipating an announcement for the next performance to visit this beautiful theater.


    Article Entry: September 11, 2023, 10:39 AM


    **


    Indeed, Irina is a world-ss pianist.


    Her performance became a huge topic, receiving praise from music experts and was discussed for a long time after.


    It''s even more gratifying that her performance received positive reviews from the experts.


    Irina''s Performance was Perfect Chopin Itself!


    What Changed Her? A Perfect Reproduction of the Berlin Performance


    Warsaw Music Hall, Negotiations for Irina Sevanova''s Appointment as a Full Professor


    New York Carnegie Hall to Re-host Irina''s Performance Within This Year


    Young-ju, looking at me searching for news on my phone, slumped on the sofa in the corner of the office, rested his chin on his hand and said.


    "Hey."


    "Yeah."


    "Happy?"


    "Yeah."


    "Bastard."


    "Ha-ha."


    Young-ju is seriously upset right now. I confidently promised to get RVIP tickets through Min-young but couldn''t deliver due to an enormous booking rush that crashed the site right after it opened.


    "Sorry, sorry. But honestly, I couldn''t go either, so you should understand that much, right?"


    Youngju growled, baring her teeth.


    "You, man, you saw something even better than the actual concert."


    ".................."


    Right. That day, the glorious moment witnessed by just the three of us. I was there too. It was a performance far more meaningful and memorable than the public concert.


    I made excuses to Youngju, ncing at him.


    "But you got to take a photo together."


    "Look at SNS, man! There are tons of people who got photos with Irina at the concert!"


    ".........................."


    Was Irina always so amodating to her fans? Hmm, looks like I owe Youngju some grilled intestines or something.


    "Alright, then I''ll treat you to something nice after work tod"


    I couldn''t finish my sentence.


    A loud noise interrupted me.


    Crash!!


    "Kyaah!!!"


    What''s that, did someone get hurt?


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 Chapter 77 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 77 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    I reflexively turned my head and sprang up from my seat.


    At the office door.


    Yeonjeong, who was moving something, had spilled trays and dishes on the floor. The broken dishes were scattering on the floor, but Yeonjeong''s eyes were elsewhere, her hand covering her mouth, frozen.


    I saw the beautiful ice beauty standing at the office door and muttered in a hesitant posture.


    "Irina?"


    Is this a dream?


    This is our office in Paju, why is Irina here?


    I rubbed my eyes and looked at the situation again.


    Yeonjeong, Jiyeon, Jiyong, Youngju  all of them frozen in ce. The huge bodyguards were inspecting the interior, while the employees, unable to move, just stared at Irina''s face.


    I need to get a grip.


    What is this situation?


    I greeted the bodyguards, familiar from seeing them daily at Irina''s practice, with a nod and approached her.


    "Irina? Weren''t you leaving tomorrow? What brings you to Paju?"


    Irina smiled softly and said,


    "After practice ended, Jung Hoon didn''te to see me, so I came myself."


    What?


    What does that mean?


    The employees'' heads all snapped towards me. What misunderstanding are you guys having?


    I asked, confused,


    "What do you mean?"


    Irina grinned and said,


    "I wanted to eat delicious Korean food introduced by Jung Hoon before I leave Korea tomorrow."


    "Oh."


    So, it was about food, of course.


    Iughed awkwardly and said,


    "There can''t be a tasty ce here... haha."


    Then, Youngju suddenly interjects,


    "Let''s go to Shimhaksan!"


    Huh? Why suddenly to the mountain?


    Jiyeon joins in,


    "Brother, take her to that acorn dish ce we went tost time!"


    Oh, acorns... Ah, that ce with acorn jelly, pancakes, and acorn noodles. I''ve been there once with the kids.


    I asked Irina,


    "Do you know about acorns?"


    "Acorn? Of course."


    "Theres a restaurant that makes food with that. Do you want to go?"


    Irina asked, incredulous,


    "You eat acorns? Then what do the Korean squirrels eat? If humans eat that too."


    "............"


    I guess that''s a perspective a foreigner can have.


    Well, let''s just take her out.


    As I was about to leave the office with Irina, I suddenly felt a burning gaze and turned around.


    All four employees were ring at me.


    It feels like if I go alone, I might not return from a journey across an impassable river.


    It''s 5:30 PM. It''s not time to leave yet, but I guess it''s fine for one day.


    And Seo Youngju, that girl, is spitting fire from her eyes. I really might die if I just go.


    I asked Irina,


    "Can the employeese too?"


    The office, about to burst with unbearable tension, dramatically rxed. Irina nced at the employees and smiled brightly.


    "Of course."


    Phew, that''s a relief. I guess I''ll survive.


    The murderous intent in the employees'' eyes faded.


    As we stepped outside, I saw the car Irina arrived in and the bodyguards'' cars.


    Youngju decided to bring the kids in her car, and I alone got into Irina''s car. So this is the car a world-famous pianist rides. What kind of car is this? Rolls Royce? It''s my first time seeing it, but it looks incredibly stylish.


    The bodyguard opened the car door.


    I was awestruck by the interior.


    Sitting on the seat, which must cost millions, I''m amazed by the incredibly soft cushioning. Irina, seated opposite,ughs at my expression. Feeling embarrassed as if caught acting like a country bumpkin, I give an awkward smile. Irina then says to me.


    "Junghoon."


    "Yes?"


    "I''m really thankful to you. Thanks to you, I was able to recreate my performance from the Berlin concert. Well, I will be able to do so in the future."


    "Haha."


    "How did youe up with that idea?"


    I didn''t have enough time to study Chopin.


    I focused on studying Irina''s performances.


    Chopin''s music might seem like it''s okay to disrupt the rhythm, but it''s actually not. Music is ruined when rubato is used as a cover forcking rhythm or for the sake of showing off.


    I managed to recreate the art of timing that Irina once achieved, perfectly syncing with the swaying of leaves and branches and the timing of raindrops. This became her metronome during performances.


    "Haha, well. It''s all because Irina is amazing, and I was able to perform seeing that."


    After all, isn''t that something not just anyone can do?


    Irina looks at me quietly and then says.


    "But I feel sorry for you."


    "What for?"


    "Your art is incredible, but it''s not getting the attention it deserves. You should be receiving much higher recognition than you are now."


    "Haha."


    That''s right, I saw it in the article earlier too. Just one line mentioning that digital media art was also presented at this concert.


    "It doesn''t matter, if people didn''t see it as art, then it''s understandable."


    Irina bristled in response.


    "That''s not right!"


    I looked at Irina, who was getting angry on my behalf, and smiled.


    "What I wanted wasn''t for my paintings to get attention. It was for my art and your music to synergize and create a new realm of art. That was my goal. Whether my paintings are seen as non-art or art, I don''t care. If my art has changed someone, that''s proof enough that it''s art."


    Irina was speechless for a while after hearing my words. She then smiled broadly and said.


    "You are a true artist, Junghoon."


    Haha, even if it''s just ttery, it feels good to hear.


    Step by step, I''m moving forward, and one day, everyone will recognize me as an artist.


    That''s enough for now. My client recognizes me, and that''s all that matters.


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 Chapter 78 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 78 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    A few days after Irina returned to Pnd, I received a call from her.


    "Do you want to use my paintings as educational material?"


    -Yes, I mentioned your paintings to Professor Yeji from the piano department.


    Isn''t Yeji a Korean female name? I didn''t know it was also a name in Pnd. Irina''s voice came through the phone.


    -I told the professor that the ten files you gave me are time art pieces expressing Chopin''s rubato, and I yed them in front of her. She was so moved by the simultaneous appreciation of the artwork and performance that she proposed to use them immediately as teaching materials at the Warsaw Conservatory.


    Is this story applicable to someone other than Irina?


    It was about studying and painting Irina, not Chopin.


    Of course, it''s not a bad story from my perspective, but the education of Chopin, a master who needs to be constantly reinterpreted, shouldn''t be distorted into Irina''s performance because of me.


    Just because she''s currently considered the best interpreter of Chopin doesn''t mean she will be the only one in the future.


    I calmly conveyed these thoughts. Irina listened seriously and agreed.


    -That''s true, Ban. You have a deep thought process. If it were me, I would have epted the offer right away.


    Honestly, it''s a pity.


    An artist''s work being used as teaching material at the Warsaw Conservatory?


    That''s enough to make headlines with hundreds of trucks of articles.


    But I''d rather not be a viin of the century who creates irreversible mistakes due to my greed.


    Think about it.


    What if, in about 100 years, it''s revealed that Chopin''s music, which has been interpreted until now, was misinterpreted?


    And what if it turns out that I was the cause of that?


    All the students growing up from 100 years from now will point fingers at my name.


    So, the painting, which was not drawn from studying Chopin''s music, should not be teaching material.


    "I''m also regretful, but I think it''s right to decline, Irina. Please thank them for the offer."


    -Yes, Ban.


    "Are you still in Pnd?"


    -Yes, I''m leaving for the United States the day after tomorrow.


    "Is it for a tour again?"


    -Yes, I''ve been re-invited to Carnegie Hall.


    Wow, Carnegie Hall. And a re-invitation at that. It''s my wish to go there and see a performance. She really is in a different league.


    "Have a great performance in the U.S. and always take care of your health, Irina."


    -Can I call you from time to time?


    "Are you going to contact me asionally?"


    -Is that not okay?


    Why wouldn''t it be? Knowing a celebrity like you would be an honor for my family.


    "No, that''s great, haha. Call me anytime."


    After a pleasant conversation with Irina, I hung up the phone. Although the call was enjoyable, my mind is a bit cluttered now. Putting my phone in my pocket, I looked up and saw the sign in front of the building.


    Today''s Exhibition: Toulouse-Lautrec Moulin Rouge.


    When did this change?


    Last time, it said they were preparing for the next exhibition. While I was away for a few weeks, the exhibit hadpletely changed. Unlike the case with Teacher Mucha, I couldn''t see thest appearance of Klimt.


    In hister years, Klimt spent his life with Emilie Flge, his sister-inw and wife of his deceased brother. When you search for him on the inte, you can find a photo of Klimt in hister years, wearing a sack-like dress, standing in a garden with Emilie.


    Although she was his brother''s wife, Klimt loved her dearly and left many paintings of her. In fact, the strange clothes in the photo were designed by Emilie. Despite being in an era when women were undervalued, she was a talented individual who created her own brand and influenced the fashion industry.


    Klimt and Emilie exchanged numerous letters and postcards for over 30 years.


    These contained not only stories about each other but also discussions about work, and Emilie''s opinions and advice. Klimt, who found writing difficult, sent her hundreds of postcards and letters. On some days, he sent as many as eight postcards.


    However, after Klimt''s death, Emilie burned most of these letters. Klimt disliked revealing his private life and carefully hid it, and it seems Emilie understood this aspect of him.


    Klimt died of Spanish flu after living as a hemiplegic due to a stroke, and hisst will is still famous.


    ''Bring Emilie to me!''


    Love sought until the moment of death.


    I wanted to see thisst appearance of Klimt. It''s a real pity.


    I looked up at the sign again.


    "Toulouse-Lautrec."


    He''s certainly a famous painter, but he wasn''t one of my favorites. Like all art, preferences in painting vary ording to taste. Even as a painter, one tends to have preferred artists. That''s why I''m not particrly interested in this.


    Well, it should be fine.


    The reason I visited this art museum in Jongno today wasn''t to see the exhibition anyway.


    I looked around the building.


    There''s a kiosk for ticketing in the corridor on the first floor.


    Apart from the stairs going up to the second floor and down to the basement, there''s nothing special on the first floor.


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 Chapter 78 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 78 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    "Where''s the museum office?"


    I came here today to make a personal donation to this museum.


    I''m no longer the penniless painter wandering around Ikseon-dong. I''m the respectable representative of apany now, with quite a hefty pocket.


    These days, it feels like I''m raking in money.


    You know, like money just keepsing in even when I''m doing nothing?


    After painting the ceiling of the W Tree Hotel''s theater,panies have been eagerly approaching my artistpany. Although we missed out on some opportunities due to our small staff, we''ve already finished the firstmissioned work and are in the process ofpleting the next. The job after that is already lined up.


    The sales of Belle poque are going smoothly, bringing in quite a bit of money, and this revenue is sustainable. Also, the monitor with the embarrassing name Iunched will be released soon. Monica is a great strategist, so she''ll probably do well this time too. It''s not a joint design like the refrigerator, I''m just lending my name, so the R/S is small, but it still bes a continuous source of ie.


    The thought of the monitor makes my face turn red again.


    "Goodness, I''m not Michael Jordan, and yet products named after me areing out."


    Let''s head to the second floor.


    There can''t possibly be an art gallery without an office.


    For the first time, I head up to the second floor instead of the basement. However, on the second floor, there are only two tightly locked iron doors. Going up to the third floor, I find the staircase blocked by an iron gate locked with a huge padlock. Annoyed, I shake the gate and then head back down to the first floor.


    "What kind of ce is this, with no contact number for inquiries?"


    It''s fundamentallycking. No wonder there are no customers.


    "Really, could it go bankrupt like this?"


    I n to regrly support the gallery personally. With my current ability, I can afford at least the monthly rent for the gallery. The biggest worry for small business owners is the rent. If I can cover that, they shouldn''t go bankrupt. It''s just that I can''t find anywhere to give the money.


    I look back at the exhibition sign, then buy a ticket and enter the exhibition hall.


    There might be an office inside the exhibition hall.


    As I descend halfway down the stairs to the basement, faint music reaches my ears. Whose music will it be this time?


    Listening carefully, I nod my head.


    "ude Debussy''s ir de Lune."


    He is a Frenchposer. Since Toulouse-Lautrec is French, that''s probably why this piece is ying. It''s quiet and delicate music, perfect to listen to alone under the moonlight at night.


    Holding the doorknob and listening to the music, I open the door.


    Descending the metal staircase, I gaze at the interior of the hall and exim in awe at the magnificent exhibition.


    "Moulin Rouge."


    Many people know this word.


    Most will remember it as the title of a movie, and even if they know it''s not, few know what it actually means. But it''s famous enough that many people know the term.


    So what does it mean?


    Surprisingly, it''s the name of a dance hall that opened in Paris in 1889.


    Impressive, right? It''s technically a dance hall, but essentially, it''s a club.


    That a club name can resonate around the world even after 100 years is truly remarkable.


    The reason I murmured this word upon entering is because the painting prominently disyed in front of me is Toulouse''s "At the Moulin Rouge, The Dance."


    Gentlemen wore suits, anddies wore dresses.


    People dressed their best and came to the Moulin Rouge to dance with their partners.


    And closest in perspective, at the forefront, is the side view of a lovely and modestdy in a pink dress, wearing a stylishly feathered pink hat.


    Back then, this ce was coveted by all gentlemen anddies, frequented by many politicians and celebrities.


    In the center of the painting are a dancing man and woman, the man being Valentin Le Desosse, nicknamed "the boneless man." Not that he literally had no bones, but he was such an incredible dancer that he seemed like an invertebrate. If you look at the man''s legs in the painting, they appear to have multiple joints, unlike those of an ordinary person.


    Even nowadays, clubs have party managers who recruit good-looking friends to dance on stage. I heard that, even in dramas depicting clubs from about 30 years ago, the pretty girls dancing in front of nightclubs were also recruited by the owners.


    Perhaps this culture started back then. This man too was a star recruited to brighten up the ce.


    "But surprisingly, he''s not the protagonist of this painting."


    It''s the woman on the left, at the very front.


    The woman in the pink dress is the protagonist of this painting.


    "But no one knows who she is."


    The owner of Moulin Rouge bought the painting after falling in love with it and hung it in his establishment. He asked Toulouse about the main character, but Toulouse did not answer. Who was she really?


    "Well, she could just be an ordinary customer who came to the club."


    In museums, people like to guess the meanings unintended by artists and talk about them as if they were true. Maybe the artist just painted an unknown woman in front of him at the time.


    If the artist didn''t speak of its meaning, it''s just something to be passed over.


    Turning my gaze away from the painting, I clicked my tongue, realizing there was no space in this exhibition hall that could be called an office. It''s frustrating not knowing where to give my money, even when I want to donate it.


    After looking around the hall and eventually returning to the center, I sat down on a rock sofa and rested my chin on my hand.


    ''I''ll wait and see if there''s any passing staff member.''


    Hmm, have I ever seen someone who looks like a staff member whileing and going here? I don''t think I''ve seen anyone. Ah, this is really frustrating.


    Just then, the warm and delicate music suddenly changed to an exciting dance tune.


    Surprised by the sudden change in atmosphere, I tilted my head and shifted my gaze to the painting in front.


    The painting of the dance at Moulin Rouge, still disyed on the wall, seemed to pulse with a throbbing effect, erging and shrinking in rhythm with the beat. It felt just like being in a real club.


    Before I could adjust to the sudden change in atmosphere, I dropped my head suddenly.


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 Chapter 79 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 79 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    I''m being drawn into a dream again.


    The dizzying sensationsts a long time, and when the dizziness subsides, I slowly open my eyes. I''ve been drawn into this ce several times before, so I''m no longer startled as I used to be.


    A veryvish mansion, but not exactly luxurious; it looks more like the house of a nouveau riche. The grand staircase adorned with portraits of the family''s ancestors suggests nobility, but theck of elegance implies it''s not a high-ranking noble house.


    In fact, in the Middle Ages, the genuinely happy nobles were often those of this ss. Higher ranks meant more responsibilities. Lower nobles had fewer duties and more privileges. Of course, only those with lesser ambitions and desires were truly content.


    There''s arge white vase in the center of the grand living room.


    To call it a vase feels a bit of an understatement. It was the size of an adult bathtub.


    Two women dressed as maids bring in arge bouquet of flowers and fill the vase with water before arranging them.


    I sneak up behind them and p in front of their faces.


    But they show no reaction. It seems I am invisible to them again.


    I take a good look around the house.


    It would be foolish not to realize, after being drawn into dreams so many times, in which era I am and whom I might meet.


    "There must be Toulouse Lautrec somewhere in this house."


    I should find him, but there are eight doors visible from the living room alone. Do I need to search all these rooms?


    Then, the older maid speaks while arranging the flowers.


    "The master will be back soon, hurry up."


    "Yes, I''ll finish soon."


    The younger maid responds and moves quickly. While busy trimming the flowers, the young maid asks,


    "Is it time to give Petit Bijou his medicine? May I go for a moment?"


    I overhear the conversation and suddenly turn my head at the young maid''s words.


    In his childhood, Toulouse, born into a noble family, was adorably cute, and his nickname was ''Petit Bijou,'' meaning ''little jewel.''


    The middle-aged maid quickly scans the surroundings and warns her,


    "Don''t ever mention that nickname in front of the master, or you might be punished."


    Realizing her mistake, the young maid closes her mouth and bows her head. The older maid gestures for her to go quickly.


    "I''ll handle things here, so go and take care of it."


    "Okay."


    The young maid runs off to the kitchen.


    She arranges the medicine and water on a tray and hurries up the stairs. Based on my past experiences, I know I cannot exert any physical force in dreams. Naturally, I can''t open doors either. I need to wait for the maid to enter his room and follow her in.


    The maid walks fast through the long corridor on the second floor.


    So many rooms in this corridor, unseen from the first floor. Do people live in all these rooms?


    I follow her quickly and notice she''s heading to a room at the very end of the dark corridor, where the light from the windows doesn''t reach.


    She knocks on the door.


    "Young master, it''s time for your medicine."


    I stand close behind her, ready to follow her in. When there''s no response from inside, the maid knocks again.


    "Young master? Is something wrong?"


    After a moment, a dark voice answers from inside.


    "No."


    "May Ie in?"


    "Yes."


    As the maid opens the door and enters, I quickly slip in and am amazed by the sight inside.


    ''Wow.''


    Paints and brushes, half-finished paintings on messy canvases, and pristine white new canvases. A room filled with various art supplies. As expected of a rich young master, he seems to use art materialsvishly.


    It must be nice, truly enviable. What if I too had been born into a wealthy household and could have used art supplies so freely as a child? There were times even during my college years when I couldn''t bring the materials the school asked for. After paying rent and living expenses with the money I earned from part-time jobs, I had nothing left.


    It was Yeongju who helped me then.


    She quietly shared her own materials with me.


    Feeling a mix of envy and a bit of jealousy, I walked further into the room.


    But the moment I saw Toulouse, taking his medicine given by the maid, I realized how foolish my envy and jealousy were.


    Toulouse, sitting in a chair.


    A nkety on his legs, but it couldn''t hide the severely short stature of his lower bodypared to his torso. His head wasrge, and his upper body was heavy, but his lower body appeared far too short and weak.


    Dwarf.


    Toulouse seemed to be in histe teens by his face but appeared much smaller than the young maid. With a dark expression, he returned the cup of water to her and asked.


    "Father?"


    "He hasn''t returned from the hunt yet."


    Toulouse stared intently at the curtained window. The quick-witted maid asked.


    "Would you like to be by the window?"


    "Please."


    The maid brought another chair and ced it in front of the window, then helped Toulouse move there. Standing up, Toulouse was only about as tall as the maid''s shoulder.


    Toulouse, in a white shirt and ck trousers, wearing round sses with a string, would have looked quite pitiable if not for the expensive items he wore.


    Toulouse, clinging to the maid as he limped.


    Without showing any strain, the maid settled him in the chair by the window and examined his legs.


    "Do your legs still ache without reason?"


    "..."


    As she massaged Toulouse''s legs, she said, "Both legs broke within a year, it''s natural to be in pain. Call me anytime it hurts too much, young master."


    "Thank you."


    "It''s my duty. Ah, the master will return soon."


    "Alright."


    After covering his legs again with the nket, the maid stood up, nced around the room, looked at several paintings with a pained expression, then left the room.


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 Chapter 79 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 79 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    I turned my gaze to the paintings the maid had been looking at.


    "Horse paintings."


    Toulouse loved animals, especially horses, and drew many horse paintings that have survived to this day.


    But why did the maid leave after looking at the horse paintings with such an expression?


    Left alone in the dark room, Toulouse carefully opened the curtain. But if he wanted to see outside, why open it only a little? It seemed like he didn''t want those outside to see him.


    What was he trying to see?


    I moved behind him to see what he was looking at, bending over since the curtain was barely open. The garden, with servants working. The number of servants indicated immense wealth.


    Whom is he watching?


    I looked at the side of Toulouse''s face to try and follow his gaze.


    Then, I saw a tremor in his eyes and the emotion that quickly rose. It was sadness. I furrowed my eyebrows and followed his gaze.


    In the distance, beyond the horizon, I saw a group of men on horseback approaching. The man at the front, sporting a fancy mustache and a hat with white fur, had animal carcasses like roons and rabbits tied to his horse, and a gun in one hand. The men riding with him, judging by their attire, seemed like servants.


    A faint murmur from Toulouse.


    "Father..."


    Father? So that man is the head of this family. No wonder he was dressed sovishly.


    I straightened my back and looked down at Toulouse with aplex expression.


    I feel I faintly understand his feelings. I too have a brother with a disability.


    My brother always envied me. He was also ashamed of himself.


    He had done nothing wrong, but he retreated because of his disability.


    My brother was always curious. When I returned from school, he bombarded me with questions about what sses I had, what I did during lunch, every little detail. It was annoying when I was younger, but as I grew up, I understood why he did it.


    He was envious.


    Of the everyday things I experienced.


    Of the many things he couldn''t do.


    The boy in front of me now has the same expression as my brother.


    The sight of his father riding a horse and the servants running alongside him. He wants to be part of that.


    I nodded again, looking at the horse paintings that the maid had looked at with a pained expression earlier. I now understand why this boy is attached to these paintings. They are not just simple horse paintings, but the ideal he yearns for.


    As soon as his father arrived, having ridden the horse, he dismounted and arrogantly handed the reins to a servant before looking up at the mansion. The son, who had been secretly watching his father, was startled and quickly closed the curtain.


    When I studied about this person, I only thought of him as a dwarf painter. It seems he had such a dark and painful childhood.


    Toulouse gasped, clutching his chest and bending over. I hope this isn''t dangerous.


    Fortunately, after lying down for a while, Toulouse straightened up.


    His face seemed a bit red, but he didn''t look too bad. He just seemed very shocked.


    The trembling child, catching his breath, grabbed the armrest of the chair to stand up.


    I instinctively reached out to help, but hesitated.


    Because I realized that I, being pulled into this dream, couldn''t exert any physical force.


    One step.


    It took the child more than a minute to take just one step.


    The child, who had to ovee dozens of near falls just to take that one step.


    After a long time, the child sits in front of the canvas ced in front of the mirror.


    Now that I think about it, there are a lot of chairs in this room.


    One in front of the window, one beside the bed, in front of the vanity and the door. It''s arge room, but having more than ten chairs for one person is unusual. It seems the kind maid arranged them so that the child who can''t walk well can slowly reach and sit in them.


    The child, sitting in front of the nk canvas, quietly looks at his reflection in the mirror on the vanity. Trying different angles, the child finally sits at a diagonal angle and brings the canvas over, likely to draw his self-portrait.


    The face is drawn, the body, and the objects in front of the mirror.


    The drawing gradually approachespletion, but strangely, the most important part of the self-portrait, the face, remains undrawn.


    Finally, afterpleting every other part of the drawing, the child looks quietly at the mirror to draw the eyes, eyebrows, nose, the beginnings of a beard, and the mouth. But as he moves to draw the eyes, he hesitates.


    The child, alternating his gaze between his reflection in the mirror and the canvas, sadly smears the paint for the eyes, spreading it in a round shape, and then puts down the brush.


    The self-portrait, obscured in shadow, is hard to identify.


    The dark, roughly smeared area looks ominous.


    The fear behind the self-portrait he wanted to reveal.


    I felt sadness looking at this ominous painting drawn by the child.


    I heard that Toulouse had two idents in May when he was sixteen and the following August. His upper body developed almost normally, but due to these idents, his lower body degenerated, making it difficult to move, and he secluded himself, only painting. I learned that this painting was drawn in 1882. Its the only self-portrait he left during a time when he didn''t want to look at himself.


    In painting his reflection, the boy concealed his lower body.


    A disabled child raised in a wealthy French noble family, he was considered a cursed child during those times.


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 Chapter 80 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 80 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    "What is this absurd dream?"


    I woke up from a dream that had taught me nothing but unpleasant scenes, frowning deeply.


    In my dreams so far, I have always watched the lives of the masters, learning their thoughts and philosophies. But what was that dream just now? Ordinary people feel pity when they see the struggles of disabled people and get angry when someone makes derogatory remarks. But in my case, it''s more intense.


    It''s because there is someone I love in my family who is disabled. Maybe that''s why this dream was particrly upsetting.


    I gritted my teeth, recalling the stern face of my father that I had seen in the dream.


    "That''s also a father."


    It''s true that Toulouse-Lautrec''s lower body became like that due to an ident, but that ident was something an ordinary person would have just slipped off.


    He had suffered from a disease called Podysostosis since childhood, a condition that makes bones so fragile that they can break from a slight bump. And this disease is hereditary.


    The ignorant people of the Middle Ages did not hesitate to do crazy things to protect their bloodlines and wealth. From the 12th century, they practiced incest under the pretext of preserving the bloodline. Toulouse''s parents were cousins, and even his maternal and paternal grandmothers were sisters.


    ''In the end, the cursed child had inherited a curse created by the incest of his family.''


    The very people who were the cause of it cursed the child and locked him in a room. I usually don''t curse, but at this moment, I couldn''t help but swear.


    "Those bastards."


    To feel sorry for giving such a disease and to care for him all his life would still not be enough, and yet, what is this?


    I sighed and shook my head in disbelief.


    Then, looking again at the ongoing exhibition, I could see one of his famous paintings, ''The Bed.''


    The series of lovers on the bed was a frequent subject of Toulouse, but this painting was especially famous.


    What is the painting about? Actually, it''s nothing much.


    A man and a woman lying on a soft bed, seemingly asleep, trying to forget a hard day.


    It''s not like the paintings of the Renaissance era that portrayed the beauty of the human body through the naked forms of men and women.


    The two are covered with a warm nket up to their necks on the soft bed.


    But why is this unremarkable painting famous?


    The two people sleeping in the painting are not actually a couple. They are both women.


    At that time, poor women in France survived by bing prostitutes. They received many emotional wounds from men and started loving each other among women who could understand each other.


    The reason the two seem like a couple in the painting is because the one facing front has short hair, cut and sold by a poor prostitute.


    People in the Middle Ages could not understand homosexuality, and even the paintings of Lautrec depicting them were not understood. But he continued to paint those who were marginalized. Perhaps it was his desire to project his own experience of being marginalized in the aristocratic society due to his disability and to draw others who were marginalized in society.


    Honestly, I myself do not understand homosexuality.


    But if I don''t understand, I just don''t do it. I should not criticize others for being different.


    No one has the right to marginalize others.


    I stood for a while looking at the painting.


    I still don''t understand at all.


    Why did this gallery show me such a dream?


    A dream whose meaning I can''t grasp at all.


    **


    Artist Company office, Paju.


    Ourpany is busy as usual today.


    Jiyong and Yeonjeong are intently watching theser shoot out as they run the recently purchased 3D printer, creating something.


    Jiyeon, having sessfullypleted the exhibition catalog at the Seoul Arts Center, is now busy searching for a contemporary art catalog for the retrospective exhibition of artist Kim Whanki at the Hoam Art Museum, which she was assigned after the previous task.


    Yeongju is printing something and giving it to Jiyong, instructing him on something.


    In this office, I''m the only one who seems idle. I feel a bit guilty about it.


    "Hey, Young-ju."


    "Yes?"


    "Isn''t there something I can do?"


    "No, just take a rest."


    ".........................."


    Is it because I just visited the museum? Why does being told to rest feel like I''m being left out? I pulled my chair up to the PC with a slightly dissatisfied expression and picked up the mouse, intending to look up some current social issues on the inte.


    Then, I hear Young-ju''s voice.


    "Ah, Min-young''s secretary called."


    Huh? Min-young? But we finished talking about the theater. Is there something else?


    "Did she say why?"


    "No, just that you should call the secretary''s office when you have time."


    She should have told me sooner, I was dying of boredom.


    I immediately picked up the phone. I know the secretary''s office number, so I can call right away. The phone rings just once before it''s answered.


    -Hello, W Tree Hotel Hannam secretary''s office.


    "Hello, this is Ban Jeong-hoon."


    -Ah, yes. Hello, Mr. President.


    Hmm, this voice.


    It''s the voice of the person who came with Min-young when I wasmissioned to paint the ceiling and made the area off-limits to staff. Back then, I thought she was a prickly person, but she sounds very kind over the phone.


    "Yes, you called me?"


    -Yes, Mr. President. Were you thinking of having a solo exhibition?


    "What?"


    What is she talking about all of a sudden?


    "A solo exhibition?"


    -Yes, Mr. President. The board thinks that since the theater is bing a hot topic, we should keep up with exhibitions and performances. We are currently scouting musicians and performance teams. We thought of having your solo exhibition from March 1st to May 23rd next year. It''s also been approved by President Yu.


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 Chapter 80 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 80 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    A solo exhibition at that hotel?


    I''m also an artist. A solo exhibition is a great honor for an artist. I thought if I ever had one, it would be in some small, out-of-the-way gallery in Insadong, but starting with a hotel theater is too much.


    I didn''t need to think twice to refuse.


    "I''m sorry, I don''t have experience with solo exhibitions, and I might be a burden to the theater. I''ll have to decline."


    -You still have plenty of time, Mr. President. Please think it over and let us know.


    There is quite a bit of time left.


    It''s early September now, so about 6 months left until next March. Technically, I could prepare in time, but the problem is the scale of the theater. If the exhibition isn''t inside the theater, it would be in the lobby or hallways. But how could I cover that immense space with enough paintings?


    I repeatedly declined, but the secretary asked me to think it over a bit more and then ended the call. As I stared at the disconnected phone, Young-ju, who had been listening to the conversation, approached and asked.


    "What''s up?"


    I chuckled and dropped my phone on the desk.


    "I don''t know, they''re asking me to have a solo exhibition at the hotel theater from next March to May. They said there''s a gap in the performance schedule."


    "Wow, really? Wait, you just turned it down, didn''t you?"


    "Yeah, of course. Do I look capable of that? There are only 6 months left. To fill thatrge lobby, I''d need at least 50 pieces."


    "Ah."


    Young-ju almost berates me for missing such an opportunity. Young-ju also paints. She knows better than anyone that many artists prepare for years to have a solo exhibition. So, she backs off more quietly than I expected.


    But she still seems very regretful as he adds.


    "Do you have to exhibit in the entire lobby? Can''t you just do a small section?"


    "........................"


    I didn''t ask about that.


    But still, even if I did.


    Their intention is to attract people to the exhibition when there are no performances.


    How would a small exhibition achieve that?


    And would people evene to see it?


    I worried needlessly about setting up an exhibition schedule that might not attract any audience, and if a team gets booked for a performance in the meantime, I''d be causing trouble for everyone.


    "Ah, it doesn''t make sense no matter how I think about it. Just forget I said anything."


    I waved my hand dismissively, signaling them to go back to work. Youngju clicked her tongue in frustration, and the other employees looked on enviously. They, too, aspire to be artists and have their own dreams of solo exhibitions, so their reaction is understandable.


    I''m also disappointed. In fact, if it had been a small gallery''s offer, I would have eagerly epted it.


    After Youngju left, I sat alone at my desk and searched for "Ikseon-dong Lucid Dream Art Museum" on my keyboard.


    "Hey, hey. There''s no information at all. How do they even do business like this?"


    Even when I checked the street view on the map site, the real estate office that used to be where the museum should be was still visible. The portal site only had the name of the building, no business name.


    "I wonder if they''d even take money from me, these people."


    I''d like to see the face of the owner.


    Is he a chaebol who doesn''t care about money? If so, that''s good, at least there''s no risk of bankruptcy. But it''s still worrying. You never know when a chaebol might change his mind and suddenly stop operating the museum.


    If that really happens, could I take over the museum?


    The funds in the corporate ount are far from enough. Even old buildings in Jongno are expensive due to thend value.


    ''I need to work harder and be prepared to respond.''


    Like Teacher Mucha, I believe there''s a way if I live my life with all my effort and best intentions.


    As I clenched my fist and bolstered my resolve, my phone vibrated. Thinking it was a spam call, I nced at the screen. It was Minyoung.


    "Hello?"


    -Hello, Mr. Ban. It''s been a while.


    I hadn''t spoken to her for about two weeks since Irina left for Pnd. Honestly, there was no reason to contact her. The work was done, and there was no need for furthermunication.


    "Yes, it''s been a while. How are you?"


    -I''m doing well, thanks to you. The board is recognizing the theater issue. And my mother even visited the theater to see your painting.


    "Oh, I see."


    Is Mrs. Kang doing well? I haven''t seen her since I finished her portrait. She still seems to be interested in me. Or maybe it''s her daughter''s business she''s interested in.


    -Mr. Ban. I heard about the solo exhibition from the secretary''s office.


    "............"


    It''s about the solo exhibition.


    "Yes, it''s a very generous offer, but I don''t think I''m capable enough to ept it. I''m sorry."


    -Is it because of the scale?


    Of course.


    If they say it''s okay to do it on a small scale, then just don''t do it. I''d feel too sorry.


    "Yes, that''s right."


    -What about a joint exhibition?


    "Excuse me?"


    -If a solo exhibition is too much pressure, why not do it with other artists?


    Wow, what? Is that even an option?


    But can that be called a solo exhibition?


    They said they''d divide it into sectors for individual disys, so in a way, it could be considered a solo exhibition. Anyway, it''s an opportunity that adds an important line to my career.


    I had another chance to shake off the regret and spoke a bit more brightly.


    "Then it''s possible. Who will I be exhibiting with?"


    -Haha, you are the first person we''ve offered this to. We need to start looking now. So, you''re saying yes to a joint exhibition?


    "Yes, I gratefully ept, thank you."


    -We are the ones who should be thankful. We''ll contact you again, so please be prepared.


    "Thank you."


    After hanging up, I felt a bit relieved from the heavy burden I''d been carrying. And the best part was that I now had something to do. Although a solo exhibition wouldn''t directly benefit thepany, it''s still a plus for thepany when bidding for work.


    I stretched and smiled.


    "Then, shall I start preparing for my first exhibition in life?"


    But what should I paint?


    Goodness, I need to decide that first!


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 Chapter 81 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 81 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    A solo exhibition or a joint exhibition.


    Most painters consider having an exhibition in their own name a great honor. Even amateur painters who are not professionals often prepare everything by themselves for a solo exhibition without spending a lot of money.


    I was the same.


    Even though a solo exhibition that requires a huge amount of time is beyond one''s wildest dreams, I once joined an artists'' group in Sindang-dong to prepare for a street exhibition that would happen ten monthster, without considering the costs too much.


    A life of gathering in amunal studio in the basement of amercial building, discussing art with impoverished painters, creating works, and dreaming of the day we would be recognized. It was an ideal job for a young me.


    But the reality was harsh.


    Most of the painters there had to worry about their livelihoods.


    Many among them who worked day or night for a living and did their artistic work in their spare time had to give up halfway. To make matters worse, thepany that was sponsoring our exhibition withdrew its support, leading to the cancetion of the exhibition.


    The five months I spent working at a convenience store for night shifts to have time to work during the day went up in smoke. But I didn''t give up. Since I was somewhat supported for studio costs through the national art grants, I kept on working, hoping I might get lucky and find another exhibition opportunity.


    Eight months into preparing for the exhibition.


    I couldn''t hold on any longer. Why?


    Because a fire broke out in the Chinese restaurant operating in the same basement as my studio, and many of my works were burned. Themercial building, rented out cheaply with national subsidies, was too vulnerable to fire.


    At that moment, I ran into the building and barely managed to save a few half-burned canvases. But none of them were in a state to be exhibited.


    Staring nkly at the burning building with my face covered in soot, a firefighter told me to step back because it was dangerous. I was so upset that I even got angry at the hard-working firefighters. Looking back, I don''t understand why I acted that way.


    Several days had passed since Minyoung''s proposal.


    I was thinking about the exhibition I had prepared before, pondering what to paint and what themes to explore.


    In the past, I only focused on creating impressive paintings, constantly drawingrgendscape paintings. But what should I paint this time? I don''t want to repeat the same attempts as before.


    Even after a few days, I still couldn''t decide, but it was okay. There was plenty of time left.


    **


    At the W Tree Hannam theater.


    I nervously walked into the theater in an Italian bespoke suit I had bought at Monica''s suggestion.


    Today was the day to meet the other painters with whom I would hold the exhibition.


    Embarrassingly, I had never met any moderately famous painters in Korea. I had always been at the very bottom.


    What would they think of me?


    Would I be ignored from the start?


    They must all be geniuses who have studied abroad, right?


    Not wanting to be outdone, I checked my suit onest time before entering the theater.


    Currently, the theater at W Tree was preparing for the world-renowned musical Cats.


    I heard that the foreign performance team wasing to Korea, but the actors hadn''t arrived yet, and only stage construction was underway.


    The theater, a bit messy from the stage art instation.


    But the theater, built in the Baroque style, still unted its splendor amidst the disarray.


    In the front row of the theater seats.


    Five people sitting in the very seats where I watched Irina''s performance are visible.


    They all turn their heads when they hear meing in, but I don''t recognize any of them.


    Five people looking at me, two men and three women.


    "Hello."


    I''m not the outgoing type, but since I waste, I greeted them first. Then all five of them stood up.


    They didn''t have to do that.


    "Hello."


    A simple greeting is exchanged. An awkward and embarrassing moment without any introductions. Fortunately, Minyoung soon enters the theater. Everyone seems to know her face, as they all stand up to greet her without being told.


    Minyoung nods and says.


    "I believe you have been informed through the secretary''s office. I am Yoo Minyoung, the representative of W Tree Hannam. I am happy to meet young painters who will shine in Korea."


    The painters silently bowed in greeting.


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 Chapter 81 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 81 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Min-young gestured to the man on the far right and spoke.


    "Since it''s our first meeting, how about we eache forward and introduce ourselves?"


    The bald man. On closer inspection, it seems he''s not balding but has shaved his head. Thebination of his thick ck horn-rimmed sses and bald head looks quite stylish. He hesitated for a moment, then stood beside Min-young and began speaking.


    "Hello, I''m Jung Su-han, a sculptor."


    p, p.


    A polite smattering of apuse follows.


    Min-young then spoke from beside Su-han.


    "Artist Jung Su-han is a rising star, nicknamed the ''Dark Master of Imagination.'' He entered the art world with his human miniature models and focuses his art on vividly depicting the pathological ecology of modern society, while metaphorically representing the twisted aspects of human rtionships and social structures."


    Hearing Min-young''s introduction, I remembered someone.


    ''That''s him.''


    I didn''t know his face, but I''d seen him in the news. A prodigy who graduated from Seoul National University''s College of Fine Arts and its graduate school. He''s an artist backed by one of the country''s major conglomerates and has works collected in the National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art. Quite a remarkable person was here.


    After Su-han, a woman who seemed to have absorbed a lot of foreign influence stepped forward.


    "Eh, I''m not very good at Korean."


    Min-young nodded and replied.


    "You can speak in English if you prefer."


    "Thank you."


    The woman spoke morefortably.


    "I''m Joo Chae-young."


    At the sound of her name, I perked up.


    A painter graduated from Columbia University in the US, she gained attention a few years ago in New York for her exhibition using North Korea''s Workers'' Party newspaper, Rodong Sinmun, and Choco Pies as subjects.


    She uniquely creates her artworks using chocte instead of paint. She believes that as a Korean, it''s a responsibility to be aware of what''s happening in North Korea, and she''s known for donating all her exhibition earnings to North Korean defector organizations.


    ''Wow, I''m among such people.''


    Min-young added more details about Chae-young, simr in level to what I had just thought. The third person toe forward is also a woman. A sturdy and down-to-earth woman, she smiled and said,


    "I''m Lee Hwa-jung, a photographer."


    Photography? Did a photographic artiste too?


    I''m not familiar with that person.


    At that moment, Su-han, who was the first to speak, interjected in surprise.


    "The Lee Hwa-jung who was awarded at the 2022 Korean Artists'' Day?"


    Wow, an award at the Artists'' Day? A photographer? That''s impressive.


    Hwa-jung smiled modestly and nodded.


    "Yes, embarrassingly so."


    Min-young chimed in.


    "Artist Lee Hwa-jung is regarded as a pioneer in photographic art. As you know, she has built a significant career through various awards andpetitions. She graduated from Hongik University, majoring in Photography and Visual Design."


    Wait, she graduated from two departments? It''s not possible to graduate from both simultaneously, right?


    Could it be that she studied for eight years?


    The next man toe forward had hair covering half of his face and looked a bit gloomy. He spoke with his head down the entire time.


    "I''m Jeon Kwang-ho."


    Min-young waited for a moment for his brief introduction to continue, then stepped in.


    "Artist Jeon mainly operates through SNS, but is a famous painter who also exhibits his work in the Saatchi Online Gallery. After graduating from Keimyung University''s Department of Western Painting, he studied abroad in Germany."


    Saatchi Online Gallery? Really?


    Exhibiting in the contemporary art museum in London is something I''ve never even dreamed of. What kind of paintings does he create?


    Min-young continued.


    "Artist Jeon paints images that seem like human figures, but their faces and bodies'' boundaries are dispersed and distorted by the paint, appearing to explode. The usage of objects is precise, but not so with people. A single word cannot define a person, and he likes to express the ambiguity inherent in humans, which led him to create abstract human figures. His work, encapstingplex human emotions and energy and bringing the inner world of humans to the outer world through distortion and exaggeration, is highly regarded among emerging artists."


    Wow, is that what they call a genius?


    After hearing all this, even his gloomy appearance seems to be an expression of his genius.


    Finally, thest woman stood up.


    She looked the oldest among those who had appeared so far.


    "I do instation art, Kim Jung-min."


    Kim Jung-min?


    She''s also someone I''ve seen in the news.


    An instation artist who creates works using only threads and light to fill spaces.


    Sometimes, her works are t, sometimes they utilize the entire space for instation. Viewers of her instations have a unique experience through dreamlike visual elements and audio.


    The thread is very thin and delicate, easy to break, but in her works, it dominates the space, creating a strong sense of stability. This intery of stability and instability creates tension in her art.


    I once stumbled upon a free exhibition of her instation art in Dongdaemun. That''s how renowned she is. From what I remember, she''s a graduate of Ewha Womans University and spent a long time studying in the UK.


    ''What''s unique is that her major was not in art college, but in engineering.''


    Engineering and art are quite distant fields, but the incredible expressions that arise when an artistically inclined personbines with the meticulous calctions of an engineer felt like a fusion of science and art.


    Am I really supposed to be here?


    Finally, it''s my turn.


    As Min-young signals me toe forward, I swallow hard and stand up.


    In the eyes of these people, I''m literally a nobody. A sense of embarrassment surfaces.


    "I am... Ban Jeong-hoon."


    A look of curiosity appears on the faces of the five painters.


    Of course, they wouldn''t know my name. I haven''t achieved anything in the art world.


    My self-esteem plummets as I bow my head.


    Then, Min-young''s voice breaks the silence.


    "Everyone, please look up."


    As the five painters look up at the ceiling, Min-young speaks.


    "The pride of W Tree Hannam, the artist who painted the fresco on the ceiling of the catbs is Ban Jeong-hoon. He is also the one who presented digital media art at the recent performance of Irina Sevanova, and simultaneously, he is the co-designer of the famous refrigerator Belle poque by MG Electronics."


    The painters'' eyes all turn to me at once.


    Curiosity swiftly fills their faces.


    But wait. Hearing my achievements from Min-young, I don''t seem to be that far behind, do I?


    Ah, it must be my imagination.


    What can I offer in front of such geniuses?


    After Min-young seats me, she addresses the six people.


    "The six artists I have introduced to you here are the painters from South Korea who will be creating together for this joint exhibition. I look forward to the day when I can proudly say that your exhibition was held at our hotel."


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 Chapter 82 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 82 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    At W-Tree Hannam''s Korean restaurant.


    The table is so filled withvish Korean dishes that it truly embodies the saying "a feast that could break the legs of the table." Initially, there was an awkward silence, but as traditional liquor was served and people started to drink, artists began to chat with those nearby.


    I wanted to join in, but the atmosphere wasnt yet lively enough for everyone to engage in conversation. Sipping my drink, I nced at the person in front of me.


    A dark man, bowed deeply, performing a ritual in front of his food.


    In front of me was Jeon Kwang-ho, whose works were exhibited at the Sachin Online Gallery.


    But I had no idea how to start a conversation with this gloomy person.


    I took out my phone under the table to look up his works.


    "Wow."


    I see pictures of people''s faces.


    A muddle of crushed paint clumps, resembling distorted flesh of bacon.


    However, the pictures,pleted with abination of precisely depicted figures amidst the mess, resembling illustrations at a nce. But the artist ovees monotony with fast, powerful, and violent brush strokes, asionally showing exceptional descriptive ability.


    A painter who depicts emotions through human portraits.


    That''s Kwang-ho right before my eyes.


    Pondering over what to talk about, I decided to start with the most genuine concern and topic for an artist - their work.


    "Painter Jeon Kwang-ho."


    ".................."


    "This painting is really fantastic."


    I showed him the painting on my phone without a response. Kwang-ho briefly made eye contact after seeing his painting on my screen.


    "May I ask what emotion you were trying to express?"


    The painting I asked about was a very dark one, showing a bald man with half of his head peeled off, standing naked with red paint pouring down like blood. It''s a bizarre and potentially grotesque piece, even adults might find too dark and hideous.


    Kwang-ho looked intently at my phone and then opened his mouth.


    "It''s a painting about the Gwangju Democratization Movement."


    Huh? Gwangju Democratization... Oh, now that I look at it, this bald man... is the face of the president at that time.


    "Ah... I see."


    No wonder he drew it so hideously.


    I tried to change the topic by showing another painting.


    I was about to ask about the emotion depicted in this painting. However, I closed my mouth upon seeing the next painting.


    Asking an artist to exin every painting implies that their work can''t be understood without exnation. It''s best to limit the questions to just one.


    I put away my phone and said with a smile.


    "Really, may I ask your age?"


    "I''m thirty."


    "Oh, you''re older than me."


    Kwang-ho slightly lifts his head.


    He looked at me for a while and then asked.


    "How old are you?"


    "I''m twenty-eight now. Please speakfortably."


    "....................."


    "Have a drink, hyung."


    Honestly, I''m not very good at being sociable. But after dealing with clients like Monica, Lady Kang, Min Young, and Irina, I''ve developed some skills.


    I spent an hour trying to get Kwang-ho, who was silent and curt, to talk while feeding him drinks. Kwang-ho, who got quite drunk, gradually opened up.


    "Where do you work?"


    "I work at apany."


    "Do you belong to apany?"


    Hmm, it''s not apany I belong to, but my own. I''m the CEO. But there''s no need to go into that much detail.


    "Yes, it''s in Paju. Where do you work?"


    "I work in Yeongdeok."


    Wow, Yeongdeok? That''s quite far.


    "Must be scenic, can you see the sea?"


    "Yes, I work in a shared studio for artists on the second floor of a seaside fish restaurant."


    "Wow, that''s like a dream."


    "Come visit sometime."


    "Really? Can I?"


    "Sure."


    Kwang-ho, drunk, didn''t seem as gloomy as his first impression. Perhaps he was just shy. After downing another drink, Kwang-ho asked.


    "You designed a refrigerator?"


    "Yes, hyung."


    "I also painted murals and did digital media art."


    "Ha, something like that."


    Kwang-ho looked into my eyes for a while and then asked.


    "So, what kind of paintings do you make?"


    "....................."


    Suddenly, I was at a loss for words.


    Such a simple question.


    What kind of painter am I?


    The mood suddenly became strange.


    Turning around, I saw the artists, who were previously engaged in their own conversations, now all looking at me.


    Their curiosity piqued, they seemed to wonder as well.


    ''What kind of painter am I?''


    A sudden rush of embarrassment floods over me.


    My once-inted pride in my shy career quickly detes.


    I''ve lived as a street artist, encountered a peculiar museum, and based on the dreams I had there, I''ve been fulfilling clients'' missions.


    I can talk about what I''ve painted in the past, but I can''t say what kind of painter I will be in the future.


    I realize my head, which is bowing on its own, feels especially heavy today.


    ''I''ve been painting what my clients want.''


    That''s not something to be ashamed of. However, when someone asks, "What kind of paintings do you create?" I can''t define myself clearly.


    Words fail me, and the focused gaze of the people around puts me in a dilemma.


    Then, the eldest among us, Jeong-min, extends his ss and says,


    "Since we''ve met like this, let''s all have a drink together."


    Everyone raises their sses.


    I express my gratitude to Jeong-min with my eyes and join in raising my ss.


    "For the art of South Korea!"


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 Chapter 82 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 82 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    The gathering didn''tst toote.


    Around 10 PM, after wrapping up, I headed down to catch a bus below the hotel.


    Walking down the hill, I gazed at the night view of Seoul and was lost in thought.


    ''What kind of painter am I?''


    A very simple question.


    Yet, it''s a question I couldn''t find an answer to.


    Kwang-ho must have had no ill intent in asking me that question.


    It was just out of curiosity, but it caught me off guard.


    It''s a perfectly normal and ordinary question among artists.


    I am not a painter who draws something. I am a painter who makes money.


    Am I ashamed of that? Not at all.


    I have always hated poverty. I still do.


    I''d rather be a well-paid designer than a poor but honorable painter.


    But those designers can clearly articte what they do.


    What frustrates me even more is that I havent decided what to paint for this exhibition.


    I dont know what Ive painted so far, nor what I will paint in the future, yet I hastily joined this exhibition with these genius artists.


    This feels more like an apology to other artists than shame towards myself.


    Because everyone is devoting their lives to their art.


    I was walking with my shoulders slumped when a car''s headlights shone behind me.


    I was on the sidewalk, so I didn''t pay attention, but the car stopped beside me, and the driver''s window rolled down.


    "Ban Jeong-hun?"


    Someone calls my name.


    I turn and see the instation artist Kim Jeong-min.


    "Ah, Artist Kim."


    What an honor to talk to such a person. But I''m not in the mood right now.


    Kim Jeong-min''s car is a luxurious sedan.


    The Mercedes logo standing tall at the front seems to represent the gap between her and me.


    Honestly, I can afford it now, but it feels like wearing clothes that don''t fit, so I hesitate to buy one.


    "Didn''t you bring your car?"


    I don''t have a car.


    "Yes, I was about to take the bus."


    "Get in, I''ll give you a ride."


    "It''s okay."


    "The bus stop is quite far."


    Ah, if the bus stop is on the way, then it''s okay.


    "Ah, then I''ll take the ride, thank you."


    Kim Jeong-min is sociable enough to lead the mood at the earlier gathering. She smiles at me, sitting in the passenger seat.


    "I heard you say you''re twenty-eight."


    Does she have good ears? When I was talking to Kwang-ho earlier, she was actively chatting with others. When did she hear that?


    "Yes, that''s right."


    "I''m forty. Can we talkfortably? You can call me ''noona''."


    What? I can call Kim Jeong-min ''noona''?


    "Really? Can I call you ''noona''?"


    "Yes, I prefer it that way."


    "Yes, noona."


    My mood, which had hit rock bottom, slightly lifts.


    To think I''m now addressing a renowned artist as ''noona''.


    As she drives down the winding hill road, Jeong-min noona says,


    "Jeong-hun."


    "Yes, noona."


    "You''re lucky."


    "Excuse me?"


    She nces at me while holding the steering wheel and smiles.


    "You''re already painting at twenty-eight."


    "?"


    "I was apany employee at your age."


    Really? Kim Jeong-min was?


    "Whatpany did you work for?"


    "A semiconductorpany."


    "Did you switch to artistry from there?"


    "Yes, when I was thirty."


    "That''s amazing, noona."


    It really is amazing. She must have joined a majorpany after graduating from Ewha Womans University''s College of Engineering. To have the courage to give up everything and pursue her path at thirty is remarkable.


    Noona smiles broadly and says,


    "Do you know what I make?"


    Of course, I know.


    "You do instation art with thread and lights. I actually saw your pop-up exhibition in Dongdaemun."


    "Ah, that one."


    "It was really impressive. It felt like I was in a different world."


    I''m envious. If only I had something clear to define what I make, like her.


    Jeong-min noona smiles with her eyes and says,


    "Do you know how old I was when I started doing this? My current art."


    I would have thought she started from the beginning.


    "I don''t know."


    "It''s been less than five years."


    "."


    What? Wait a minute.


    She''s forty now, so if it''s been 5 years, she started at thirty-five? Didn''t she say she switched careers at thirty?


    "What did you do in those 5 years then?"


    "I was finding what I should do."


    ".."


    She stops the car in front of the bus stop, holds the steering wheel, and looks at me.


    "It''s okay if you haven''t decided what to paint yet. It''s not a big deal. But remember this, Jeong-hoon. Whatever you''re doing now, all of it is part of the journey to finding what you will paint in the future. Just remember that and keep working hard on your art; that''s enough."


    I look at her with newfound admiration.


    This person. She''s a good person. There was a reason she diffused that awkward situation earlier.


    "Thank you, noona."


    "Stay strong. By the way, where do you live?"


    "Paju."


    "I see, I would have given you a ride if we were going the same way. I live in Jongno."


    Jongno?


    Suddenly struck by a thought, I quickly speak up.


    "I actually have to go to Jongno as well. Can I ride along with you? I just need to get off near Jongmyo."


    "Oh, really? That''s great for me, too. Less boring."


    Noona''s car starts moving again.


    I reflect on what she said earlier.


    ''I am currently in the process of finding what I should paint. That''s nothing to be ashamed of.''


    Where is my answer?


    I don''t know the answer, but I know where to find it.


    ''I''m going to the museum.''


    The museum that made everything I have now.


    Right now, I''m headed there.


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 Chapter 83 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 83 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    <i>Bonus</i>


    I first discovered this bizarre art museum when I was twenty-six.


    Now, I''m twenty-eight. It''s been two years since I found it.


    My life has undergone significant changes in thest two years.


    Most of these changes have been positive.


    I decided to trust this art gallery once again.


    After thanking Jung-min noona and jumping out of the car, I ran straight to the art gallery.


    The gallery, hidden in an alley off the main road.


    I reached the gallery and looked towards the main road to find Jung-min noona''s car, but she was already gone.


    I bought a ticket to the still empty gallery, went downstairs, settled on a rock sofa to the sound of grand music, crossed my legsfortably, and rested my chin on my hand.


    A painting from my school days was being projected on the front wall.


    ''Marie Dihau ying the Piano.''


    When I first saw this painting, I thought it was by Vincent van Gogh. The delicate yet rough brushstrokes, the diagonal, curved, and straight lines of the applied paint.


    But it was a painting by Toulouse-Lautrec.


    The woman ying the piano in this painting was, surprisingly, the sister of the French painter and sculptor Edgar Degas. Degas, about thirty years older than Lautrec, once lived with Lautrec at his house in Montmartre during their time at the same studio. Lautrec painted a portrait of Marie Dihau, one of the three Dihau sisters, who were distant rtives of Degas.


    Lautrec admired Degas, but it was a one-sided admiration.


    Degas, who had a misanthropy, reportedly treated the physically disabled Lautrec with arrogance.


    Of course, whether this was due to rivalry or genuine disdain, we cannot know.


    Anyway, Lautrec greatly respected Degas, and in homage, he included a previous portrait of Marie by Degas in the background of this painting.


    The lighting in the gallery gradually shifts to the right, and the painting changes.


    It''s the painting of the ''Bed'' that I saw at first.


    A painting of two womenfortably asleep.


    I uncrossed my legs and closed my eyes.


    From my experiences with exhibitions of Alphonse Mucha and Klimt, I know that in this gallery, certain paintings can pull me into a dream. And this painting is the same one that had led me into a dreamst time.


    I keep my eyes closed, but I feel dizzy. I try desperately to hold my head up and stay conscious, but eventually, I let my head drop without even realizing it.


    Just like the two women in the painting, deeply asleep.


    **


    "Hey, have you heard? France and Russia are going to cooperate economically. I heard that it was finalized just yesterday, with the approval of Nichs II, son of Alexander III of Russia."


    "That''s great! Paris will develop even more."


    I felt my consciousness, which had been fading, returning as I listened to the voices of men chatting beside me.


    ''Paris.''


    The hint from the men''s conversation.


    This is Paris. The Franco-Russian cooperation started in 1892.


    Why would an art student know this? Because the Pont Alexandre III, built between 1896 and 1900 tomemorate this cooperation, is known as one of the most beautiful and intricate bridges over the Seine in Paris, something I learned about during my school days.


    I slowly opened my eyes.


    It''s dusk, the twilight of the evening.


    But unlike other European cities at this time, Paris is bustling with life, and the streets are packed with people eager to enjoy the night.


    ''Lautrec was born in 1864. So, he would be around twenty-eight.''


    I wonder what Lautrec, my contemporary, looked like and what he thought about life?


    I detached myself from therge oak barrel I was leaning against and surveyed my surroundings.


    Lautrec is nowhere to be seen in my line of sight.


    Despite the crowds, his unique feature as a dwarf makes him not immediately visible.


    I decided against attracting attention, as it''s not in my nature, and hid in an alleyway between buildings, observing passersby for many minutes. Eventually, I gave up on finding Lautrec here and turned my gaze to the shop signs.


    Grain stores, butcher shops, ces selling liquor and tobo.


    My eyes stopped at a sign painted with avish picture.


    ''lyse Montmartre. A club where the young Lautrec often went.''


    He even moved nearby because he liked it so much.


    If this ce is here, it means this is the Montmartre hill in Paris. Located in the 18th arrondissement of Northern Paris, this is the only hignd area in Paris. ''Mont'' means a small hill, and ''martre'' means ''martyr'', a ce in Paris known especially for its artistic and nightlife scene.


    I remember a senior from school who visited Paris during a holiday and was disappointed because Montmartre, which he had only seen in books, was now full of hawkers, and he couldn''t enjoy it due to their soliciting.


    ''A club.''


    I was curious.


    What would a Parisian club from that era look like?


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 Chapter 83 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 83 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    I stepped out of the alley, slightly bowed my head, and walked briskly towards the entrance of the club. Suddenly, I noticed a woman with a fan and a dress smoking at the entrance and sidestepped her. Just then, I heard her voice.


    C''est ma faute.


    Wait, did she just say ''c''est ma faute''?


    That''s a phrase I learned in high school French ss. It means ''It''s my fault.''


    I looked up at the woman. She was stepping back, flicking off cigarette ash. I looked around, but at this moment, I was the only one near the club entrance.


    ''Was she talking to herself?''


    Of course, she must have been.


    I shook my head in disbelief and turned back towards the club.


    Just then, a loud voice was heard.


    "Oh! Is that a Japanese person?"


    What? Why would there be a Japanese in Paris in 1892?


    Japan might have been leading the way in modernization since the Meiji era, but they had little interaction with France, hadn''t they?


    I was surprised to think that a Japanese person would be in Paris at this time and looked around curiously.


    ''What? There''s nobody here?''


    The club entrance was empty.


    Only a woman I had passed earlier, smoking a cigarette, stood by the street.


    "Hey, over here."


    What? A voice from the ground... huh?


    I looked down and gasped, discovering a dwarf standing in front of me.


    A small dwarf, about 152cm tall.


    He was Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec.


    Actually, he was quite tall for a dwarf.


    Even in our country, it''s not too difficult to find women of that height.


    But most of them have body proportions suitable for their height. However, the man in front of me had arge upper body and abnormally short lower body, making his proportions mismatched.


    Yet, his dark brown eyes and stylish beard.


    His handsome face and his sly, charming smile were quite appealing.


    ''But is he talking to me?''


    Surely not.


    I''m invisible to people.


    Based on my experience with Teacher Mucha, it seemed that only those on the brink of death could see me.


    "Hey, don''t you speak French?"


    Shockingly, he was looking straight at me. Could he really see me?


    I pointed to my face with my index finger and asked.


    "Do you mean me?"


    "Who else would be here? Lucky you speak French!"


    "."


    Did I know French?


    I took a second foreignnguage ss in high school, but I never scored above 40 in the exams.


    No! That''s not the issue right now.


    It seems he really can see me.


    Toulouse-Lautrec patted my leg and said.


    "Which port did youe through? You came over from the Nethends, right?"


    ".."


    "I''ve never heard of a Japanese ship arriving in France."


    "Oh, well... haha."


    "I''ve always been interested in Japanese art. I saw someone like you and had to speak! Since we''ve met like this, let me buy you a drink! Come on, let''s go in!"


    He hastily grabbed my arm and dragged me into the club. What''s going on?


    As Toulouse-Lautrec flung open the club doors, loud music and the heat of people hit me.


    Elegantly dressed gentlemen in well-groomed mustaches and shining shoes dancing withdies, some already drunk men joyfully dancing with other men.


    Modestdies in dresses sitting demurely until they epted the hand gestures of gentlemen proposing a dance, responding with bashful smiles.


    Toulouse-Lautrec, holding my hand, strode deeper into the club. I noticed a pen falling from his front pocket and quickly picked it up, saying,


    "Excuse me, Monsieur! You dropped your pen."


    Toulouse-Lautrec turned around, took the pen with a wide smile.


    "Oh! I''ve dropped my cane, haven''t I."


    "."


    Cane? That''s a pen.


    He seemed to mock himself with a sarcastic joke.


    What does it mean? Why would he belittle himself when others'' belittlement would infuriate?


    At that moment, men drinking nearbyughed at us.


    "Look there! A dwarf has brought a monkey! Must be a circus act!"


    "Ha ha ha! Indeed!"


    What, you bastard. Did you just call me a monkey?


    In our era, you''d be branded a racist on social media, shamed and pointed at for life. Remember your face, you drunk fool.


    I felt anger rising but it quickly subsided.


    Because the women upying half of the bar were casting curious nces at me. Their clearly interested gazes made the mockery from those men feel like jealousy.


    ''Hmph, ugly things.''


    The racist joker had a punched nose, half-bald head, red face from intoxication, and a protruding belly. It''s clear he won''t even get a whiff of women''s perfume after a night here.


    "A dwarf and monkey circus troupe, what a funny joke! Ha ha!"


    Lautrec, leading me,ughed heartily. Hey, that wasn''t a funny joke; it was demeaning. Why are youughing?


    Lautrec led me to a rtively quiet spot, away from the loud music. But why does this ce look like VIP seating? What''s with this luxurious,rge sofa?


    Most club guests are standing.


    The club is designed with high tables for standing and drinking. Only a few spots in the corners have such sofas, and this green velvet sofa looks very luxurious.


    ''Ah, he''s a noble.''


    I had forgotten that, despite his disability, he was born into a Frenchital family.


    He seated me and asked with a broad smile.


    So, monkey! What''s your name?"


    Seriously, I''m not a monkey.


    My name is Ban Jeong-hoon.


    Lautrec''s eyebrows twitched.


    Ban!? Oh! That''s the same name as my closest friend!


    .


    I thought of someone upon hearing his words. The great master Vincent van Gogh, who shared a friendship with Lautrec beyond the boundaries of age. [T/N: Korean doesn''t have a V sound so they tend to rece them with B, So MCs name might have been Van/Ban].


    He must have remembered him upon hearing my name.


    Lautrec, with an exaggerated andical bow like a circus dwarf, introduced himself.


    "Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec Montparnasse is my name. It''s too long, isn''t it? Just call me Henri."


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 Chapter 84 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 84 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    I was conflicted watching Henri introduce himself with a sly yet heartyugh.


    Whats with this dream? I just cant get used to it.


    I thought I knew when and how I get sucked into these dreams. The expectation that no one would see me was shattered. This dream, seemingly refusing to allow any preconceptions, still feels strange.


    Henri raises his hand and shouts.


    Arian! Bring me the usual!


    A waitress, standing afar, nods understandingly and goes to fetch the drink. How often must he have been here to be able to order the usual?


    This man, his mind and health deteriorated due to alcohol, eventually leading to his confinement in a mental hospital.


    I know his future.


    What if I can change this mans future?


    Is it even possible?


    No, should I even try?


    Henri, wiggling his hips, moves closer to me.


    Hey, Ban. Youre Japanese, arent you?


    Where are you from? Cant you tell me about Japanese art? What I''ve seen are just crumpled pictures that came with Japanese trade ships.


    Artists in Europe at that time, enchanted by the unique charm of Japanese art, hadnt seen proper artwork.


    Japan, exporting tea sets to Europe, would wrap them in any paper to prevent breakage. The Ukiyo-e () drawings on these wrappers captured the artists'' interest, presenting a style of art they had never seen before.


    Im not Japanese.


    Henri looks disappointed, his eyes dimming.


    No?


    Is it because hes handsome? Despite his physical impairment, I find him quite likable. I dont want to disappoint someone with such an expression.


    Ie from a country right next to Japan. So I know quite a bit about Japanese art.


    Henris face brightens up again.


    Really? Great! Then, what country are you from?


    Daehan... no, Joseon.


    Joseon? Never heard of that country before.


    Its known as thend of the morning calm and the nation of the white-d people.


    Oh? Do they have art there?


    Of course.


    Is it simr to Japanese art?


    No, its more akin to Chinese art, but like Japan, it has developed its own unique style.


    Ah! The world is vast and my knowledge so limited. I hope I get the chance to see Joseon''s art someday.


    Someday, you might.


    Of course, not during your lifetime.


    France, too, was one of the countries that plundered our cultural heritage in thete Joseon period. It wouldnt be hard to see our art here. Saying this makes me feel dirty. Well, its not this persons fault, so let''s move on.


    Henri asks me various questions about Japanese art. Considering the era, the Japan that traded with Europe was in the Edo period. I exin about artists relevant to that time.


    Kitagawa Utamaros ''Beauties of the Present Day'', Toshusai Sharakus ''Actor Prints'', and Katsushika Hokusais ''Thirty-six Views of Mount Fuji'' are considered masterpieces. The features of these paintings are


    While I exin Japanese art, Henri, usually a chatterbox, listens intently, his face serious. He likes to be humorous in front of others, but hes serious about art. I nod, recognizing Henri as I had only read about him in books.


    When the drinks arrive, Henri fills my ss and asks.


    You seem quite knowledgeable about art. Are you an artist?


    Yes.


    Really? A painter from Joseon, you say?


    Hmm, am I a painter from Joseon? Whats with this strange nuance, like Im a fourth batter from Joseon?


    Well I suppose so?


    p, p! Henri apuded loudly.


    Excellent! Marvelous! I can''t be happier! This dwarf has found great fortune today! Ha-ha! Listen! I''ll take care of the drinks today! Do you have a ce to stay?


    No.


    Great! You haven''t booked a hotel yet, right?


    Yes, thats right?


    My house is nearby. How about you stay at my ce tonight? I''d like to see and learn about Joseon''s art.


    Wow, am I going to stay at his house?


    But can I sleep while dreaming? I''ve never tried that before.


    Henri grabs my arm and urges me.


    Say yes! Right now!


    Ah well, okay.


    After all, I don''t have anywhere else to spend the night.


    And I don''t know when I''ll wake up from this dream.


    Just going and disappearing when I wake up from the dream, that''s all.


    As soon as I give my consent, Henri jumps onto the sofa with his short legs and starts dancing joyously.


    "Oh l l l l!"


    I don''t like having guests at my house other than family. What''s so exciting about this?


    Iughed at his ridiculous dance.


    "People will think you''re strange, Henri. Stop it ande down."


    "So what? I''m just a dwarf roaming these hills anyway!"


    ""


    Why does he keep belittling himself?


    I waited for him to stop dancing and called out to him as he sat down with a pleasant expression.


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 Chapter 84 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 84 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    "Henri."


    The frantic Henri cuts me off with his question.


    "Ah! How old are you?"


    " Twenty-eight."


    "Really? We''re the same age! How about we be friends?"


    "."


    Um, you''re about 130 years older than me, ancestor.


    "Well..."


    Henri offers me a drink and pats my back.


    "Man! At times like this, you should dly agree and have a drink! Here, now we''re friends! Got it?"


    ""


    "Drink it all at once! One! Two! Three!"


    Locking eyes with Henri as he offers me a drink, I down the fiery brandy in one gulp, grimacing and wiping my mouth.


    "Ugh, it''s incredibly strong."


    Distilled spirits in this era are immensely potent.


    I''m not unfamiliar with whiskey, but I didn''t expect it to be this strong.


    But do these people not eat any snacks with their drinks? Just drinking like this, they''re going to ruin their stomachs. No wonder they end up with alcohol poisoning and die.


    I wipe my mouth with my sleeve and call out to him again.


    "Henri."


    "Yes?"


    "Why do you refer to yourself as a dwarf?"


    "Hey, hey! We agreed to be friends, right? Speak more casually!"


    Huh? Is there formal speech in French?


    Anyway, I''m speaking in a Korean style right now.


    It''s amazing that he understands, let alone gets the nuances of the trantion.


    "Hmm, alright. But why do you belittle yourself? When I entered earlier, I almost punched the drunkard who called me a monkey."


    That''s a lie.


    Punching? That''s not in my nature. I probably just trembled in anger.


    It''s not like I wasn''t upset.


    Henri sips his drink with a sly smile. Staring at me with the cup to his lips, he says,


    "People always want to call me a dwarf. But if I say it first? Theyugh. Then they don''t need to say it themselves. It''s a sort of defense mechanism, you know? If it''s a word I''m going to hear anyway, I''d rather be the one to say it."


    ".........................."


    So that''s it. He''s not belittling himself but taking the lead to avoid getting hurt. That''s why he''s sharing this story.


    Henri pats my shoulder and apologizes,


    "About that drunkard calling you a monkey earlier, I apologize on his behalf. There are ignorant and uneducated people everywhere. You understand, right? Fools exist in every era and country. Haha!"


    ".........................."


    I''m at a loss for words. If I apologize now, it would imply that I pity him, so I hold back.


    Henri, unfazed, continues cheerfully,


    "Actually, I''m a painter too."


    I know, how could I not? I''ve been dragged here from 130 years in the future where I''ve seen your exhibitions.


    But I can''t let on that I know. As far as I''m concerned, I just met this man at the club entrance for the first time.


    "Really? What kind of paintings do you do?"


    Ah, I feel awkward asking that. Here I am, using informalnguage with someone over 130 years my senior.


    Henri, not minding my expression, drinks and replies,


    "I paint what I see."


    ".........................."


    What a clear answer!


    To paint what one sees, as one sees it. It''s simple yetplex.


    Henri pours himself another drink.


    He''s already had four sses in five minutes.


    "Hey, Henri. If you keep drinking like that, it''s bad for your health."


    You''ll end up getting aggressive and causing a scene,nding in a mental hospital. Drink in moderation.


    Raising his freshly poured drink, Henri exims,


    "Don''t worry, my friend! I only drink the finest, so no worries there!"


    Does high-quality alcohol benefit your health, you fool?


    I sigh and shake my head.


    After downing his drink, Henri says,


    "I''ll introduce you to my friendster."


    I suddenly perk up.


    Curiously, all the historical geniuses seem to have been active around this time. Henri''s friends include notable figures like Edgar Degas, ude M, and Vincent van Gogh. Meeting any of them would be an honor.


    "Really?"


    "Of course! What''s so hard about that? Most of the renowned painters in Paris are my friends."


    "Should I look forward to it?"


    "Haha! You really are a painter, aren''t you? So interested in other artists. What kind of paintings do you create?"


    ".........................."


    That question again.


    I still haven''t found an answer.


    "Just various things."


    "Oh, that''s the best approach. Capturing everything you see in your paintings, that''s the life of a painter."


    ".........................."


    Is that so? That''s an interesting perspective.


    Henri takes another sip of his drink, lost in thought for a moment. He looks at me, then back at his drink several times.


    Then, in a subtle tone, he asks,


    "You asked me earlier what I paint, right?"


    "Yeah, you said you paint what you see."


    "Are you really curious about what I paint?"


    My eyes widen. Of course, I am.


    "Yes, very curious."


    Henri ponders for a moment before asking,


    "Don''t take this the wrong way, but just wondering..."


    "What is it?"


    "Does the country of Joseon have brothels?"


    ""


    Why ask that? Which country doesn''t? It''s just a matter of legality.


    "Yes, there are."


    "Oh! Really! Have you been?"


    "No."


    "Really?"


    "If you''re suggesting we go there, I''m not interested."


    Am I crazy? Europe at this time was groaning under the weight of syphilis.


    In an era where even you, not to mention Schubert and Chopin, suffered from syphilis, why would I go there? Of course, I could probably get cured with an injection at a modern hospital, but who would go knowing they might get sick?


    Henri smiles slyly and grabs my arm.


    "I''m not nning to buy women with money. Just follow me."


    He hops down from the high chair and leads the way.


    I frown and watch his back.


    Is he really not going there?


    Why do I feel so uneasy?


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 Chapter 85 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 85 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Honestly, I was curious too.


    Of course, I''m not curious about what''s happening here.


    The Muse d''Orsay in Paris had exhibited works that melted the morous or miserable lives of prostitutes into art. Of course, I hadn''t visited it and had only seen the exhibition through photos or documents.


    I remember Jean Beraud''s ''Waiting'' from the exhibition.


    A painting of a woman standing in a neat and elegant ck suit, with a man visible in the distance across the street.


    To an audience aware that the exhibited paintings were about the art of prostitution, the painting provokes curiosity about the rtionship between the woman and the man in it. At first nce, she seems to be a chaste woman waiting for her husband.


    I also recall Pablo Picasso''s ''Prostitute in a Bar''.


    The lewd streets of prostitution Picasso used to frequent in his youth.


    Behind the morous lights of 19th century Paris'' Moulin Rouge and Maxim''s Caf was the sorrow and misery of prostitutes that dominated the era.


    Can prostitution be art?


    Of course, the act itself cannot be considered art.


    It remains art because many painters captured their emotions in their paintings.


    Even in humanity''s first epic, the Epic of Gilgamesh, the harlot Shamhat appears. She was a priestess of the temple in Uruk and a prostitute, who opened Enkidu''s eyes to sex and civilization. Thus, prostitution has coexisted with us since ancient times.


    Imagining, thinking, and reading about it is different from actually stepping into that world. My pupils quivered like they were in an earthquake as I followed Henri.


    Henri walked with a waddling or toddling gait, unhesitatingly passing the entrance of the brothel.


    Pirs of themunity or thugs stood here and there, arms crossed over their thick arms, but no one hindered his entry. Nor did they seem to wee him.


    "Hurry up, Ban! This ce is dangerous, even a momentary eye contact could cost you money."


    Gosh, do I have to pay just for making eye contact?


    Well, that''s probably not the literal meaning. It means that making prolonged eye contact with a woman is a signal to negotiate. I bowed my head low and only peeked around with my eyes. If I saw a prostitute looking my way, I deliberately avoided eye contact.


    Deep inside the brothel.


    I recalled the now-gone Kowloon Walled City of Hong Kong as I passed through the dark, damp alleys.


    Hong Kong''s ''sin city'', filled with opium dens, dirty, crawling with rats, and dangerouslywless.


    People with long pipes in their mouths.


    Their eyes were heavily unfocused, and at a nce, they were not in their right minds.


    Would it feel like this to be in the middle of a tumor created by the devil?


    It felt like my soul was rotting away from the inside.


    I passed by the nauseating smells, and the filthy beds that seemed to make your whole body itch just by lying on them for a moment. And at the deepest part of the brothel, in thergest living room, Henri arrived, taking off his hat and cing it on his chest.


    "Ladies. The dwarf uninvited guest is here today."


    I peeked inside the living room from behind Henri.


    Old sofas with visible wear marks everywhere.


    Prostitutes loungingfortably on them. About thirty women were resting, scattered around the living room. They either pretended not to see Henri or waved their hands lightly.


    Henri nced back at me and gestured with his eyes.


    "Come on, my spot is over there."


    Huh? You have your spot?


    It looks like a resting area for prostitutes. Why do you have a separate spot?


    Henri took my hand and led me to a corner of the living room, to a solitary chair in the most secluded spot.


    "There''s only one chair, so you''ll have to sit on the floor. Is that okay? Sorry for the poor hospitality to a friend."


    Hmm, the chair is for one person.


    It''s a bit much to ask for a chair in someone else''s business ce.


    I guess it''s okay. I''m Korean, and I''m not unfamiliar with sitting on the floor.


    "It''s fine, I''ll sit on the floor."


    "Ha, you''re surprisingly down-to-earth for how you look. That''s a strength of yours, indeed! Ha, ha! Go ahead, sit down, friend."


    Henri flung open a small cupboard next to the sofa and began to take something out. On closer inspection, they were all painting tools. He had brought his own painting tools here.


    "Going to paint?"


    "This is my workce. If I''m at my workce, it''s only natural to work. I even paid off the pimps to secure this spot, so it would be a waste not to paint."


    That exins why none of the pimps or tough guys stopped us. They let us in for money. Well, I would dislike an uninvited guest who''s just a nuisance and doesn''t bring any money too.


    Henri handed me a bucket and said.


    "Could you go over there and fetch some water?"


    "Ah, yes."


    I took the bucket and stood up, heading towards therge water jar Henri indicated with his eyes. Just helping out by fetching some water seemed like a very difficult task for me at the moment.


    "Hes Asian, right? I wonder what Asian skin looks like. I''m curious."


    "I heard they have scales on their backs. That''s why they''re good swimmers."


    "No, you fool. They said they hardly wear any clothes in their lifestyle. I have a sailor client who told me. They don''t have scales. But they do have webbed feet."


    "Hey, Asian guy. How about me? I''ll give you a discount, oh, you''re quite handsome upon closer look? I wouldn''t mind doing it for free with you, how about it?"


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 Chapter 85 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 85 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Those scary sisters.


    Please leave me alone.


    You''re 130 years older than me.


    And I don''t want to do anything in such a germ-infested ce.


    And what?


    Do you have scales on your back? And what''s with the webbed feet on your feet?


    Do I not even look human to you, despite being unfamiliar with Asians?


    I kept my mouth shut and just went ahead, filling my bucket with water at the water jar. The water didnt look clean enough to be drinking water, but I felt nauseous watching a prostitute next to me drink from a cup and wink at me. Drinking such water, no wonder they get sick.


    Arriving next to Henri, I set down the bucket, sweating coldly. Henri, who was mixing paints on his palette, looked at me and asked.


    "Do you feel sick? You''re sweating a lot."


    ".............."


    Listen, I am a modern person.


    Its natural to be scared since I came to a brothel in this era.


    Henri, not expecting an answer, started to whistle and began painting. His brushwork, drawing without even sketching. To my eyes, trained in art, it looked impressive.


    ''That''s because the most remarkable thing about this person is his rough and bold yet urate brush touch.''


    I can''t believe I''m seeing this in person.


    I don''t like the environment, but it''s truly an honor.


    Still, being a painter myself, seeing a master at work calms my frozen heart a bit. The vivid colors of the paints leave a picture like a lie as the brush passes by.


    But Henri''s paintings, even though they depict people, give off a feeling of abstract art. Prostitutes half-lying down with their shoulders fully exposed in their slipped-down clothes. Had I not known who they were, I would have thought it a beautiful scene just as it was.


    Transferring thatndscape as it is would make a very beautiful painting, but the people in Henri''s painting look ugly, dark, and miserable.


    "Henri."


    "Hmm?"


    "Is this your style of painting?"


    Henri looked at me sideways as he stopped painting.


    "Why, don''t you like my paintings?"


    "No, it''s not that."


    "Do you think my paintings are worthless, like Edgar Degas?"


    I quickly waved my hands.


    "No, that''s not what I mean at all."


    Of course, I had to say no. I know who this person in front of me is.


    But my true feelings are a bit different.


    A woman who had been a model for Henri''s paintings once said,


    ''Please don''t paint me so ugly, just a little. Many people screamed when they saw the sketches you sent. No one saw them with an artistic eye, not one person. Why do you always paint women so ugly?''


    Many of Henri''s paintings were so miserable and ugly that even the women who modeled for them turned away. Perhaps it was natural that people of the time didnt understand paintings that didnt look more beautiful than reality?


    Henri, looking into my eyes, said,


    "Critics ustomed to Academism, painters who just copy the paintings of artists from a hundred years ago. These people annoy me. They hope Iplete my artwork, but I only paint what I see. So what? Can''t I paint the kind of paintings they want?"


    Henri took down the canvas he was painting on and brought out a new one. Then, smearing his brush with paint, he began to paint on the nk canvas.


    "I could paint like Bastien-Lepage."


    I couldn''t close my mouth looking at Henri''s second painting. Not because I was amazed at the quality of the work. I could paint that level too. But time was the issue.


    ''If I had painted that work.''


    It would have taken at least six hours. But it didnt even take Henri an hour.


    "See, it''s easy? There''s nothing simpler thanpleting a painting with superficial meaning. This is precisely the most usible lie. I just don''t want to live as a street liar."


    ".............."


    Rather than the paintings others want, I paint as I see.


    Its the ideal of a painter. But reality is the problem.


    "But Henri. If you stick to your style, people won''t buy your paintings."


    Henri burst intoughter, picking up his brush.


    "Fortunately! Our house is doing well. I can live independently, economically. Well, maybe not. I''m living off my father''s money, so I can''t say I''m independent. Anyway! I dont need to sell paintings, so I dont have to consider other people''s tastes! How about that, isn''t it enviable? Haha!"


    Yeah, that''s great. It''s hard for someone like me to live like you. That makes it even more enviable, damn it.


    Even when watching the Avengers, I envied Iron Man the most, a genius scientist born into a wealthy family, more than the other heroes with superpowers. Frankly, even if born a genius, without the money to buy the materials for Iron Man, you can''t be part of it.


    Ha, having a lot of money is the most enviable thing in the world.


    Henri puts down the canvas and picks up the painting he was originally working on, quietly observing the prostitutes'' resting area.


    "Ugliness always has its fascinating aspects, wherever and whenever. It''s very delightful when one discovers it where no one else has noticed."


    Henri, having cleaned his brushes in the water jug, dips them in fresh paint and says,


    "Here, there''s a mix of diversity and contradiction, instinct and restraint, human limits and the ambition of a genius, good and evil, ostentation and self-reflection, intellectual culture and naivety, youth and old age, happiness and depression. This is the reality I''ve intensely explored and want to express convincingly and vividly."


    I put aside my frivolous thoughts and focused on Henri''s words.


    As he started painting again, the yfulness in his eyes disappeared, reced by seriousness.


    "In ces and situations that other painters reject and find shameful, I found my essence. In ces and situations deemed unworthy of painting by others, I discovered myself."


    His brush dances vigorously across the canvas.


    "Nobody in the world has the right to exclude others. I paint everything that is marginalized, just like repeatedly painting my own portrait."


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 Chapter 86 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 86 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Late at night, at Henri''s house.


    I quietly watched little Henri, who was fast asleep with his head down on the table in front of the round window.


    He had painted a couple of pictures in the brothel, then took my hand and went straight to another bar to drink heavily. Unsatisfied, he came home and drank even more until he copsed like that.


    He had offered me drinks several times.


    As someone who can drink more than the average South Korean, I wanted to join in, but I didn''t want to lose a precious opportunity in my dreams due to drunkenness, so I pretended to drink moderately to keep my mind clear.


    I heard a lot from Henri while drinking with him.


    The reason he paints prostitutes in such an ugly way was neither because of their physical appearance nor their hearts. He wanted to capture their emotions. The miserable and wounded hearts hidden behind their morous appearances were depicted in his ugly paintings.


    And Henri, drawing himself repeatedly as a dwarf, projected his self-consciousness into his art,forting himself for being marginalized both in high society and in the back alleys due to his short stature.


    Unfortunately, I am not a great enough artist to share artistic empathy with him. So I ended up giving him nothing but nagging advice that someone who knows the future could give.


    ''If you keep living like this, you''ll end up in a mental hospital. Reduce your drinking and go to the brothel only to paint. Otherwise, you might get sick.''


    I berated myself for the pathetic advice I gave. In my dream, I met such a person, and all I could say was that?


    After pondering over my thoughts alone, I leaned my chin in my hand and looked at Henri, who had fallen asleep with the top of his head facing me, and chewed over the words he said while drinking.


    Henri, heavily drunk, said this to me.


    ''The first human to invent the mirror, set it up vertically simply because they wanted to see their whole body.


    Mirrors used this way satisfied everyone.


    Because a mirror is a practical object, nothing more is needed.


    The invention of the mirror was inevitable, like other objects created out of necessity.


    But then others came and said, people never questioned why mirrors were always set up vertically.


    The problem is whether there is a purpose to do so.


    Naturally, they realized that mirrors could beid horizontally.


    Theyid the mirrors down because it was novel, and that novelty caught their interest.


    But something new is not necessarily beautiful.


    Many artists today are captivated by novelty, trying to find their worth and justification in it, but that''s a mistake.


    What''s important is not novelty.


    What matters is delving into the essence of things and creating something even more remarkable.''


    **


    Hwanghak-dong Flea Market.


    After leaving the art museum, I walked through the deserted markette at night.


    The flea market closes early, with shops starting to shut down from five in the evening.


    Of course, the Gwangjang Market next door gets busier as the night deepens.


    A cart with its lights off wasing down the empty street.


    An olddy with a wrinkled face marked by the ravages of time.


    Wearing arm protectors and doubleyers of worn-out work gloves, she stopped every few steps to pick up discarded boxes and put them on her cart.


    She put empty ss bottles and cans in a green attached to the side of the cart, and carefully arranged the trash of other stores that she hadn''t touched, perhaps worried about being scolded by the shop owners.


    I followed the olddy slowly, about 20 meters behind her.


    When she stopped to work, I stopped, and when she walked, I walked.


    I''m ashamed to say that right now, I''m paying attention to the marginalized people I heard about in my dream from Henri.


    The lives of the poor that I usually try not to see.


    I came here to observe socially marginalized people.


    It''s a simplistic idea, but it''s better to do something than nothing.


    As I learned from Teacher Alphonse Mucha, just do it, whether it works out or not. If it''s a wasted effort, then so be it, but if somethinges of it, be happy.


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 Chapter 86 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 86 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    The olddy walking ahead is picking up recybles.


    Fortunately, she is physically able to do such work. She might earn a small amount of money, but it''s a blessing to have any ie besides the basic livelihood subsidy. Those who are physically ill can''t work at all.


    During the COVID pandemic, I once gave an extra mask from my bag to an old man lying in front of Pagoda Park without a mask. It was meant to be a kind gesture.


    I thought that if he caught the virus in his frail state, he might not survive. But the old man asked for food instead of the mask. I hadn''t realized that a mask was useless to him, especially since welfare center activities had been suspended and he was starving.


    I briefly considered helping the old woman, but past experiences held me back. Help should be given when needed and asked for.


    Watching the ordinary old woman working alone reminds me of Johannes Vermeer, who painted a portrait of Mrs. Kang, the mother of President Yoo, and included a narrative in his work.


    The people in his paintings are unknown to anyone.


    Because he painted ordinary people who were unknown.


    Even if their names were known, since they were neither nobility nor wealthy, we wouldn''t know what they did.


    And more than 90% of modern society''s members are such people.


    If, after I die, a photograph with my name is found 100 yearster, would people be able to tell what I did just from my face and name? Probably not.


    "Maybe everyone is in a position of being marginalized."


    No one would want to admit it.


    I''d want to say I have many friends and live a fulfilling life as a member of society.


    But so what?


    How do you think you will be known to people 100 years from now?


    To people 100 yearster, you and I.


    We will be less significant than a ten-legged deformed mosquito found then.


    At least those insects get a scientific name.


    But we don''t. We are beings who will be forgotten.


    Maybe all of us are socially marginalized.


    Or all this might be sophistry.


    Thinking that I am marginalized because people 100 yearster won''t remember me is a serious leap.


    An unanswerable fundamental concern.


    Sitting on a bench in a closed shop, I look at the grandmother and am lost in thought.


    "Can drawing the marginalized be my answer?"


    As Henri said, humans have no right to marginalize anyone.


    So should I, like him, draw the marginalized?


    Is that really the answer? Did the art gallery make me dream just to give such a simple answer?


    "Ah, I don''t know."


    I mess up my hair roughly and get up from my spot, shaking off my clothes.


    "Let''s go home."


    It''s toote.


    I am too tired.


    I think it''s time for me to rest.


    Others might think I stayed at the art gallery, but in reality, I concentrated all my nerves so as not to miss a word from the master.


    On the way to Paju on thete-night bus.


    The night is deep, but amidst the sparkling night view of Seoul.


    Drunk people, unable to ept their marginalized lives, lean on each other''s shoulders,forting themselves.


    Even as I head home to stop thinking, my thoughts deepen and be moreplex.


    There''s no direct bus to my house, so I have to change buses and end up taking a bus that drops me off a bit far in Paju.


    After getting off the bus in downtown Paju, I check the time.


    "It''s already 1:30 AM."


    I have no choice but to walk home. It''s too short a distance to waste money on a taxi. It''ll take about 20 minutes to walk, but that''s fine. I like spending time lost in thought while walking.


    As I trudge along, thinking about the Parisianndscape I saw in my dream, the conversation with Henri, and the women in the brothel, the journey to my house doesn''t feel tedious at all. Twenty minutes like two pass, and when I arrive home, I think of my mother and brother, who must be sleeping, and quietly open the front door.


    Trying not to make noise, I take off my shoes and tiptoe through the dark living room to the second floor. Suddenly, a voice startles me.


    "Jung-hoon, is that you?"


    "Yikes!"


    What a shock!


    I quickly turn on the living room light.


    The sofa in the dark living room, chosen by Mrs. Kang because it was expensive, luxurious, andfortable, shows my brother Ji-hoon sitting. Hearing the noise, he seems to have located me and is looking in my direction.


    "Brother? What are you doing in the dark...?"


    He chuckles.


    "It''s all the same to me, whether the light is on or off."


    "..............."


    Right, of course.


    I try to make up for my mistake and head towards the fridge, asking, "It''s still hot outside. I''m thirsty and going to drink some juice. Want anything, brother?"


    "Oh, what juices do you have?"


    "Just a moment."


    Opening the fridge, I see several juice bottles and milk and smile broadly.


    When mom and my brother lived alone, they could never dream of such a thing.


    Mom was happy after receiving living expenses from me, buying lots of fruits, juices, and milk.


    She liked buying unripe fruits and cing them in a basket in the kitchen, a practicemon in wealthy homes of her generation.


    "We have orange, grape, and pineapple juice. There''s milk and soy milk too, brother."


    "Then I''ll have pineapple."


    "Okay, got it."


    I take out cups from the kitchen, pour the juices, and return to the living room, offering a cup to my brother.


    "Did you go to school today?"


    "Yeah, why are you sote?"


    "Yeah, I got busy with work. I''m going to have an exhibition."


    He suddenly exims loudly while drinking his juice.


    "Really!?"


    "Shh! You''ll wake mom."


    "Really? You''re really having an exhibition? With your name on it? That''s great!"


    He''s as happy for me as if it''s his own aplishment.


    That must be why they say your family is your only side.


    "Yeah, but I''m not doing it alone. Several artists are involved. You have toe to the exhibition."


    He looks a bit sad at this but perks up when I add, "Even if you can''t see the paintings, you''lle to congratte me, right?"


    He quickly smiles and nods.


    "Of course!"


    A brother who has a painter sibling but has never seen a painting in his life. No, a brother who has never seen a single painting in his entire life.


    Looking at him, my eyes be sad.


    Even among those closest to me, the most marginalized person was right there. Why did I foolishly look for it outside?


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 Chapter 87 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 87 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    In the previous literature, I had read this passage.


    It was an article on the theme of the difference in imagination between congenitally blind and acquired blind people.


    It said that the imagination of the acquired blind relies on memory.


    To be precise, it assembles what it sees for the first time in its mind based on the memories seen before losing sight.


    However, the congenitally blind have never seen anything since birth.


    Since they have no memories to rely on, they imagine as they have learned, but sometimes misunderstand, imagining somethingpletely different.


    For example, if I asked my brother what an elephant looks like.


    He would describe it as a veryrge animal with a long trunk, gray body,rge ears, and thergest mammal after the whale. All this understandinges from education.


    How big is arge trunk, what does it feel like when ears flutter? My brother doesn''t know. He just speaks from what he''s memorized.


    What would the elephant assembled in my brother''s mind look like?


    He might imagine a gray elephant with ears and a trunk slightlyrger than a human, or one with a trunk as abnormally long as a giraffe''s neck, or even with wing-like ears like Dumbo from the cartoons.


    I quietly looked at my brother with his eyes closed.


    In fact, my brother can open his eyes.


    But theyck focus and the color of the pupils is different from normal people.


    Ever since a neighborhood friend said my brother''s eyes were scary when we were young, he has always kept his eyes closed.


    "Brother."


    "Yeah."


    "Is school fun?"


    "Um, well. It''s okay. Since we''re all together, we understand each other."


    ""


    That''s a lie.


    I heard from mom. My brother really dislikes going to the blind school.


    In my opinion, as an ordinary person, I thought people in the same situation would understand and care for each other, but in reality, they are people who find it hard to live without someone''s help.


    So, they don''t have the luxury to care for others, they understand each other, but can''t look after one another.


    My brother says that when he goes to school, it feels like someone is constantly reminding him of the hell he lives in.


    He doesn''t want to hear or face the reality he keeps whispering about.


    But my kind brother never told me such stories.


    "What do you learn at school?"


    "We learn everything, Korean, math, English, social studies, science, physical education, and art."


    Art?


    Do blind people learn art?


    "Do you do art?"


    "Yeah."


    "How?"


    My brother smiles, ying with his hands.


    "Have you heard of the phrase ''blind men touching an elephant''?"


    ""


    I dislike this proverb. I know the meaning, but I''ve never used it.


    "Yeah, I know."


    "In our art ss, we mainly use y. We touch and feel something, then create it."


    Ah, it''s not about drawing pictures.


    "It''s like sculpture."


    "Yes, and we draw pictures too."


    "Pictures?"


    "Yeah, isn''t it amazing?"


    ""


    It is amazing. But I don''t want to say it. My brother adds an exnation.


    "There are people who donate their talents. They create masterpieces with stic, giving light and shadow. Then we touch them and imagine what the painting is like. We don''t know the colors, but we can understand the shape. Based on that, we draw pictures."


    I see. There are really good people in the world. My brother said with a slightly self-mocking smile.


    "Do you remember when we were twelve? When we first went to the War Memorial of Korea in Yongsan."


    ""


    I remember.


    It wasn''t long after we moved to Namyangju following our father''s death when mom took us to the museum.


    At the time, my brother was older but still young like me. While exining a painting rted to the Korean War, he touched the painting out of curiosity.


    And then we were chased out by the caretaker.


    Visitors who dare touch the paintings are uneptable, he said.


    I remember.


    Im so grateful to those who made touchable paintings. It allows me to imagine the art. Ever since we were kicked out of the museum, I thought art was irrelevant to my life, and it was where I felt most inferior.


    I see.


    My brother stretches andughs.


    I wish there were more touchable paintings. Ah, now I''m sleepy.


    Yeah, go to bed, bro.


    As my brother stretcheszily and gets up, I help him, but he refuses, saying,


    I know my way around the house, dont worry and rest. You must be tired.


    Okay.


    My brother slowly heads to his room.


    I watch his retreating figure, recalling hisst words.


    I wish there were more touchable paintings.


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 Chapter 87 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 87 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    At Artist Company, Paju.


    Youngju, who had been observing me since dawn, approaches as I sit in front of my PC.


    Arent you preparing for the exhibition? Theres no time to rx.


    Oh, just searching for something.


    What?


    Youngju asks, looking at my monitor.


    Oil painting? Are you submitting it for the exhibition?


    Yeonjeong, a Western painting major, perks up her ears and runs over.


    Brother, are you going to paint in oil?


    Well, I havent decided yet.


    Oil painting. A technique that enhances texture using knife painting.


    After talking with my brotherst night, I researched touchable paintings all night. Luckily, ourpany has a 3D printer, so we can create tangible, sculptural paintings after painting.


    But can that be called a painting?


    Though oil paintings have texture, they shouldnt be touched.


    Oil paint, as the name implies, contains a lot of oil. It takes a long time to dry and can easily deteriorate from external impacts even after it dries.


    What''s created with a 3D printer is closer to a sculpture than a painting. I want to show real paintings to my brother and others who share his pain. But I cant think of a way.


    Yeonjeong, showing interest, hovers around me and soon leaves, bored with my silent search. But Youngju, arms crossed, still stands behind me.


    Hey.


    Hm?


    Thinking about your brother?


    This guy knows too much about me.


    Haha, kind of.


    Is it okay?


    Youngjus question carries a hidden meaning.


    While a brother''s concern is admirable, disying paintings for the blind at a joint exhibition in a hotel might not bepetitive.


    Huh.


    Youngjus thoughts are valid.


    The people I met yesterday. Jeong Soohan, Joo Chaeyoung, Lee Hwajeong, Jeon Kwangho, Kim Jeongmin.


    All of them are young painters leading contemporary art in Korea. In apetition with them, I might need to choose the best of what I can do.


    But.


    The museum inspired me to dream and to see the marginalized. And among them, I saw my brother. Is this really the path the museum wants me to take?


    Feeling frustrated, I put down the mouse, pushed the chair back, and rested my head on my arms.


    Ah, its tough.


    Youngju still stands there, arms crossed, looking down at me.


    I look at her face and suddenly remember that my friend used to be a docent at the Seoul Museum of Art. There probably arent many who understand the artistic aspect that Youngju needs to know better than her.


    Youngju.


    Hm?


    About oil painting, is there no way to make the finished painting touchable? Like coating it after its painted.


    Then the painting would be shiny, right?


    Hmm.


    And even with coating, its weak. The inside needs to be strong to enhance durability with a coating, but oil paint is too fragile.


    So, theres no way.


    Do you want to make a painting that your brother can touch?


    Yeah, if possible.


    Hmm.


    Youngju pulls up a chair and joins me in my quandary.


    "I want to find the answer to creating tactile paintings in the matiere technique."


    Matiere, a French term meaning material or substance, is a term that epasses all methods of adding texture to paintings. It includes any technique that creates a three-dimensional effect, like oil paintings with their rough surfaces.


    Youngju, flicking the armrest of her chair with her finger, suddenly stops. She quietly observes the staff.


    Who is she looking at? Then Youngju raises her hand and calls out.


    "Jiyeon!"


    "Yes, unni."


    "Remember the catalog example you showed me yesterday?"


    "Yes, unni."


    "Bring all of those."


    "Yes, one moment."


    What? Why suddenly bring up the catalog we''re working on?


    When Jiyeon brings arge ck binder, Youngju frantically flips through it. After spending some time looking at the various catalog examples, she flicks a page with her finger and hands it to me.


    "Here it is."


    ".?"


    The page Youngju hands to me.


    A catalogmissioned by the Ho-Am Art Museum in Yongin.


    "Kim Hwan-ki, the painter? Known for his moon jars and pointillism?"


    "Yeah, we''re handling the catalog for the Kim Hwan-ki retrospective exhibition."


    "I know that. But why him? He''s not known for oil paintings, right?"


    Youngju stands up with a sly smile.


    "Get up, get dressed."


    "Huh?"


    "Jiyeon! Can we go to the museum now?"


    Jiyeon, who had returned to her work, looks up and checks the time.


    "Yes, we can go in, unni."


    "Let''s go for a bit."


    "That''s great, I needed more photographic materials anyway. Just a moment."


    Watching Jiyeon gather her coat and bag, I ask Youngju.


    "Why suddenly there? Isn''t the exhibition not started yet?"


    Youngju confidently smiles and says.


    "We''re insiders, so we can get in. I believe the exhibition setup is almostplete. All the artworks have arrived."


    ".?"


    "You''ll understand when we get there. Have I ever talked nonsense? Just follow me, dude."


    That''s right, Youngju might talk a lot, but she doesn''t speak nonsense.


    I decide to trust her and follow Youngju out. The three of us, including Jiyeon, drive to the Ho-Am Art Museum in Youngju''s car, park, show our credentials at the security office, and enter the museum.


    The Ho-Am Art Museum, founded by a prominent corporate founder in Korea, keeps its beautiful gardens open even when there are no exhibitions. Over thirty gardeners are preparing the garden for the uing exhibition as we walk towards the museum.


    Jiyeon leaves to request some documents from the office, leaving Youngju and me alone.


    Youngju looks up at the stairs leading from the first-floor lobby to the second floor and says,


    "People often remember Kim Hwan-ki for transforming abstract elements like dots and lines into art through his ink diffusion technique."


    "That''s true."


    "But world-renowned artists all go through a process of evolution. They put in a lot of effort to find their unique technique, and many works are born in that process."


    "I know, the moon jars are also products of his intermediary phase."


    "There are works from before he painted the moon jars."


    "Like what?"


    Youngju flicks her finger and heads to the exhibition hall on the left side of the first floor.


    As we enter the exhibition hall, a deste scene unfolds before us, with artworks hanging in an empty museum. Youngju flicks her finger and points in one direction.


    "That."


    Where Youngju''s fingertip points.


    The answer lies at the very end of my gaze.


    I beam with joy and put my arm around Youngju''s shoulder.


    "As expected, my friend!"


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 Chapter 88 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 88 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    <i>1/2 Bonus chapter thanks to @SomeoneRandom</i>


    W Hotel Theatre, the lobby of the Catbs.


    Jeongmin, who has masked her assigned area with green tape, is making angles with her fingers, calcting which artwork would fit best in whichposition. Two young students helping Jeongmin are measuring the area and taking notes in their notebooks.


    "From here to here. Considering the flow of visitors, we need to cut this part. Make it at least 1 meter 50 centimeters wide so two people can stand side by side. Oh, and take some photos as well."


    Jeongmin is a person who creates art with thread, space, and light. She shook her head after calcting the light entering through the museum windows.


    "No, it''s too much sunlight. Prepare to pitch a tent over the whole space."


    "Should we prepare it with ckout curtains, teacher?"


    "Yes, we have some leftover from before. We might need to cut it, though. It''s in my studio, just measure and cut it ordingly."


    "Okay, teacher."


    Just then, the doors of the theatre lobby opened, and a group of people entered, pushing a cart with a statue covered in ck cloth. Jeongmin supervised them and then approached the bald man following them with a smile.


    "Did artist Jeong Soohan arrive?"


    Jeong Soohan, a painter who speaks about societal structures through unnaturally twisted human bodies.


    He smiles and nods.


    "Ah, artist Jeongmin is here."


    Soohan nces at Jeongmin''s students.


    "Are you here to check your area?"


    "I''m in instation art, after all. But do you already have apleted piece?"


    Soohan smiles wryly, looking at the sculpture being taken to his area.


    "I finished this one earlier, but it''s never been exhibited before. It''s a first reveal for this exhibition."


    "Wow, always working ahead, such a diligent artist. I''m envious."


    "Ha-ha, you can''t work ahead in instation art like me. I think artists like you are much more amazing."


    Soohan says modestly, looking at the areas of other artists.


    Jeongmin''s area is not set yet, but Chae Young''s area already has arge electronic disy board brought in, with partitions made ording to the visitor''s movement path.


    The areas of Hwajeong and Kwangho also don''t have their artwork yet, but the partitions are set and tape marks the floor. Everyone seems to be preparing diligently.


    However, one ce is empty.


    Nothing there, just an empty space. Soohan nces at the space and says,


    "Looks like artist Ban Junghoon hasn''t started his work yet?"


    Jeongmin, who had been concerned about it, looks at the empty area of Junghoon''s. A flicker of worry crosses her face, but she quickly changes her expression and says,


    "He''s a painter, after all. He''s probably more focused on his paintings than the space."


    Soohan looks at Kwangho''s area. Kwangho is also a painter but has already finished setting up his area.


    "Is this Ban Junghoon''s first exhibition?"


    "That''s what I heard."


    "Hmm, he might be in trouble if he''s tooid back."


    Jeongmin smiles.


    "He''ll manage. Right now, our noses are barely above water, aren''t they?"


    "Ha-ha, right. I heard Jeong Kwangho is grinding his teeth over this."


    "Why?"


    "He was boasting that he''d be the biggest talk of this exhibition. He finished setting up his area and went straight back to Yeongdeok to his studio. I heard he''s been working all night. It''s so scary I''m getting restless too."


    "Ha-ha, I can''t believe artist Soohan would say that."


    "It''s true. Jeong Kwangho is a hot topic among the MZ generation, so I''m afraid my work will be overshadowed."


    "Nah, you''re inpletely different fields. You might havepetition with Ban Junghoon, though."


    Jeongmin is right.


    Soohan in human sculpture.


    Suhan, known for his human body sculptures.


    Chaeyoung, who deals with political and ideological art.


    Hwajeong with her photography.


    Jeongmin and her instation art, all have different fields.


    Only twopete through paintings.


    Gwangho, known for his abstract human figures, and Jeonghoon, who seems to be working in traditionalist academicism. Suhan murmurs, thinking of Jeonghoon and Gwangho.


    One of them is going to bepletely overshadowed, no matter who bes the sacrifice.


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 Chapter 88 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 88 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Time flows like a stream, and before long, it''s the next year.


    Jeonghoon has turned twenty-nine, and the exhibition is just two weeks away.


    In the meantime, at the W Tree Theater, after a three-month run of Cats, a y starring domestic middle-aged actors was also performed. Jeongmin heard that Minyoung managed to snatch this y, which was originally scheduled to be staged at the S Art Hall Towol Theater.


    During the COVID era, as audiences emerged from the extreme frustration of confinement, the theater was packed every day. Thanks to Minyoung''s business acumen, the W Tree Hotel Theater was frequently in the news, maintaining its poprity.


    As the y ended and the full-scale preparation for the exhibition began, the painters starteding to the theater daily to check their sections, review the order of their works, and create additional pieces where needed.


    Chaeyoung ps her hands and shouts to the workers.


    There! Please connect the screen to thisptop. It needs to disy the real-time fluctuation of prices.


    As the screen in Chaeyoungs section lights up, numbers start appearing. Jeongmin, who was checking her section, approaches Chaeyoung and asks,


    What is this for, Artist Chaeyoung?


    Chaeyoung smiles and responds,


    In my exhibition, I always disy the price of Choco Pies on the screen.


    You disy the price of Choco Pies on a screen?


    Yes, in cents. I want to remind the audience of the value of this small amount of money in North Korea and the sense of responsibility we should have .


    Chaeyoung, who creates artworks based on the North Korean Labor Party''s official newspaper and chocte pie, donates all exhibition proceeds to a North Korean defector organization. Jun-min was so impressed that she nodded approvingly.


    "Amazing, artist."


    "You''re exaggerating. Is your instation almost done?"


    "Yes, I just need to adjust some lighting."


    "This is a bit unfair. Your artwork is not visible from the outside because of the tent, but mine is fully exposed. It''s like revealing the weapon I''m holding before the fight even begins, while I have no idea what the opponent''s weapon is."


    "Haha, what nonsense."


    While Chae-young and Jun-min exchangedughs, Kwang-ho, with a dark expression, watched as he repeatedly redrew his painting. Chae-young whispered to Jun-min, observing him seriously.


    "That guy, isn''t he too dark? Honestly, I haven''t spoken to him since we had a meal together that time."


    "Haha."


    "It feels like he pours all his passion into the paintings, but besides his inner self, he seems to have no interest in others."


    "Although he draws people''s faces and finds emotions within them, it seems unlikely, doesn''t it?"


    "No, I''ve done my research. The people in his paintings may all look different, but the emotions within them are his own. In other words, he uses others'' faces as tools and focuses on expressing his own emotions through art."


    "Is that so?"


    Chaeyoung, while stealing nces at Gwangho who was covering his eyes with his hair, looked at Jeonghoon''s still empty section. Even with only two weeks left, there was no partition in his area.


    "Is Artist Ban Jeonghoon okay? I haven''t seen him since that day."


    "Hmm."


    "It''s not like he''s giving up on the exhibition, right? If so, he should have informed us earlier so we could use his area."


    The sections of other artists were partitioned to guide the visitors'' natural viewing path. However, there was nothing in Jeonghoon''s area, only the square partitions set up by the theater a month ago to demarcate the areas.


    Jeongmin, who had spoken to Jeonghoon unlike Chaeyoung who wished to use his area, looked at his empty space with concern.


    Then, the theater doors opened, and two men and three women entered, carryingrge items. Jeongmin, spotting Jeonghoon among them, ran up to him.


    "Jeonghoon!"


    "Oh, noona."


    "What happened to you? You haven''t shown your face for months. I thought you had given up on the exhibition."


    "Why would I give up on the exhibition, haha."


    "What have you been doing?"


    "Haha."


    **


    Well, noona is right, I really did stay out of sight.


    But, isn''t it a bit of a misnomer to say I was holed up?


    The only ce I didn''t show up was this exhibition hall. I''ve been traveling to a vast number of ces in the meantime.


    The artists participating in the exhibition with me.


    All the painters directing workers in their sections are looking at me.


    I greet them with a nod and say,


    "I''ve been painting, what else, noona."


    Jeongmin noona looks worried.


    "Jeonghoon, an exhibition isn''t just about the paintings. The most important thing is the flow of the visitors'' emotions, and to maintain their focus until the end, it''s hard to n the movement path. The other artists have been struggling for months to create their paths, and you''re just going to show up with your paintings?"


    "Thanks for the concern, noona. But I don''t need things like movement paths or viewing routes."


    "What?"


    I smile again and speak to my colleagues who came with me.


    "Yeongju, please check the floor. If anything is sticking out, clear it away."


    "Okay."


    "Jiyong, when hanging the paintings, ce the hooks about 1 meter above the floor."


    "Got it, hyung."


    Jeongmin noona, overhearing this, is shocked.


    "1 meter! Are you crazy?"


    Gwangho, nearby, approaches with his characteristic darkness.


    "Jeonghoon."


    "Ah, hyung. Long time no see."


    "You know this is your first exhibition, but isn''t it basic manners to study the fundamentals?"


    ".."


    "1 meter off the floor. It''s not a children''s exhibition, and the visitors'' line of sight won''t align with the center of the paintings. You should at least know that."


    "Haha, I''ll take care of it."


    Gwangho''s eyes hidden behind his hair glow as he growls.


    "We''ve poured months into this. Don''t do anything to tarnish the reputation of other artists."


    "Yes, hyung."


    Gwangho turns and walks back to his section. Jeongmin noona whispers,


    "Why does he have to talk like that?"


    "Haha, well, he''s not wrong."


    "But still."


    "It''s okay. Ah! Jiyeon! Clear that thing in the middle."


    Jeongmin noona, watching me give instructions, asks,


    "Are you really not going to set up partitions? Just leaving the center space empty and disying only around the edges? It might look open and nice, but it''s not a good choice. If the paintings are all visible at once, it will decrease the visitors'' concentration."


    I smile brightly at noona.


    "Don''t worry, noona. The people whoe to see my paintings will have better concentration than anyone else in the world."


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 Chapter 89 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 89 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    <i>2/2 Bonus Chapter thanks to everyone on Ko-fi</i>


    The night at W-Tree Hannam Catbs.


    With no performances scheduled during the exhibition preparation period, the ce is unusually quiet.


    As the clock strikes past 11 PM, the bustle of the artists and workers preparing for the exhibition subsides, leaving the lobby shrouded in silence.


    Yet, a shadow moves in the darkness.


    A dark-haired man, Kwang-ho, his face obscured by his hair, is that shadow.


    Alone, he checks the angles immediately after entering the lobby.


    "From here, the first thing you see is Artist Chaeyoung''s exhibit... The digital disy steals the attention."


    In a joint exhibition, thepetition among artists begins the moment one enters.


    Which artist''s exhibition captures the audience''s eyes? Is it solely a matter of skill?


    No.


    The winner is the one who grabs attention first.


    Especially for someone like him, with bold works, the other artists'' pieces might feel nd to the viewers who see his first.


    Kwang-ho nods towards his area.


    "The most dazzling piece should be visible from here."


    The angle doesn''t allow a full view of a painting.


    Only the edge of the painting should peek out, using a bold pink to draw the viewer''s eyes and pique interest.


    Kwang-ho, back in his area, changes the order of his paintings.


    However, unsatisfied, he can''t leave the front of the painting.


    Eventually, he sighs and returns the painting to its original position.


    "If this is the first thing people see, the next painting will seem dull."


    Kwang-ho, reluctantly, decides topromise and leaves the painting in its ce.


    Through the lobby''srge ss windows, he gazes at his reflection.


    He smiles, proud of his own efforts, workingte into the night in the empty exhibition hall.


    "Expecting different results by putting in the same effort as others is self-deception."


    Constantly pushing himself, investing more effort and passion than others  Kwang-ho believes this to be the form for sess in life, so he doesn''t stop working evente at night.


    He thought about connecting the pieces with string to create a natural flow but decided against it. This exhibition is a joint one with Kim Jung-min, a specialist in instation art using space, string, and light. It would be unwise to interfere clumsily and potentially undermine her efforts.


    Kwang-ho''s gaze shifts to Jeong-hoon''s area, pondering ways to enhance the exhibition.


    Jeong-hoon''s section,pleted two days ago with the help of workers, catches his eye.


    He had glimpsed it in passing - there were no paintings. Instead, nails were hammered into the wall where the paintings would hang, and stainless steel tes for the descriptions were affixed.


    Curious since the morning, Kwang-ho had refrained from approaching it, fearing his actions might be perceived aspetitive by others. But now, in the solitude of the night, he sneaks into Jeong-hoon''s area.


    Jeong-hoon''s section, still under preparation, is concealed by ck curtains.


    Even though he knows it''s empty, Kwang-ho tiptoes in like a thief. He notices the steel tes attached by Jeong-hoon''s team. In fact, that''s all there is to see.


    "What''s this?"


    He had assumed they were for inscribing the artwork descriptions.


    But the tes are nk.


    "Hold on."


    At first nce, they seem empty, but upon closer inspection, there are raised dots, like bumps.


    "Braille?"


    Is it braille for the visually impaired?


    The tes are engraved with braille, iprehensible to the general public without specific study.


    Kwang-ho gazes at the te and murmurs.


    "Is he preparing an exhibition for the visually impaired?"


    Kwang-ho''s expression turns serious.


    "Of course, the purpose of it is quite wonderful."


    I can''t say how the visually impaired will appreciate the artworks, but having an exhibition where even those artistically marginalized can enjoy is unquestionably a good thing.


    "But this is apetition, and we mustn''t forget that."


    A joint exhibition is not a coboration among artists, but apetition.


    Who shines brighter, who bes more of a topic?


    Is it a battlefield where wepete to see whether our works, toiled over for months, will be overshadowed by others, or will they be the main attraction?


    It''s hard to say out loud, but the number of visually impaired visitors is fewer than general attendees. Moreover, even fewer of them are likely to attend an art exhibition.


    "Will it be a sketch?"


    Hence the need for this empty space in the middle.


    "How foolish."


    To submit sketches for an exhibition?


    It''s an insane thought. Why?


    Because Su-han is among the artists participating in the joint exhibition.


    To think ofpeting with Su-han, who creates detailed and delicate human sculptures, with mere sketches.


    Even if it''s his first exhibition, it''s an incredibly foolish thought.


    Kwang-ho shakes his head, brushes his hands off, and smiles.


    "No matter how much W Tree pushes you as an artist, I''ve won this time, Jeong-hoon."


    In truth, Kwang-ho had been most concerned about Jeong-hoon since the members of the joint exhibition were announced.


    An artist with a strange career, whether a designer or a painter.


    Designs for MG Electronics'' refrigerators, catb ceiling painting, and digital media art for the world-renowned pianist Irina''s performances. The more you see, the stranger his career seems. It''s hard to identify him because there''s no consistency, which makes him more wary.


    But now, knowing he''s made the wrong choice, Kwang-ho feels relieved.


    Easing his worries, Kwang-ho checks his section once more and then leaves the lobby.


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 Chapter 89 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 89 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    "Oh my, Ji-hoon, your brother is an artist? Are you really inviting our Yeon-hee to the exhibition?"


    "It would be great if our child could feel something there. Thank you so much for inviting us."


    "How nice it must be to have such a sibling. I wish I had an artist in my family."


    Lunchtime at the school for the blind.


    Jeong-hoon''s older brother Ji-hoon, surrounded by parents, continually bows his head.


    "My brother is new to exhibitions, so I''d be grateful if you coulde. He''s still a fledgling artist, but I know him. He wouldn''t have invited you without preparing something beneficial for us."


    As the chattering parents disappear, Yeon-hee''s voicees from the next seat.


    "Ji-hoon oppa."


    "Yes."


    "Does your brother do sculptures?"


    "."


    "No?"


    "I believe he paints. I haven''t seen it, though."


    "Did he attend an art school?"


    "Yes."


    "Then he must have learned sculpture too. But is he good? Has he been on the news or something?"


    "."


    I heard from mom. My brother painted a theater''s ceiling and was heavily featured in the news. But such a work, none of us at school, including myself, could see.


    "Oh, well. I heard he was on the news."


    "Really? Wow, he must be quite famous then. I''m really looking forward to it. Touching those animal sculpturesst time was amazing. I didn''t know a giraffe''s neck was so long. It felt more alive than when I just imagined it. You felt the same, right oppa?"


    "Yeah"


    Yeon-hee''s voice is full of anticipation, though unseen.


    Ji-hoon confidently spoke in front of the parents but is secretly anxious. As far as he knows, his brother has never done anything with sketches. The only memory he has is of an eagle made of y in elementary school.


    The direction where, theoretically, there is a window.


    Ji-hoon turns his head toward the sky, somewhere out there, clenching his fist.


    "I''m sure my brother will do well. I believe in you, Jeong-hoon."


    **


    Finally, the day of the performance.


    The artists, with tense faces, stand in front of their respective areas.


    Except for Jeong-min, who works with light, space, and thread, all have their areas open. Although only the entrance is visible from the outside, the artists frequently nce at each other''s areas.


    In a few minutes, the first visitors will arrive.


    The artists, having arrived since dawn to prepare perfectly, swallow their nervous saliva as they check the time down to the second.


    Jeong-min noona looks the most rxed among them. With her agees plenty of exhibition experience, and she stands in front of her area with a calm expression, as usual.


    Standing at the entrance of my area, trembling, I speak to noona opposite me.


    "Aren''t you nervous, noona?"


    "Of course, I am."


    "It doesn''t show."


    "Haha, this is just my usual face. Actually, I''m very nervous inside."


    "I wish my nerves didn''t show either."


    "You''re already doing better than others. Look there."


    Jeong-min noona subtly gestures with her eyes.


    I see Kwang-ho hyung in the second area from the front.


    He is by a white stic table for stamping exhibition stamps, and there are three broken pencils scattered on it.


    "Did hyung break those?"


    "Yes, I saw him earlier. He kept breaking pencils he was holding. Such a bad habit. What did the pencils do to deserve that?"


    "Haha, hyung is nervous too."


    "Who wouldn''t be nervous about an exhibition bearing their own name?"


    "True."


    Jeong-min noona nces briefly at the area behind me and asks.


    "Have you finished preparing?"


    "Yes."


    "How did you finish everything in just one day? You came two weeks ago for a check and brought in your work yesterday? I haven''t seen it yet."


    "Haha, an artist must care most about their art. Actually, it''s an excuse, haha. I barely managed to finish the painting due tock of time."


    "It reminds me of my first exhibition. I was so out of it that I don''t even remember how it ended."


    So, noona had such a time too. But it seems I''m better off? At least I''m not at the point of losing my memory. Who knows? The exhibition hasn''t even started yet.


    Jeong-min noona asks.


    "Did your family or friendse?"


    "My family did."


    "And your friends?"


    "I don''t have many friends."


    "Why? You seem nice."


    I didn''t have money.


    Who would like me when I just mooch off them every time we meet? The only friend left around me is Yeong-ju. But it''s okay, I have one most precious friend.


    I didn''t exin in detail but swallowed these words and just smiled.


    Then, the door to the lobby opens, and the beautiful narrator''s voice echoes through the amplifier.


    "Thank you for waiting,dies and gentlemen. The joint exhibition of Catbs, showcasing six contemporary painters who will illuminate Korea, will now begin. We ask the visitors to enter in an orderly manner."


    Jeong-min noona extends her hand.


    "Good luck, Ban Jeong-hoon."


    "You too, noona."


    I p palms with noona, and just as I turn my head towards the entrance to look at the iing visitors, I see Kwang-ho hyung looking at me.


    He tries to wave at me to wish me luck, but upon seeing me, he chuckles and shakes his head in a dismissive way. As he looks me up and down with a look of pity, he turns away.


    Why is he like that? I briefly wondered, but as I see the flood of visitors, my mind starts to feel hazy. Now I understand what Jeong-min noona meant when she said she lost her memory during her first exhibition.


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 Chapter 90 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 90 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    The office of Yu Min-young, representative of W Tree Hannam.


    The chief of the secretariat reports to Min-young, seated on the sofa.


    The exhibition started at 10 a.m. Everything is going smoothly, and I personally checked it early this morning.


    Min-young, sipping tea, asked,


    What time is it now?


    It''s three in the afternoon.


    Have the statistics for the visitorse in?


    We''re checking hourly. As of 2 p.m., a total of 867 people have entered.


    Almost a thousand visitors, but its still early. The exhibition goes on until eight in the evening, so there''s plenty of time left.


    Since it''s Friday, make sure to maximize our marketing efforts over the weekend.


    All ticket sales sites contracted with us, from early bird sites to ticket booking sites, are currently selling tickets.


    How many tickets have been sold?


    A total of 20,000.


    The exhibition tickets are priced at 15,000 won.


    Excluding onsite ticketing, inte sales alone have brought in 300 million in revenue. Of course, this is not pure profit. Marketing costs for the exhibition have consumed nearly 200 million, and considering the facilities and preparations requested by the artists, along with manpower mobilization, its actually a loss.


    But Min-young doesnt seem to mind as she nods and says,


    Anyway, this exhibition wasn''t about making money, so let''s just ensure we don''t incur losses.


    Yes, ma''am.


    W Tree Hannams hosting of this exhibition is to fill the gap between performances so that the theater is not forgotten by the public. Continuously drawing people to this ce and keeping it busy ensures argerge audience for the next performance.


    When will Mom arrive?


    After checking his phone for a text message, the chief of the secretariat replied,


    Shell be here in ten minutes.


    Let''s go out to meet her.


    Yes, ma''am.


    As Min-young descends to the first-floor lobby, numerous staff, having been informed earlier, follow her. Over twenty hotel employees gather in front of the lobby, and soon, a radio message is heard from the hotel entrance. It announces the arrival of Chairman Yoo and Madam Kang at the entrance.


    Unlike the tense faces of the staff, Min-young, who sees her parents at thepany every day, greets them with a beaming smile as she watches their car arrive.


    The chauffeur steps out and opens the backseat door for Min-youngs parents, Chairman Yoo Chang-hyun and Madam Kang Yoo-jung.


    Mom, Dad!


    Unlike her brothers who have left the family home, Min-young, who lives with her parents, joyfully runs to her mother and grabs her hand, asking,


    Mom, was there traffic?


    Madam Kang, who rarely makes public appearances, gently pats her daughter''s back with her gloved hand, saying,


    It was a bit congested. But I had toe, its your first art exhibition.


    Chairman Yoo, after waving to the greeting employees,ughs and says,


    Shes been dressing and undressing since this morning, like a fashion show. If I hadnt rushed her, she wouldnt have left the house until tomorrow.


    Ha ha.


    Madam Kang gives her husband a stern look as if to say, Is that something to say in front of the employees? Chairman Yoo meekly closes his mouth, and Madam Kang, linking arms with her daughter, suggests,


    Shall we take a look at our daughter''s exhibition then?


    But, you came to see Mr. Bans exhibition, didnt you?


    Oh, what are you talking about? I came to see my daughter''s first art exhibition.


    Mom, really, lets go.


    As the three of them move, the employees follow en masse.


    Chairman Yoo signals for them to stop, and only a few bodyguards continue with them.


    Finally, therge-scale movement that drew everyone''s attention ends, and Min-young''s family blends quietly among families who havee to the art gallery with their children.


    **


    Wow, so this is what an exhibition is like.


    Now I understand what Jung-min was talking about earlier.


    I thought it was just about attending to the visitors and guiding them.


    I didn''t expect to be so concerned about the expressions andments of the visitors. At first, when there were few visitors, it was manageable, but after lunchtime, the number of visitors surged dramatically.


    Is it fortunate that the exhibition is divided into sections because it''s a joint exhibition? If I had been greedy to cover the entire vast exhibition, even ten bodies wouldn''t have been enough.


    "Brother! A child spilled ice cream near the exit! I need to go get a mop, please watch this area for me!"


    "Brother! We''re running out of stamp ink, Ill go get some ande back!"


    "Jeong-hoon, a visitor over here is asking for an exnation of the artwork!"


    "Brother, a light went out in section 34, who should I tell?"


    Young-ju, Ji-yong, Ji-yeon, Yeon-jung.


    I''m grateful to all my employees for their hard work. But right now, I''m on the verge of a mental breakdown, so just give me a moment. Even just one second would be good.


    I sat down on a white stic chair to take over the stamping duty that Ji-yong, who went to clean up the ice cream spilled by a child, left behind. Then, a child shorter than my sitting height ces a postcard in front of me while eating an ice cream.


    This is an event organized by W Tree, where visitors who view all six artists'' exhibitions and collect six stamps get a souvenir at the information desk. I dont know why, but kids have always loved getting stamps.


    How cute, how old are you?


    Ten years old.


    Wheres your mom?


    Over there.


    I was wondering why the child was wandering alone, but then I saw his mother, pointed out by the child. She had three boys. All of them boys.


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 Chapter 90 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 90 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Cerberus.


    The three-headed dog from mythology.


    I''ve heard that having three boys is as challenging as guarding the gates of hell, like Cerberus.


    The child with the ice cream gives me a puzzled look. Theres no need to exin this to the child. I smile and hand back the postcard with the stamp.


    There, Ive stamped it. Now you only need two more.


    The child checks the postcard, smiles broadly, ces it on his stomach, and gives a belly-button salute.


    Thank you!


    Oh, so polite. Be careful not to fall and dont drop your ice cream.


    Yes!


    Ji-yong was away for about 15 minutes.


    In that time, I must have stamped over 50 times. Just sitting and stamping  I never knew it could be this exhausting. I now understand how tough airport immigration officers must have it.


    As Im dealing with kids and trying to catch my breath, a shadow falls over my face.


    Huh?


    Is this a dream?


    Why are these people here?


    Its been a while, Painter Ban.


    Gasp.


    I jump up from the chair.


    Madam? What brings you here?


    Ho ho.


    Behind Lady Kang, I see Chairman Yoo smiling.


    Chairman?


    Its been a long time.


    Min-young, who was linking arms with Lady Kang, winks and says.


    "Can you please exin the artwork, Painter Ban?"


    Wow, is the chairman of such arge corporation really here to see the exhibition? Well, it makes sense that a big corporate CEO would be interested in art. But I never expected such important figures to be mingling with the regr visitors at this messy scene.


    "Of course, right this way."


    Then Chairman Yoo firmly grabs my arm.


    "Chairman?"


    "Stamp."


    ""


    The chairman wants his stamp too. I didnt realize that.


    Quickly stamping his card, I lead the three of them into my section.


    Standing in front of the first painting, I observe the expressions of the three. Due to the low position of the painting, they have to bend slightly to view it. I was about toment on the cement of the artwork but close my mouth as I hear Young-jus voice shouting through the curtain.


    "Jeong-hoon, youre here!"


    Ah, this is insanely chaotic.


    But the people I truly want to show these paintings to, the ones Ive poured months of effort into, are not the chaebol family. It''s the visitors attending the exhibition right now.


    I politely bow to the three people, who are only looking at me.


    "Im sorry, but the people I really want to guide have just arrived."


    Min-young looks greatly shocked. She seems to wonder who could possibly take precedence over the W Tree Hotel chaebol family. I bow again and step out through the curtain.


    In the distance, where the gaze of the visitors converges.


    I see a line of people holding each other''s shoulders, walking in.


    Some with closed eyes, others with unfocused stares, groping their way.


    Children look at them with curiosity, and their parents caution them not to stare. When a group of over fifty visually impaired individuals appears, the visitors'' attention is instantly drawn to them.


    Thankfully, being in an art gallery, everyone respectfully makes way for them.


    I wave to the teacher leading the students at the front, signaling them toe this way.


    "Over here, teacher!"


    Hearing my voice, the chaebol family, who had stepped back outside the curtain, also emerges.


    They too are surprised to see the sudden arrival of a group of visually impaired visitors.


    Chairman Yoo furrows his brow and mutters under his breath.


    "What in the world..."


    Min-young demands an exnation.


    "Painter Ban, shouldn''t these people be guided to Artist Jung Soo-han''s section? His area has all the paintings..."


    Just then, Lady Kang raises her hand to silence her husband and daughter.


    "Quiet."


    As I watch the teacher slowly guiding the students, I turn to look at Lady Kang. She quietly observes me and then breaks into a broad smile.


    "If its a concession like this, I can definitely make it, ho ho. Youre going to exin the paintings to these students, arent you you?"


    "Yes, ma''am."


    "Then well just listen from behind. Let''s go back inside."


    Chairman Yoo looks somewhat puzzled but follows his wife obediently, as he always respects her words.


    I nce at the three as they re-enter through the curtain and smile to myself.


    "Lady Kang is always so quick to understand."


    I realized while painting her portrait, but she really is quick to grasp situations and make decisions. No wonder she''s the power behind growing the hotel to this extent.


    The teacher, having brought the students to my section, wipes his sweat and sighs.


    "Phew, we''re a bitte than the scheduled time. As you know, getting on and off takes a lot of time. Please understand."


    "No, not at all, teacher. You''ve done so much hard work."


    Its impossible for one teacher to guide so many visually impaired students. Naturally, their parents are also there, and among the students, I see my brother Ji-hoon, and among the parents, I see my mother''s face.


    I want to acknowledge them right away, but I suppress the urge.


    This ce and exhibition are for everyone. I''ll acknowledge themter.


    "Everyone, this way! There''s a safety bar installed on the right wall, so lets hold onto that and move!"


    As I open the curtain and enter, the chaebol family is still standing in front of the first artwork.


    Lady Kang is smiling brightly, Min-young is still bewildered, and Chairman Yoo looks confused by whats happening.


    I take the hand of the student at the front and slowly step back.


    "Slowly, take it easy."


    I give Young-ju a nod as I send the students inside. It''s a signal we agreed on earlier: not to admit general visitors while the visually impaired students are viewing. This is because the students, not wanting to bother others if someoneins, would feel embarrassed.


    Finally, after thest student enters my section, the curtain of the exhibition hall closes.


    In my exhibition hall, only the visually impaired students and the chaebol family remain.


    My exhibition truly starts now.


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 Chapter 91: The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 91: The Mysterious Art Museum


    "The role of an artist is to make art applicable to people''s lives."


    This was what he said to his brother the first day he observed Klimt in his dream. At that moment, I felt as if a huge bell was tolling in my heart.


    Had I met Henri before Klimt, my choice would have been to portray the marginalized. Art and images, being visual arts, are linked to seeing. I simply thought that since visually impaired people cannot see, expression would be impossible and unnecessary for them.


    But I met Klimt before meeting Henri.


    I thought of ways to apply art to the lives of the visually impaired, a marginalized group.


    "Now, the first person on the right, take your hand off the safety bar and feel around the area at hand height. There should be a small metal te there with a description of the artwork."


    At the front is a young man with a sports haircut.


    The young man fumbles for the te, touches the familiar braille, and his face lights up.


    "Wow!"


    Seeing his reaction, I smiled and said.


    "If you go about 30cm straight from the te, you''ll find the painting at the same height. It''s a painting you can touch freely without any problem."


    Although only one person has touched the braille on the te so far, the faces of the students behind him light up with anticipation when they hear that they can touch the painting.


    The sports-haired young man cautiously feels and touches the painting.


    He stays in front of the artwork for a long time, but no one behind him rushes him.


    This is because there is no one who doesn''t understand that it takes them a little longer toprehend the paintingpared to ordinary people who can just look and move on.


    Standing in a position where the painting is at belly button height, I spoke to the students touching the painting.


    "Itaewon was one of the Joseon Dynasty''s ry stations. A ry station was a ce that rented out post horses and provided lodging and meals to foreign travelers, and even today, you can see many foreigners in Itaewon."


    The sports-haired young man''s face brightens as he listens to my exnation and touches the painting.


    **


    Chairman Yoo, standing a step behind the visually impaired people who are touching the painting, asked.


    "But honey, what kind of painting is that, so uneven? It doesn''t seem like a sculpture."


    "It''s a painting done in the Matire technique."


    "What is that?"


    Minyoung interjects.


    "You know oil painting, Dad?"


    "Yeah, I do. It''s painting with thickly applied oil-based paint to give a three-dimensional effect, right?"


    "That''s right."


    "That looks like oil painting to you? It''spletely different! That looks like... fabric."


    Mrs. Kang turns to her husband and says.


    "There''s a famous Korean painter named Kim Whanki."


    Chairman Yoo, recognizing the name Kim Whanki, responds with delight.


    "Oh, I know him. The one who paints moons and jars? I heard there''s a retrospective of his working up."


    Mrs. Kang nods and says.


    "Among his early works, there were Matire technique pieces where he mixed newspapers and magazines into the paint and then applied them to the canvas."


    "Oh... So that''s it."


    "Right, but these works have been specially treated to reduce the warm texture and increase the strength with an external coating."


    "For the visually impaired?"


    "Seems like it."


    Just then, the first student who was touching the painting moves on to the next one and calls out from behind.


    "I''ve only heard about Itaewon ss, but this is my first time feeling it! So this is what Itaewon is like, it must be really cool!"


    Hearing the young man''s words, Chairman Yoo finally takes in Jeonghoon''s entire work.


    The wide space with an empty center. Afortable space where visually impaired people can move in a line without obstacles. And the paintings that densely fill the edges of the space.


    "The paintings..."


    Images of Itaewon, Dongdaemun Market, Gyeongbokgung, Deoksugung, Changgyeonggung, the statue of Admiral Yi Sun-sin in Gwanghwamun, and thendscapes of Inwangsan and Bukhansan. These are ces closely rted to our lives but unknown to the visually impaired, all depicted in Seoul using the Matire technique.


    Minyoung''s eyes widen as she realizes this at a simr time as Chairman Yoo.


    "Can this be?"


    She hadn''t expected this?


    Right after seeing the paintings drawn in the Matire technique and witnessing the visually impairede to see them, she realized that they were painted for them. But she never imagined that they were also meant to let them touch and imagine the beautiful scenery of Seoul.


    Minyoung looks at Jeonghoon''s back.


    Today, his back looks broader andrger than usual


    Jeonghoon, who had been observing, adds an exnation.


    "You learned about the Joseon Dynasty in school, right? Gyeongbokgung Pce was the first pce built in the Joseon Dynasty by King Taejo when he relocated the capital to Hanyang. The next painting, Gwanghwamun, is the main gate of Gyeongbokgung and even now, it''s a za where people gather to cheer during national ser matches."


    The students behind him eximed impatiently.


    "Me too! I want to touch it too! Every time I hear on the news about tens of thousands gathering at Gwanghwamun Square, I''ve been curious!"


    Jeonghoon ps his hands and calms the students.


    "Alright, everyone! You''ll be the only ones in this exhibition hall for a while, so take your time and touch as long as you want. No one''s going to say anything. Understand? Slowly, slowly."


    Mrs. Kang looks at Jeonghoon and smiles broadly.


    Chairman Yoo, with a serious face, looks alternately at Jeonghoon and the students, then nods his head.


    "He''s not just a simple painter. He''s much bigger than I thought."


    Showing scenes the students are most curious about and want to see.


    It wasn''t the first time someone attempted art for the visually impaired. Historically, there have been numerous attempts.


    Creating tactile 3D reproductions of famous paintings or reproducing well-known sculptures to be physically touched.


    Chairman Yoo, deep in thought, looks at Jeonghoon''s back.


    "However, all those attempts were about keeping the art itself static, trying to make the viewer understand it. Never like this, showing what they were curious about and wanted to see."


    Chairman Yoo looks at the back of Jeonghoon''s head.


    "We''ve always shown what we wanted to show. No one ever considered what they wanted to see."


    Chairman Yoo steps forward to stand beside Jeonghoon.


    Jeonghoon, looking at the students with Chairman Yoo, is asked.


    "Mr. Ban."


    "Yes, Chairman. There! Jiyong, help that student. He missed the safety bar."


    ""


    "Oh, sorry. What were you saying?"


    Even as he talks, Jeonghoon checks on the students'' safety.


    Chairman Yoo, looking at Jeonghoon''s profile, asks.


    "Are you doing all this because your brother is visually impaired?"


    ""


    Jeonghoon looks at his brother, who hasn''t yet touched the first painting, waiting while holding another student''s shoulder, and then smiles and says.


    "That''s one of the reasons, certainly. But it''s not the only one."


    "Not the only one? What are the other reasons?"


    Jeonghoon looks at Chairman Yoo.


    With a serious face, he meets the eyes of the chairman and speaks.


    "Artists have many concerns. They spend their lives trying to find their own unique style."


    "Of course, they grow up looking at and learning from famous paintings with unique styles."


    "Many painters wonder. How to paint? How to express?"


    "Indeed."


    "But I think the true premise that artists should ponder are two things: What to paint? And for whom to paint?"


    ""


    Jeonghoon looks back at Mrs. Kang.


    "Have you heard about when I was painting Mrs. Kang''s portrait?"


    Chairman Yooughs heartily.


    "I''ve heard so much my ears burn. My wife jumps up even from sleep if it''s about Mr. Ban."


    "Ha ha."


    "So, why did you bring up that story?"


    Jeonghoon, smiling along with Mrs. Kang, says.


    "I talked with Mrs. Kang for several months back then. Of course, it wasn''t just talking. I made many sketches to capture her various expressions for a more vibrant portrait."


    "I know, that must be why my wife was so pleased with the portrait."


    Jeonghoon looks slowly at Chairman Yoo.


    "Chairman."


    "Yes?"


    "The reason Mrs. Kang liked my painting wasn''t just because of the lively expressions or because the painting itself was beautiful."


    ""


    Jeonghoon looks back at Mrs. Kang. Their eyes meet, both smiling.


    "During those months of sketching and talking, I realized that the most important value in Mrs. Kang''s heart was ''family.'' And what she truly wanted was to maintain a warm home until her children grew up and became independent."


    "Ah."


    "I captured in my painting what Mrs. Kang wanted to see. Her past and future she wanted to remember."


    Jeonghoon looks back at the students.


    "And this time, I''ve just kept to that belief."


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 Chapter 92 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 92 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    The night of the exhibition.


    As eight o''clock strikes, thest visitor leaves and the remaining staff members finish cleaning up in about an hour, leaving the site. The artists, exhausted from interacting all day, also start heading home one by one. They are likely to fall into a deep sleep tonight.


    Another exhibition is scheduled for tomorrow, and more visitors are expected since it''s Saturday.


    Creak.


    This grating sound, out of ce in the sacred art gallery, echoes in the quiet exhibition hall.


    In the now empty zone of Jeong-hoon.


    Kwang-ho, standing in the middle, grinds his teeth as he res at the steel tes beside the paintings.


    That red circr sticker.


    A sticker well-known to all artists.


    It signifies that the painting has already been sold.


    Kwang-ho res at the steel tes.


    This painting, that painting. Even the one in the corner. All sold out.


    Kwang-ho, his fists clenched, mutters to himself.


    "What rtionship do you have with the chairman of W-Tree Group?"


    He knew since the staff informed him when the chairman''s family appeared. He saw them enter Jeong-hoon''s area. They stayed there for over two hours before emerging with visually impaired individuals and then visited his area and others.


    He offered to exin his works when he recognized the chairman''s family, but a dignified woman pushed him away. "Art should be felt without any exnation," she said, insisting they would ask if they needed it.


    However, they left after about 20 minutes in his area without asking a single question and without cing a single sticker.


    It''s not that his paintings didn''t sell.


    A collector who became acquainted with him through social media ced a sticker on one of his paintings. The painting, depicting an old man''s face, was a masterpiece expressing his creative agony through the old man''s sorrowful expression.


    But the joy was short-lived.


    A staff member returning from a meal told him that the chairman''s family had bought all of Jeong-hoon''s paintings. All his joy shattered at that moment.


    "What is this, anyway."


    Such a painting.


    Just twenty pieces. More than double the eight he had disyed. But this isn''t art. Give him three days, or a week at most, and he could produce something like this.


    "Besides, such a meaningless theme."


    It''s just a scene of Seoul.


    Sure, the painting itself is beautiful. But so what?


    Art should stir something in the viewers.


    But this is just a scene of Seoul. What meaning does this painting have?


    Why did the chairman''s family buy such trash?


    It''s clearly a purchase based on connections.


    The problem is, once the audience knows all the paintings are sold, they view them differently. The naive audience thinks there''s a quality and artistic gap between sold and unsold paintings.


    The prominently disyed stickers influence the audience''s preconceptions.


    Kwang-ho''s face trembles with rage.


    He looks like he might tear the painting apart.


    Then, a calm voice reaches him.


    "Beautiful painting, isn''t it?"


    "..."


    Unfazed by the sudden voice, Kwang-ho responds curtly.


    "Haven''t you left yet?"


    "Haha, I wanted to see other artists'' work too."


    "Then you should go to Chaeyoung or Soohan''s area. There''s nothing worth seeing here."


    "No, there''s plenty to feel."


    "What?"


    As Kwang-ho finally turns his gaze, he sees Jeong-min, arms crossed, looking at the painting.


    Jeong-min uncrosses his arms and touches the steel te.


    "Do you know what''s written here?"


    "I don''t know Braille, nor do I want to."


    "Because you can see with your eyes?"


    "..."


    Internally, he agrees, but outwardly, Kwang-ho doesn''t respond. Knowing the type of people who visited the exhibit earlier, he finds his own thoughts too distasteful to voice.


    Jeong-min smiles and speaks.


    "Actually, I don''t know Braille either. So, I asked Jeong-hoon before


    Kwang-ho intensely despises artists who are overrated due to personal connections.


    He loathes the golden towers built not on whirlwinds of emotion bursting from within, but rather on hobnobbing with businessmen, critics, and magazine editors over drinks and cigarettes.


    "Art. Art isn''t like this. It''s about the shocking, terrifying, joyful, and sorrowful emotions thate from an artist''s soul. It''s created by a perspective that pierces through a twisted society. This child''s y is not art!"


    Jeong-min quietly waits, smiling, until the agitated Kwang-ho calms down. She patiently waits for his breathing to return to normal, then takes his arm and leads him towards a painting.


    "Close your eyes."


    "Let go. I know about paintings that blind people feel and understand."


    "Just trust me this once."


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 Chapter 92 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 92 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    "."


    Although Kwang-ho shrugs off Jeong-min''s arm, he eventually gives in with an annoyed expression.


    "Fine, but only for a moment."


    "Yes, a moment is enough."


    Kwang-ho closes his eyes.


    After waiting briefly, Jeong-min takes his hand and ces it on the painting.


    Through his fingertips, Kwang-ho feels the depiction of Sangam-dong''s World Cup Stadium, drawn by Jeong-hoon.


    Unustomed to using his sense of touch as his primary sense, Kwang-ho finds this experience unusual.


    Then, Jeong-min''s voice reaches his ears.


    "Central defender Kim Min-jae passes long to Son Heung-min, breaking down the right nk! Ah, ah! Son Heung-min traps the ball smoothly like soft tofu and runs! He shakes off the trailing defenders and through!!! Jo Kyu-sung! Jo Kyu-sung''s head shines, heading! It''s a header goal, goooal!!!"


    Kwang-ho knows this scene. He also cheered in front of the TV with chicken and beer at this moment.


    "What are you doing?"


    Kwang-ho, still with his eyes closed, thinking of reopening them, hears Jeong-min''s gentle voice.


    "Do you remember this scene?"


    "I do, I don''t watch the K-League, but I watch international matches."


    "Yes, we all remember. Except those who haven''t seen it."


    "But?"


    ""


    Jeong-min swallows her words.


    After a brief silence, she speaks.


    "There are people who remember every scene only by sound."


    ""


    "And today, those people felt every scene they only remembered by sound."


    Kwang-ho''s eyes slowly open.


    He turns his gaze from the World Cup Stadium in Sangam-dong he was staring at to other paintings.


    Jeong-min follows his gaze, adding exnations.


    "On the iron te depicting the streets of Itaewon, it says, ''You heard in a drama, right? There''s still a bar where Park Sae-ro-yi''s shop in ''Itaewon ss'' was, and many young peoplee. If you go around it, there are still many foreigners taking pictures with Yongsan as a backdrop on the overpass.''"


    ""


    Jeong-min still holding Kwang-ho''s hand, says,


    "You''re right, Mr. Artist. Art is about expressing the joy, pain, and sorrow from the artist''s soul. But we don''t create art for ourselves. We create art for someone who sees our work."


    For others, not for me.


    Where does the purpose of art truly lie?


    Not every artist creates for others.


    Everything is made for oneself. However, every artist wants their work to make others feel, be happy, and be sad.


    Then, what is the essence of art? For me, or for others?


    Kwang-ho, deep in thought, hears Jeong-min''s voice.


    "Many depict marginalized groups. There were also many painters who held free exhibitions for them or tried to incorporate art into their lives. But none of them showed what the marginalized truly wanted. They only tried to make them understand real art, just like you said."


    ""


    Jeong-min releases Kwang-ho''s hand and asks,


    "Do you still think this painting has no meaning, passion, or emotion?"


    ""


    Jeong-min looks at Kwang-ho for a long time, but he just silently looks at the paintings.


    Knowing how important the time of contemtion is for an artist, Jeong-min leaves Jeong-hoon''s area with a slight smile and without a sound.


    Kwang-ho, standing alone in the middle of the square area, stares at Jeong-hoon''s paintings for hours before slowly walking out, opening the curtain. His expression has changed from when he entered.


    Outside the curtain, Kwang-ho looks back at Jeong-hoon''s area.


    Then slowly bends over. Pouring all his sincerity into it.


    Raising his head again, Kwang-ho looks at Jung Hoons section and murmurs to himself.


    Every piece of art is judged by its era, and the deepest imprint on an artist is that of the era. The era is the people and their thoughts. The judgment of the era is that of those living in it, not of people 100 or 200 yearster.


    Kwang-ho smooths his hair back from his forehead. The dark, always angry look on his face changes in an instant. Not smiling brightly, but with a previously unseen smile, Kwang-ho says,


    I had forgotten that.


    Kwang-ho smiles slightly as he looks around the lobby.


    Thank you.


    His thank you, directed at no one in particr, echoes through the lobby of the theater, leaving a lingering resonance.


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 Chapter 93 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 93 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    "It was so wonderful! I really wanted to see Haeundae Beach. So, that''s what the sea looks like, an endlessly rippling water making such an immense sound. Thank you! I''m so proud of you, my brother."


    After sending off the family and tending to the exhibition tillte, I return home to find my brother waiting for me in the living room, excitedly chattering away.


    "The kids who were curious about PUBAO were so happy to see your paintings. On the way home, the teacher held my hand and thanked me for inviting them to this exhibition. I felt like I was soaring to the sky because of it."


    Mom, feeling lively for the first time in a while, smiles as she prepares fruit for us.


    "Even with my sight, I found many beautiful paintings there. But it seemed like there were fewer visitors than expected at the exhibition, is that okay?"


    Mom is always a mom.


    Even while looking after my brother, she noticed the number of visitors at my exhibition.


    I replied with a big smile.


    "It''s just the first day. Today is Friday, so we don''t know yet. We should aim high over the weekend. ording to the secretariat, over 20,000 people bought tickets online, so I think we''ll at least break even."


    "Tsk, tsk, just breaking even, after all those months of hard work."


    That''s why our elders put their lives into manufacturing.


    Because they valued immediate, tangible money over intangible values.


    Exining to my old-school mom how this exhibition helps mypany''s operations would be tooplicated.


    "Ha ha, but it''ll be great for our image and will bring progress in our business. Oh! All of my paintings were sold."


    My brother shouts in surprise.


    "Really?"


    Mom also looks surprised, her eyes wide.


    "Weren''t there over 20 paintings? Other artists had at most eight, but you had over twenty. And they all sold on the first day?"


    I grinned and nodded.


    "The theater said they would buy all of them."


    "Oh my, how thankful I am."


    My brother quickly asks.


    "How much for each painting?"


    ""


    Wow, crazy.


    I didn''t set a price for my paintings. How much should I ask for? Goodness, I would have been embarrassedter if my brother hadn''t asked.


    "Well... maybe at least 500,000 won per piece?"


    "Wow! Then that''s ten million won for twenty pieces?"


    "Yes."


    "Awesome, my brother!"


    Preparing for the exhibition took six months.


    Others might say it''s not worth it to prepare for six months only to earn ten million won. But my pure-hearted brother values the act of making money through painting. And so does mom.


    "Our second child, keeping the promise with dad well, aren''t you?"


    ".."


    Dad. I think of dad.


    How great it would be if dad were also here with us at this moment?


    Not in the house where we had to do handundry in winter because the boiler and water pipes froze, not in the house where we had to live with mosquitoes, flies, and various insects in summer. How great it would be if dad were here in this warm house in winter and cool house in summer?


    Did mom notice the longing on my face?


    She holds my hand warmly and says.


    "Shall we pray for dad for a moment?"


    I smiled broadly.


    I used to never go to church even when mom asked me to when I was younger.


    But today, I want to pray for dad.


    I nod, and mom holds my hands and my brother''s in hers, closes her eyes, and recites a prayer.


    Honestly, I don''t even know what the prayer means, and I don''t know if it reaches dad or some god taking care of dad. But I want to ask for him, to live well without suffering.


    After the prayer, mom goes to get juice.


    Alone with my brother in the living room, I take out arge square object hidden under the sofa.


    Hearing the rustling sound, my brother, who has developed hearing, turns his head towards the sound.


    I smile and joke.


    "You always have sharp ears."


    "You need sharp ears to survive. What did you take out?"


    "A gift."


    "For who? Mom?"


    "No, a gift for you, brother."


    "Me? I don''t need anything."


    "You don''t buy a painting because you need it; you buy it because you want it."


    Ha ha, actually, this is what Monica said when she was exining about luxury goods.


    I didn''t understand the desire to buy overpriced luxury goods and wondered why people bought unnecessary luxuries. To that, Monica said this.


    You don''t buy it because you need it; you buy it because you want it. Hearing that, I felt as if someone had smacked me on the back of the head.


    My brother opens his eyes.


    Although they don''t focus, sometimes when it''s just the two of us, he opens his eyes like that.


    Seeing my brother open his eyes, yearning to see despite being blind, tugs at my heartstrings.


    "A painting? Like the ones we saw at the exhibition?"


    "Yes."


    "One with textures that I can feel?"


    "Yes."


    "Give it to me, I want to touch it."


    "Here, let''s hang it in your room."


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 Chapter 93 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 93 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    A painting in a visually impaired person''s room.


    It might seem like an odd choice.


    But this painting isn''t for viewing; it''s to remind my brother that he''s a member of this family, that he belongs in this home.


    I unwrap the painting and ce it on the sofa, then guide my brother''s hand.


    "Start from here."


    My brother, with his unseeing eyes, turns towards the painting and cautiously touches it with the tips of his fingers.


    "Is this... our house?"


    "Touch it all."


    "The house, a tree, and three family members in the lower left corner. One with long hair is a woman, and the other two are men, both taller than her."


    "It''s our family, after all."


    His unfocused eyes widen.


    After hearing my words, he hesitates momentarily and then starts touching the painting with both hands.


    "Ah... Ahh."


    "Cool, right? It''s our house, brother. This is what our home looks like."


    "Ahh..."


    Tears flow from my brother''s eyes.


    He has lived in this house and memorized its interior structure.


    But he only knows how nice and beautiful it is from what our mother has told him. He has no idea what the exterior looks like, as its impossible for him to feel the entire building.


    "Our house is built with rough bricks, but it looks warm overall because of the colors. It''s not too big, nor too small."


    It''s not that big, apparently.


    I''ve been spoiled by visiting ces like W Tree Hotel for business, describing this ptial house as such. Its actually more than six timesrger than our previous home.


    Mom brings in juice, pauses upon seeing my brother touching the painting in tears, then looks at me and signals with her eyes that she''ll leave the juice and quietly heads to the main bedroom.


    But I saw it.


    Mom was also in tears. But it''s okay, not because she''s sad, but because she''s happy.


    My brother can''t speak for a while, just muttering exmations in awe and crying. Then, with a choked voice, he asks,


    "Is this the swing you described to me?"


    "Yes."


    "Does it look like the swing at our school?"


    "Yes, pretty simr."


    "So the swing at our school looks like this."


    He touches the painting for a while longer, then hugs it tightly, as if handling a precious treasure, cradling it with the warmest part of his body, his belly. He strokes the frame and says,


    "So this is our precious home, its so nice."


    If I had known how happy and treasured he would feel, I would have gifted it to him earlier.


    ''No, if I hadn''t met Henri in my dreams, I would have been too busy living to spare a moment for this.''


    The legend of Moulin Rouge, the small giant of Moulin Rouge, Henri, painted the marginalized.


    If a painter keeps painting the same thing, there must be a reason in his life.


    There are elements in my life too. But I was too busy escaping from them, ignoring the pain, and pretending that taking care of my family by working hard and earning money was my real duty.


    What my family really needed was this kind of attention and love.


    It took just one day. The time it took to paint this picture.


    Of course, it took a few days to dry the bundle of newspapers and to make it safe to touch, but that was not my effort; it was the work of the sun and the natural wind.


    ''I could have given such great joy with just one day of effort, what have I been doing all this time?''


    If I hadnt encountered the art museum.


    If I hadnt met Alphonse Mucha, Gustav Klimt, and Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec.


    I would still be turning away from reality, ignoring and escaping, living like that.


    "Junghoon."


    My brother''s voice brings me out of my thoughts.


    "Yes?"


    "Thank you."


    "Its natural between brothers."


    "No, I mean it. Thank you. I cant do anything for you, so I should at least express my gratitude."


    "If youre grateful, then get married."


    "What?"


    "Remember, there were pretty girls at school."


    "..."


    "Shall I tell you?"


    "Tell me what?"


    "Listen. Do you remember where you sit at school?"


    "Yes."


    "Three seats to the left from there, and one row forward. Theres a girl sitting there. Wow, shes really pretty?"


    "..."


    "The girl sitting four seats ahead of you is cute too."


    "What are you talking about?"


    "I want to see my niece or nephew too."


    "Ha."


    "I have a lot of money, right? I can give a lot of pocket money to my nieces and nephews?"


    ".."


    "Why, not confident?"


    I said it on purpose.


    After saying it, I felt sorry, as if I had told him to only find a partner among people in simr situations. Did my brother understand my feelings?


    My brother snorts, as if provoked, and clenches his fist.


    "Joking? It''s just that I haven''t tried yet, but once I get going, I''m like a wild boar."


    "Wow!!"


    "Plus, all the students showed interest in me today, so my chances have gone up."


    "Wow! Who do you have to thank for that?"


    "My brother, Ban Jung-hoon!"


    "Uhahaha!!"


    "Haha! Alright, tomorrow at school, I''ll talk to the girls sitting in the seats you mentioned."


    "Wow! Go for it, Jung-hoon, the wild boar! Charge ahead!"


    "Ussha!!!"


    My brother raises his fist in triumph.


    I smile at him.


    Hoping he goes to school with a happy heart, even if he doesn''t like it.


    Hoping he makes friends, even if he doesn''t bring home a sister-inw.


    Hoping he doesn''t project himself onto others in simr situations like I did, but instead understands and keeps people close.


    Tonight turns out to be a night of many prayers.


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 Chapter 94 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 94 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    W Tree Hannam, ''Six Modern Painters who will Light up Korea'' Exhibition a Huge Sess!


    Date Entered: 2023-05-20 09:00:00, Modified: 2023-05-20 14:04:5


    Catb, famous for hosting the world-renowned musical Cats in the new theater of W Tree Hannam.


    This exhibition, organized by W Tree Group and sponsored by the National Museum of Modern Art, selected six young modern painters to lead South Korea, and has been held from March 1st to May 23rd, 2024.


    W Tree Group announced the end of the exhibition after the uing weekend and shared the current performance results, with an unusual visitor participation graph.


    In the first week of the exhibition, the number of visitors was lowpared to the British Museum''s art exhibition held at the War Memorial of Korea in Yongsan, but the graph began to show an upward curve from the second week.


    This was due to the acim from art critics of the well-known art magazine, Art ssic.


    The main artist of these works is Ban Junghoon.


    This 29-year-old young painter is the CEO of the designpany Artist Company, the co-designer of MG Electronics'' jackpot refrigerator ''Belle Epoque''st year, and the artist behind the ceiling mural of Catb''s theater.


    He has another interesting career highlight.


    That is the stage art for the world-famous pianist Irina Sebanova.


    The stage art, created with digital media art, is staged to be visible from the audience seats, but it is said that it is not a work for the audience.


    Jerzy Stuhr, a piano professor at the prestigious Warsaw Music Academy, highly praised Ban for leading the harmony of art and music, saying that Ban''s painting is a kind of metronome that moves the pianist to perfectly express Chopin''s rubato.


    Ban Junghoon also received attention at this exhibition.


    The art critics of Art ssic said, "All art is subject to public evaluation, but artists speak of intensely personal emotions. For whom does the bell toll? Who is art for? Focusing on who to paint for rather than what to paint is a new concept. We need more of such art."


    W Tree Group purchased all 20 works submitted by Ban Junghoon for this exhibition and announced that they would use a corner of the theater as an exhibition space for the permanent art exhibition for the visually impaired. Thus, Ban Junghoon''s works will continue to be avable for viewing as long as W Tree Hannam continues its theater business.


    Another event that led to the sess of this exhibition is theunch of a new product, or rather, a new service by MG Electronics.


    In an interview, Monica Rossellini, the chief designer of MG Electronics, introduced the new product ''Sepia Canvas Ban Edition''. She also noted that this product is optimized for the MG U+munication service.


    The Sepia Canvas Ban Edition, as the name suggests, is a product meaning Ban Junghoon''s edition, with the functionality of a TV removed and its weight reduced. Except for the 16K high-definition monitor feature, it contains only basic functions needed for Wifi.


    Why was such a product created?


    The answer lies in MG U+''s new service, ''Monthly Art''.


    Customers who purchase this product can use ''Monthly Art'' for free for six months, and then start a service to view famous paintings at an affordable monthly cost of 2,900 won. The Sepia Canvas Van Edition is avable for purchase in sizes ranging from 30 inches to 50, 65, 75, 100, 150, and 200 inches, ording to consumer preferences, and even thergest canvas can be hung on the wall with just two nails.


    The coboration productunched by a leading domestic electronicspany sparked curiosity among the visitors, and the paintings disyed at a lower position were not only essible to the visually impaired but also to children. Although it was a joint exhibition, it was popr enough to be called a solo exhibition.


    With this, Ban Junghoon can be said to be the most talked-about winner among the six painters who participated in the exhibition.


    Is a new star born in the Korean contemporary art world?


    It''s too early to conclude.


    However, Ban Jeong-hoon certainly shines. The writer hopes that this light continues to shine for a long time.


    Reporter Kim Hyun-ju [emailprotected]


    [ Uju Daily & , All rights reserved]


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 Chapter 94 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 94 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    An artist''s feelings after all his paintings are sold.


    This is the first time I feel this light andfortable sensation, as if everything has been aplished.


    The exhibition''s final days brought a surge in articles and visitors. It''s still hectic, but the overwhelming sense of joy prevails.


    "Ji-hye, could you please assist the person holding a baby over there? They seem unaware of our stroller rental service."


    "Yes, Master Painter."


    The four part-time workers, their eyes sparkling with enthusiasm.


    I can''t keep using mypany''s employees for an exhibition that spans three months. Everyone has their own jobs, and thepany needs to keep running.


    I started hiring part-timers from the second week of the exhibition, and Jung-min Noona helped with this. Being an experienced artist who has held many exhibitions, Noona knew exactly where and how to find part-timers. She managed to find them in just two days, mainly art students. Their overly respectful gazes are a bit burdensome, but who wouldn''t feel good about being respected and admired?


    The visitors I''ve seen every day for the past three months.


    I see so many people daily, but I remember most of their faces.


    I don''t know their names, but many came to see my paintings.


    It''s gratifying to post paintings online and get reactions from strangers, but I think it''s my duty as a human to remember the faces of those who took the time toe here. So, I''ve done my best to remember them.


    They''re all people I''m immensely grateful for.


    Then, the part-timer at the entrance pulled back the curtain and said, "Sir, the secretary chief from W Tree is here."


    ''Sir?'' Am I someone worthy of such a title?


    "Yes, I''ll go out."


    When I stepped outside, there was the secretary chief who had meticulously assisted with the exhibition issues. Though our first impression was not great, working together made me appreciate her thorough nature, which helped the exhibition run smoothly.


    "You''re here, Ms. Secretary Chief."


    "Hello, Mr. Artist. Are you busy right now?"


    "As you can see, the exhibition is still ongoing. Is there something you need?"


    "Yes, since you''re busy, I''ll just get your signature and leave. This is the contract for the purchase of your works in this exhibition."


    Ah, right. The contract.


    Standing there, I opened the contract file and my eyes widened at the amount. Seeing my surprised expression, the secretary chiefughed and said, "Chairman Yu instructed us to set different prices depending on the size of each painting, but it seems all your paintings are of the same size, disyed both vertically and horizontally. It appears the Chairman was mistaken."


    "No, it''s not that. The price..."


    The secretary chief spoke up loudly, "We intend to purchase all the paintings for 5 million won each. Is that insufficient? If you want more, just let us know."


    5 million won each. For twenty paintings.


    Six months of work, and now I''ve earned a brand image for thepany and 100 million won in cash.


    But it''s strange, this secretary chief. She''s not the type to speak so loudly.


    Why is she raising her voice when I''m right in front of her?


    Noticing toote that it was odd for the secretary chief to speak so loudly, I looked around.


    The next batch of visitors were all whispering and looking at us.


    "Did you hear? 5 million won for each painting."


    "Yeah! I knew this would happen after seeing the news."


    "Wow, I wonder if someone would buy my paintings for even 500 won."


    There''s a reporter in the back, hurriedly making a phone call. Seems like they''re about to break the news.


    Frowning at the secretary chief, she whispered with a grin, "The publicized price determines an artist''s value, Mr. Ban."


    "..."


    Honestly, I''m not thrilled. The idea that my value is determined by a number.


    But I''m not like Henri, born into a rich family, unaffected whether my paintings sell or not. I need to work and earn money.


    I murmured to the people around me, "Was this Chairman Yu''s idea?"


    The secretary chief whispered back with a smile, "I don''t move without the Chairman''s orders."


    Of course. This was also Min-Young Yu''s consideration. The secretary chief added, "Also, we''ve calcted the value of the ongoing exhibition."


    "Really? Are you nning to exhibit these paintings permanently at the theater?"


    "Absolutely."


    I thought they were just saying this to sway public opinion, but they actually n to use all these paintings for a permanent exhibition. The secretary chief said, "Chairman Yu has instructed to hold three of the uing Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra concerts as free performances for visually impaired people and their guardians. Your paintings will adorn the corridors leading to the concert hall."


    "..."


    Things have escted beyond what I nned. This is bigger than I expected.


    I simply wanted to show my paintings to my brother, mom, and students in simr situations. But the situation has grown bigger than anticipated, though I''m not the one expanding it.


    The part-timer weed new visitors. Due to the limited space, new visitors entered as the old ones left. As they passed by, I greeted them.


    "Wee, and thank you foring."


    Seeing me greet the visitors, the secretary chief extended her hands and said, "If the price is agreeable, would you sign for us? You seem busy."


    "Oh, of course, it''s more than I expected. I''ll sign."


    I immediately took out a pen, signed the contract, and handed it back, bowing slightly.


    "Please thank the Chairman, his wife, and the CEO for me. I''ll make time to visit them separately."


    "Alright, Mr. Artist. Then, I''ll take my leave."


    The secretary chief turned to leave.


    Even after signing, I feel somewhat dazed.


    But I''m not overjoyed.


    Ha, typical me.


    When I first worked with MG Electronics and received the same amount, I was so happy I could jump for joy. But not anymore.


    I realize how much I''ve changed.


    Ah, get a grip, me.


    New visitors are entering.


    I want to go exin at least one more painting. Just as I was about to open the curtain, my phone rang in my pocket.


    "What now?"


    Seeing the caller, my face brightened.


    "Hello, Monica?"


    Monica never showed up at my exhibition. I thought we were close, so I felt a bit upset, but it seems she''lle now.


    However, Monica''s excited voice over the phone was not what I expected.


    "-The Sepia Canvas has finally been officially released today. I''ll send one to your house, so put it in your living room."


    Oh, it''s finally out. That awkwardly named gadget.


    "Ha ha, thanks, Monica."


    She must have been too busy with the new productunch toe. I almost felt unnecessarily upset.


    But that gadget needs to sell well too.


    That will help Monica''s stock rise.


    I hope Monica, like Minyoung''s W Tree Group which is the talk of the town these days, will continue to soar. Someday, when sheunches her clothing line, no matter the cost, I will be the first to buy it.


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 Chapter 95 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 95 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Thest day of the exhibition.


    These past three months have been tough.


    When I got home, I''d almost pass out and sleep, unable to even eat breakfast before heading out to check the venue and manage the part-time workers.


    Moreover, the hardest part was having only one high-quality dress shirt to go with the expensive suit I bought at Monica''s suggestion, which meant I had to doundryte at night.


    Feeling sorry to ask my mom to doundry despite returning homete, and being used to doing things on my own after living alone for so long, I would doze off until theundry was done, then hastily iron it with a portable iron in the morning.


    I need to buy more shirts.


    Back when I worked at MG Electronics, I had bought a couple of shirts online, but after experiencing the miracle of a low-quality dress shirt making even my coat look cheap under the expensive suit, I couldn''t do that anymore.


    I don''t have an eye for clothes, so I should ask Monica to pick out shirts for me when I get the chance.


    Seven in the evening.


    The exhibition will close in an hour.


    But the venue is still bustling with people.


    They are thest visitors to the exhibition, busy with life and only now finding the time.


    I gave my best to everyst person. It might be tough, but so what? I''m tired, but so what? Today is thest day.


    After finishing the exnation for a family of four with a baby, thest visitors, a part-time worker outside gives me the signal that the exhibition is over. Finally, I could sit down for the first time since lunch.


    "Ah, I''m dead."


    ording to Jungmin noona, artists who frequently hold exhibitions do this twice a year. How do they live like this? Preparing for the exhibition is hard, but running the exhibition is even more physically demanding. My energy ispletely drained, staring nkly with unfocused eyes, while the part-time workers are wrapping up the final clean-up.


    I wanted to help, but I had a different job.


    Once the exhibition is over, I have to take down and transport the paintings. I''ll rest a bit before then.


    "Great work, Master Artist!"


    "Thank you for your hard work!"


    The part-time workers, who have finished cleaning and are about to leave for home,e to say goodbye. I weakly raise my hand to return the greeting, but I don''t forget to take photos with the students and give autographs. Honestly, the autograph was something I hastily made. If Youngju hadn''t told me to prepare an autograph just before the exhibition, I would have definitely been flustered.


    After the part-time workers leave, Youngju and the staff arrive with a truck.


    Sitting alone on a stic chair and resting, I smiled when I saw Youngju and the staff.


    "Sorry, it''s past quitting time. Consider this overtime pay."


    Youngju chuckles while taking down the paintings.


    "Bullshit, I''m fine, just take care of the kids."


    Jiyong, Yeonjeong, and Jiyeon also wave their hands.


    "We''re okay, oppa."


    "We can help out with this much!"


    "Right, oppa."


    I grinned and helped with taking down the paintings.


    "Don''t make me out to be a greedy boss and take the money. Nointster."


    After loading a painting onto the handcart and straightening my back, Youngju ps my back.


    "Dude! What are you doing here?"


    "Ow! Why? Aren''t you taking down the paintings?"


    "Crazy man, that''s a worker''s job. You should be going to the after-party, silly."


    Ah, right, I forgot.


    Jungmin noona told me toe to the hotel restaurant, but I forgot.


    But I feel too guilty. The staff are helping out after work, and here I am, the main character, going off to eat.


    "It''s fine, they''ll eat first."


    Ignoring Youngju''s words, I continued to help with the paintings. Things like removing partitions will be taken care of by the hotel, so once we load the paintings, we''re done. After loading all the paintings onto the truck, Youngju, sitting in the passenger seat, speaks.


    "Jiyong, Yeonjeong. You guys go home from here. Jiyeon is heading in the same direction, so I''ll drop her off on the way."


    I open the passenger window and call out to Youngju.


    "Can you handle unloading the paintings alone?"


    "Why would I do it alone? The driver is here. You go to the after-party ande to workte tomorrow. Great job, Boss! Driver, let''s go."


    Watching the departing car, I take out my wallet, give taxi fare to Jiyong and Yeonjeong, and then head to the restaurant.


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 Chapter 95 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 95 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    The after-party at the restaurant has already started, with the atmosphere deep


    "Phew, thank goodness. Drinking like this on such an exhausting day will make tomorrow disappear. I smiled broadly and lifted my ss.


    "Yes, hyung. You''ve worked hard."


    Gwangho hyung toasts and downs a ss full of soju in one go. Ugh, what a relentless person.


    I drank about a third and set it down. Then Gwangho hyung refills his ss to the brim and drinks again. Can you really drink like that? He must have a strong tolerance.


    Gwangho hyung just keeps drinking in silence.


    Why did you ce me here if we''re not going to talk?


    After several drinks, Gwangho hyung looks at me with slightly rxed eyes. Feeling awkward under his intense gaze, I had no choice but to break the silence first.


    "You must be very tired?"


    ".."


    "I''m dead tired. Maybe because it''s my first exhibition?"


    ".."


    Answer me, man.


    Gwangho hyung looks at me for a while before asking a question that wasn''t an answer to mine.


    "Why do you think what wemonly don''t consider as art pieces weren''t considered art at the time?"


    ".."


    Where did thate from? It''s not an easy question to answer, and while I''m thinking, Gwangho hyung answers his own question.


    "It''s because our idea of art is surprisingly narrow and limited. All history is contemporary history. There is no art in any era we know, only artists."


    Gwangho hyung said while pouring another drink.


    "Art doesn''t really exist. It''s just a name given to the works of Van Gogh, Rembrandt, Picasso. Therefore, art cannot be defined."


    Hmm, he''s got a point.


    Gwangho hyung takes a sip of his drink and asks me.


    "What does your painting say?"


    This hyung really likes asking questions. Unlike the previous one, hes asking for my thoughts, so he won''t answer himself while waiting.


    I thought silently for a moment, took a sip of my drink, and smiled.


    "What does the painting say?"


    ".."


    "Art does speak, but it''s not in words."


    "Exin more."


    I adjusted my position and spoke.


    "Words, ornguage here, are very clear. They cut through subjects precisely to exin them."


    I took out my phone from my pocket, ced it on the table, and continued.


    "This is a smartphone. Its clearly exined. No further exnation needed. But art is different."


    Gwangho hyung said, slightly tilting his head.


    "It speaks but isn''t in words. So, it carries a vague meaning?"


    I nodded.


    "Some people belittle their friends who can''t understand a masterpiece, as if it''s theirck of understanding, not the art itself. But this ambiguousnguage of art approaches each of us in different ways. For some, it bes a warm embrace, for others, a painful whip of self-reproach."


    The restaurant had be quiet.


    I was speaking to Gwangho hyung, but the whole restaurant was focused on my words.


    The problem was that I kept talking without realizing this.


    "Words appeal to reason and logic. But thenguage of art settles in sensations. Art stimtes, maximizes, or even shatters sensations to convey its message."


    "Hmm."


    I looked at a secretary drinking coffee nearby and asked.


    "Excuse me, that coffee?"


    "Yes?"


    "Is that ck coffee?"


    "Yes."


    "Can you describe its taste?"


    "Uh... Its bitter but rich."


    "Is that all?"


    "Yes..."


    "Can you say you''ve fully described the taste of the coffee?"


    "No."


    I waved my hand to thank them and turned back to Gwangho hyung.


    "Smelling coffee lets you know its coffee, and smelling freesia lets you distinguish between rose and freesia. But few can properly describe those scents. Art is simr."


    Gwangho hyung stroked his chin and nodded.


    "The only way to describe red is to show it."


    My vague exnation was immediately understood by Gwangho hyung. It''s fun to hang out with like-minded people. We understand each other well.


    "Klimt said, if you want to understand my paintings, don''t ask for a description, feel them directly."


    Gwangho hyung nodded.


    "The richness that words can''t capture, and the ipetence ofnguage."


    I snapped my fingers and nodded.


    "I don''t know what my paintings are saying. The biggest obstacle to learning something is thinking you know it. I dont try to know or exin. The first step to knowing is not knowing."


    ".."


    "The path I want to take. You asked what my painting was?"


    "I did, but you didn''t answer."


    "I''ll answer now."


    "Go ahead."


    I looked into Gwangho''s eyes and began to speak.


    "A painting that doesn''t cut and define its subject as clearly as words do. I want to create art that directly visits the senses of the viewer. I''m not there yet, but that''s my goal."


    Gwangho silently watched me for a moment, then filled my empty ss and smiled.


    "You''re the real deal. In fact, I should be learning from you."


    "Oh,e on, not really."


    "Drink, let''s drink on a day like this."


    Finally, I had found the answer to Gwangho''s question.


    I smiled contentedly at my own words.


    Art is always out of sync with us. Just as it''s difficult to view a scattered puzzle in its entirety, art, being misaligned, always provokes thought in the public. But that contemtion will lead people to a new world.


    Through the fissures created by the artists of the era using art.


    It will guide us to apletely different world. As long as art exists, it will continue to do so into the future.


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 Chapter 96 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 96 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Two dayster, in Jongno.


    Winter had passed and early summer had arrived during the exhibition preparation period.


    It had been a long time since Ist visited an art gallery.


    It had been over eight months since I met Henri.


    Is his exhibition still ongoing?


    Damn art gallery. They should at least announce it in advance.


    They change exhibitions abruptly and sometimes extend them for a long time, so it''s unpredictable.


    If only they had a website, or even a phone number, I wouldn''t have to visit in person.


    "Phew, luckily it''s still on."


    The art gallery, still in the same spot, doing the same exhibition.


    Looks like I can still meet Henri.


    I quickly bought a ticket and went down to the basement.


    Now, it feels normal for it to be empty.


    Walking into the deserted gallery today, I sat on a rock sofa amidst grand music, waiting for Henri''s painting. The painting that makes me dream. Until Henri''s bed appears.


    I waited for the painting in the mostfortable position I could manage.


    And when the painting finally appeared, I closed my eyes, ustomed to the dizzy sensation.


    **


    Clopping, jingling.


    The sound of a carriage on a muddy road, people in boots walking over puddles.


    When I gently opened my eyes, I found myself standing on the grass next to a country road.


    A carriage passed by, followed by two gentlemen walking. In this dream, too, I wonder if people can see me?


    One of the two gentlemen talking to each other nced at me. As seeing an Asian in this era''s Paris was unusual, they looked at me curiously and nudged each other, gesturing towards me.


    ''I am visible again this time.''


    I straightened my clothes and approached them on the dirt road.


    "Excuse me, monsieur."


    Somehow, I canmunicate with people of this era. The gentlemen were surprised to hear me speak theirnguage.


    "French?"


    "No."


    "Did youe by ship? To where, Spain?"


    Henri asked simr questions. I evaded them.


    "Yes, that''s right. May I ask you something?"


    "What is it?"


    "What year is it now?"


    "..............."


    It''s a trivial question. But think about it. If someone came up to you on the street and instead of asking for directions, asked what year it was, you''d find them strange, too.


    "It''s 1899."


    "Oh, is that so? And where is this?"


    The two gentlemen looked at each other and then up and down at me, as if I were a madman.


    "Neuilly-sur-Seine, on the outskirts of Paris."


    "Ah, thank you."


    The gentlemen, startled by my deep bow, a rare sight in Europe, quickly walked away. They probably thought I was not sane.


    But I couldn''t worry about their reaction.


    I had guessed what might be happening to Henri based on the information they gave.


    ''1899, Neuilly-sur-Seine. This must be when Henri was hospitalized for alcohol-rted mental illness.''


    Oh no! I forgot to ask for the location of the mental hospital.


    I waved my hands frantically and chased after the rapidly departing gentlemen.


    "Excuse me, monsieur! Where is the mental hospital?"


    The gentlemen ran away in horror.


    "Ahh!"


    "He''s mad!"


    No, I''m not saying I want to be admitted there. I need to visit someone.


    Chased away like a mad dog, the gentlemen ran off.


    I stopped in my tracks, daunted by their monstrous res.


    "Damn."


    Where do I find a mental hospital in Paris in 1899?


    I caught my breath from the chase and looked around.


    I could see a few buildings in the distance. Like in Joseon at that time, even in arge city, a short distance outside the city limits waspletely rural. Paris was no different. If I head towards where there are buildings, I should find people. Then I can ask again.


    A building resembling a Greek temple.


    I stopped looking for passersby to ask directions and instead headed towards the building, noticing a sign carved into a stone panel of the building.


    ''Folie Saint-James Asylum''


    Folie Saint-James Mental Hospital.


    I don''t know which mental hospital Henri was confined in.


    But it''s unlikely that there are two mental hospitals in such a rural area.


    I should have studied more beforeing here. Let''s just go and see.


    As I enter the hospital, a woman dressed as a nurse in the cozy lobby looks at me and is startled. It''s the same unfamiliarity with an Asian, now a familiar reaction to me.


    I straightened my posture and asked.


    "Excuse me. I''vee to visit a friend who''s admitted here."


    The nurse, surprised once again by my fluent French, quickly realized my request and began looking through the charts.


    "What''s your friend''s name?"


    Phew, I never thought I''d actually have to say this long name.


    "Comte Henri Marie Raymond de Toulouse-Lautrec-Monfa."


    Damn these nobles with their long names.


    Unlike modern hospitals where a PC search would suffice, the nurse flipped through charts to find the room number and then handed me a document.


    "Room 303. Please write your name and signature for the visitor''s record."


    ""


    Hmm, signing is fine, but what about the name? Maybe I should just write it in English?


    I wrote my name in English and added the signature I created, then handed it back to the nurse.


    After checking my name, the nurse asked.


    "Are you from the Nethends?"


    I get this question a lot. The Ban surname isn''tmon in Korea, but in Europe, it''s always assumed to be Dutch.


    "No, I''m from another country."


    The nurse seemed to want to ask more but then nodded.


    "You said he''s a friend?"


    "Yes."


    "Let''s go together. But if he doesn''t recognize you, you cannot visit."


    "Okay."


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 Chapter 96 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 96 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    It''s a bit worrying. He might not recognize me.


    Henri from this era wasn''t in his right mind, and thest time I met him was seven years ago, in 1892.


    I wonder if he''ll remember me from just one meeting seven years ago.


    With no other choice and a feeling of unease, I followed the nurse to the third floor, heading to a room in the far corner of the mental hospital. Along the way, the sight of patients sticking their arms out of the barred windows and shouting startled me.


    Unfazed, the nurse walked straight ahead and then stopped in front of a room, speaking through the bars.


    I followed the nurse to the third floor, heading towards a room in the far corner of the psychiatric hospital. The journey was unsettling, as inmates reached out their arms or shouted from behind the bars of their cells.


    The nurse, seemingly ustomed to this, walked straight ahead without ncing at them, stopping in front of a room and speaking through the bars.


    "Henri. You have a visitor, do you recognize them?"


    Henri was inside.


    I quickly looked through the bars behind the nurse.


    In front of arge window.


    A dwarf was sitting on the bed, staring out through the heavily barred window.


    "Henri! It''s me, Ban. Do you remember me?"


    There was no response from Henri. The nurse began to look at me suspiciously. In my urgency, I recounted an old memory.


    "Do you remember drinking with me at the Moulin Rouge 7 years ago? We went to the brothel together, drew pictures, and then drank heavily before going to your ce."


    What word had he reacted to? Henri twitched.


    The nurse frowned and said,


    "Henri is hospitalized with alcohol-rted illness. Please dont provoke him with talk of drinking."


    "Ah, yes. Sorry."


    So, it was the mention of alcohol.


    After bowing my head to the nurse and looking back through the bars, Henri was now looking at me.


    Henri''s haggard appearance. His small body seemed even more pitiable.


    "Henri! It''s me."


    Henri looked at me for a while before jumping down from the bed and walking over.


    Due to the bars being at adult height, Henri, with his short stature, came close enough to see my face and then asked,


    "Ban?"


    He recognized me!


    "Yes! It''s me, Henri!"


    I said to the nurse,


    "See? He recognized my name."


    The nurse nodded and asked Henri,


    "Do you permit the visit?"


    After Henri nodded, the nurse unlocked the door and let me in, saying,


    "You have one hour for the visit. And please, dont mention that word again."


    "Thank you," I replied.


    The nurse left, and we were alone in the room.


    Had I ever been alone in a hospital room with someone before?


    I never had such an experience even with my closest family members, so I was unsure what to do.


    Moreover, I felt awkward for visiting empty-handed.


    I rubbed my palms on my clothes andughed nervously.


    "I heard about you and rushed here, so I came empty-handed."


    Henri looked up at me, then climbed back onto the bed.


    "Did you go to your country?"


    "Yes."


    "To Joseon?"


    "Thats right."


    "You disappeared that day without a word."


    "........................"


    Henri looked at me with a pale face and then smiled faintly.


    "I thought, after sobering up, you disliked being around a dwarf like me."


    "Of course not."


    "Sit down here."


    I pulled a chair from the corner of the room and sat next to the bed.


    "Are you okay?"


    Henri smiled weakly.


    "I havent forgotten you because of what you said to me back then."


    "What did I say?"


    Henri looked into my eyes and smiled.


    "You told me, ''Henri! Youll harm your health drinking like that!''"


    I remember. Iughed at my friends joke.


    "That time, you said to me, ''I only drink good alcohol, so I''ll be fine.''"


    We smiled at the old memory. Was it an illusion to feel like meeting an old friend?


    "Didnt you hear that often? With all the drinking you did."


    Henri looked out the window with a sad expression.


    "No one was there for me. No one said that to me. Everyone just wanted to drink my fine liquor. Those I thought were friends would say, ''Hey, Henri! Night has fallen! We should enjoy it with good alcohol! Lets go drink! Youre buying tonight, right?''"


    "........................"


    Henri turned to me and said,


    "I caused trouble when drunk, and then drank again out of shame when I sobered up. And when I finally got incarcerated here, the first person I thought of was you. ''I should have listened to that friend,'' I thought."


    Among so many people, Henri was still being used and ostracized.


    Henri, receiving my sympathetic gaze, sadly smiled and said,


    "Maybe I''ll end up following the same path as my only friend."


    He was talking about Vincent van Gogh.


    Henri''s friend who had died after being institutionalized. Describing him as his only friend was probably a reference to a friend with whom he shared artistic kinship.


    But I knew.


    Henri could leave this hospital.


    Though he might not live long due to his frail constitution, he wouldnt end his life here.


    Although he ims to have no friends, with the help of a friend, Henri will prove his recovery and eventually walk back into the light.


    "It''s okay; that won''t happen. You''ll definitely get out of here."


    "Hoho."


    "I guarantee it. If not, even if youe to Joseon and kill me, I won''tin."


    "Haha! Isnt it too far; can''t go. Isn''t it next to Japan?"


    "Is it? Haha."


    Henri always finds it amusing to meet people when he''s usually alone. Seeing him smile brings me joy.


    "So, what did you do in your country?"


    "Oh! I had an exhibition."


    "What? Really? I wanted to see it. What kind of paintings did you create?"


    Henri''s eyes sparkle with excitement at the talk about art.


    What my friend needs now is energy derived from hope.


    And his hope springs from art.


    I decided to do what I can.


    "Well, you see, for people who cannot see..."


    An exnation that goes on for over 30 minutes.


    Henri is pleasantly surprised and delighted by my exhibition story.


    He rejoices greatly at my mention of an exhibition dedicated to marginalized individuals.


    "Sadness often holds a beautiful aspect as well, wherever and whenever. Discovering those aspects from where no one else noticed them is truly exhrating. But now that I see, you''ve gone one step further than me. While I was painting them, you were creating art for them. Well done, well done! I''ve learned a thing or two from you!"


    Gazing at the delighted Henri, I silently speak within my heart.


    "Everything is thanks to you. You say you learned from me, but I have learned so much more from you, Henri."


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 Chapter 97 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 97 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    We asked about each other''s well-being and responded in kind.


    Once the mood was ripe with trivial banter exchanged nonchntly, Henri broached the main topic.


    "True ignorance is not the absence of knowledge, but the detestation of it, the refusal to learn. The world is full of such ignorant people. Life is too short to spend with those devoid of talent. I need a friend like you, Ban."


    Misantropy.


    At this time, Henri had been used and marginalized so much that he harbored a deep loathing for humanity.


    However, knowing that he couldn''t leave this psychiatric hospital on his own, I used the information I had about him to persuade him.


    "But Henri, the reason we can sit in the shade today is because someone nted a tree a long time ago. You shouldn''t hate humanity itself. The need for connection andmunity is as fundamental as the need for air, water, and food."


    Henri looked me in the eyes and said,


    "I don''t want to care about what people think of me or what they say. I know who I am. But it''s really hard to put such simple words into action. Truth without the backing of love makes that truth exceedingly unpleasant and the bearer of it loathsome. I have plenty of such people around me."


    That just prolongs your stay here, Henri.


    "Friendship is like a bank ount. You can''t keep withdrawing from it without making deposits, Henri."


    Henri sighed and looked out the window.


    "Rtionships are like ss. It''s often better to leave them broken than hurt yourself trying to put them back together."


    No, Henri.


    If you go on like this, you''ll be here even longer.


    Henri mumbled to himself, a mix of grumbling and resignation.


    I''ve drawn many paintings to prove to the doctor that I''m still capable of pursuing my art. How many more must I draw before the doctor realizes he can''t keep me here? I want to leave. They have no right to keep me locked up.


    It''s not because of the paintings, you fool.


    I know.


    I know how Henri eventually got out of the hospital.


    He eventually couldn''t bear the confinement and, swallowing his pride, sought help from his friend Maurice Jouayang and distant rtive Paul Bieu. The doctor finally agreed to discharge Henri on the condition that he wouldn''t be left alone.


    If I take his side here, I might end up confined here for a longer time.


    What if that happens?


    The numerous paintings he made after being discharged might vanish from history.


    If I hadn''t visited this ce, maybe the rift in human rtionships wouldn''t have deepened because of our conversations.


    "Too much trust might lead to being deceived, but not trusting enough leads to living in pain. To be a true artist, one needs not to stand above people but with them, Henri."


    Did my words about bing a true artist act as a catalyst?


    Henri, who had been arguing, finally falls silent.


    Henri, let me tell you. I lived a very long life as a street artist, unnoticed by anyone. I might have worked for a month to earn what you drink in a day. Do you know how I ended up like this? Because of people, Henri. Because of people.


    I slowly unfolded my story.


    We were poor since I was young. My brother was visually impaired.


    Henri''s eyebrows furrowed.


    Your brother?


    Yes.


    ..


    My father passed away when I was very young, and our already struggling family was ruined. Then the vicious cycle of poverty repeated itself.


    The cycle of poverty.


    I''ve lived a life learning firsthand why such a phrase exists.


    If you don''t have money today to treat a cavity, next year it turns into a more expensive imnt. Ignoring a minor illness due tock of funds leads to a major one requiring more money. If you can''t afford education, you end up unable to earn money because you''re uneducated. The cycle of poverty thus continues, spiraling down.


    Looking at Henri, who was focused on my words, I said,


    But through all this, I met a friend who stood by me.


    A friend in the same situation?


    No, Henri. She was from a well-off family. Not as prominent as yours, but she was born into a family that built arge house in the capital, well-known in the South of France.


    Did she hang out with someone poor like you?


    Yes, in fact, initially, I was skeptical like you. Was it out of pity? Was she befriending me because she felt sorry for me?


    Did you find the answer?


    The answer always lies in the process of seeking it. But to this day, I believe in my friend and our friendship as genuine.


    Hmm.


    I resumed sharing my life story.


    My first breakthrough as a painter came from a project with arge corporation. And it was that friend who arranged this job for me.


    Well, in truth, Youngju just suggested I enter apetition, but still, if Youngju hadn''t mentioned it, I would have missed out. So, it''s all thanks to Youngju.


    If that had happened, I wouldn''t know what would have happened next. So, Young-ju deserves credit.


    "I was thrown into another rtionship. It was a woman named Monica from Italy. She gave me numerous opportunities, and I seized most of them."


    "Italy? Has Italy entered Joseon?"


    ". I don''t know that well, but somehow it happened. And Monica introduced me to the youngest daughter of a conglomerate owner, and now I maintain a rtionship with her while gaining fame."


    "Did she also host the exhibition you mentioned earlier?"


    "That''s right."


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 Chapter 97 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 97 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Artists of this era considered sponsorship from businessmen as natural. Sometimes, wealthy individuals were seen as parasites for supporting artists, and there were times when artists thought of themselves as parasites, living off their money. But how grateful a thing it is, whether you want to admit it or not, art is born from capital. I wasn''t born into a family like Henri''s, so receiving support from a capitalist is only natural.


    Henri looked at me in silence and asked, "So, in all those moments, was your friend by your side even when you climbed out of the abyss and pursued the path of sess?"


    I smiled and shrugged.


    "Sessfully, I hired that friend under me. It''s more of a vertical rtionship than a horizontal one, to be honest."


    ""


    Henri fell into thought.


    I hoped earnestly for him to turn his thoughts around, waiting for his idealism to end.


    Henri, shaking his eyebrows, biting his lips, pondered for a few minutes before extending his hand.


    "Do you have a pen?"


    Hmm?


    There are no pens in the hospital.


    Ah, right, this is the era when sharp-nibbed fountain pens were used. It makes sense that pens, which could be used for self-harm, aren''t allowed here.


    Henri misunderstood my hesitation as I fumbled in my pocket for a pen and chuckled.


    Dont worry. I wont do anything like self-harm. My body is too frail for a small pen to do any harm, but I just want to get out of here soon. I have no desire to die.


    It''s not because of hesitation, Henri.


    Fortunately, theres a pen in my pocket. I hope it''s not a ballpoint pen.


    Relieved to find a 4B pencil instead, I handed it to him.


    Here.


    Henri, puzzled by the pencil I offered, asked,


    Is this a charcoal pencil?


    No, its a ck lead pencil.


    A ck lead pencil made like this? It looks of very high quality.


    Yes, its a product of Joseon. It will be exported to Europe someday.


    Sorry, it''s actually the other way around. You''ll be the ones exporting. But I don''t have enough time to exin that now.


    Henri sat down at the desk after getting off the bed, wrote a short letter on a piece of paper, sealed it in an envelope, and handed it to me.


    Theres a friend of mine, Maurice Jouayang, who lives in Vincennes. He lives in the biggest house around there. Anyone you ask on the street can point you to his house. Could you deliver my letter to him?


    Thats the one. The man who managed Henri''s estate in history and even painted his portrait a year before Henri died.


    Thats a good decision, Henri. Ill make sure it gets delivered.


    I hope youre right.


    I assure you. You wont have to endure this winter here. Youll see the light again soon.


    Ha, are you a fortune-teller?


    .


    Almost revealed too much. But if its 1899 now, my words will be true. Henri will leave this ce with his friends help within the year. Although his inherent frailty might not allow him a long life.


    Henri climbed back onto his bed, looked out the window, and said,


    My health has deteriorated even more.


    But youll create even better works.


    Ha, at 25, everyone has talent. The challenge is still having it at 50.


    After all, arent you painting not to earn money but to justify your life?


    .


    Henri pauses.


    To justify life?


    Thats the impression I got from a conversation with you seven years ago.


    Henri looks at me quietly and smiles slightly.


    Did you feel that way?


    Hmm.


    Henri returns his gaze to the window, smiling contentedly.


    A friend who shared my soul, Van Gogh, once said something thates to mind.


    Van Gogh, wow.


    Every time Henri mentions Van Gogh, Im always surprised.


    Henri opens his mouth as he looks at the darkening night sky.


    The darkest night will end, and the sun will rise.


    Such an obvious statement it almost feels empty, but knowing the life of the one who said it, I think of the word ''hope'' he clung to until the end and nod.


    To protect ones dreams is a duty in life. The sun will rise in your sky too.


    I firmly hold Henris small hand.


    What matters is to live feeling moved, loving, hoping, and being stirred, Henri. Be a person before bing an artist. To be a person, you need to be among people. Trust, be betrayed, be disappointed, and regain hope again - thats life.


    Henri looks at me quietly and asks,


    Can I do it?


    I smile broadly and nod.


    Just like all great artists were amateurs at first, you''re just an amateur in rtionships. But with patience and effort, youll be a pro, right?


    Finally, Henri sps my hand back, smiling.


    Nature, art, and my friend Ban. Im very happy to have met all three. Yes, like you are here for me, I hope someone will reach out. Thank you, thank you.


    Henri, whom I might never meet again.


    During the remaining visiting time, we shared a very long conversation.


    I left without being able to promise another meeting, but thats okay. I delivered his letter to his friend''s house, and seeing his friend rush out after reading it, hurriedly running somewhere, reassured me.


    He must be busy trying to find a way to get Henri out.


    And eventually, by all means necessary, they will manage to get Henri out. That''s history.


    With a light heart, I look up at the cloud-covered sky of Paris in 1899 and smile, delighted that even a trivial person like me could offer a slight help to a master in history.


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 Chapter 98 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 98 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    W Tree Hannam''s Italian Bistro.


    Monica, holding a wine ss, scrutinizes my face and asks,


    Ban.


    Yes?


    It seems like theres a different vibe about you today.


    The atmosphere, huh.


    Well, people appearpletely different based on their position and realization at the time. Maybe all the events that have surrounded me over the past few years have gradually changed me.


    I crack a smile and joke,


    Maybe its because of the new suit Monica bought me today?


    Really? Haha.


    In fact, after taking her to an exhibition once, I was going to ask Monica to pick out a few shirts for me, but she beat me to it and gifted me a new suit,plete with a few extra shirts.


    I really appreciate it, I needed this.


    Minyoung, sitting on the windowsill,ughs and joins in,


    Thats an Alessandro Cucinelli product.


    I know, I checked the brand after receiving it.


    Actually, this brand was unfamiliar to me, a fashion-ignorant person, until I met Monica.


    Its the name of a designer and brand originating from Italy, born in 1953.


    Learning about the history of this brand was quite meaningful to me, who had no interest in fashion.


    This designer is famous for personally traveling to Mongolia every year to source quality materials. It''s akin to a painter traveling abroad annually to find good paints. Such immense passion is undeniable. No wonder the brand''s sales exceeded 500 million euros (about 700 billion won) after 2017.


    Touching the cor of my shirt, I smile,


    It fits so well, you can tell a lot of care went into making it. This is why expensive clothes are worth it, thanks, Monica.


    Monica, lifting her ss, says,


    I designed that.


    Really?


    Yes, its thest piece I designed before leaving thepany.


    Wow, this is Monicas craftsmanship? Impressive. Im with such an amazing person.


    Monica suddenly appears in a new light.


    I would have praised it more if I knew Monica designed it, haha.


    My joke makes both Monica and Minyoungugh.


    An Italian restaurant on the 38th floor of arge hotel, a ce I once thought was not for me.


    And here I am, dining with people who, if it were the Joseon era, would be akin to nobles and ves, a ss difference so vast we wouldnt dare face each other. Ironically, Ive now be somewhat ustomed to such situations.


    Eating arge shrimp dish, I ask Monica,


    Hows the response to the new product? Did it sell well?


    Actually, I just lent my name to it, so the R/S ratio is low. A zero-point R/S makes profit unlikely, but having a productunched under my name helps increase the brand value of mypany, Artist Company, hence my inquiry.


    Monica smiles slightly and says,


    Its a business sector Ive been considering since the early stages. Unlike a refrigerator that shows immediate response upon release, this is a long-term venture.


    A long-term venture?


    Minyoung, the major shareholder of MG Electronics, chimes in,


    People, especially women more than men, tend to notice the interior of others houses when they visit. Seeing something nice and stylish makes them want to imitate it, a basic human desire that keeps the fashion industry alive.


    Hmm, that makes sense.


    ording to Monica, many aspire to be fashion leaders wearing beautiful clothes, but in reality, 99.9% are followers. They buy pretty clothes after seeing them on models in magazines, celebrities on TV, or celebrities on social media. These are not fashion leaders.


    Frankly, even being a follower who dresses well is enviable to me. I have almost zero fashion sense. Even this stylish suit Im wearing now, if given the same amount of money to shop, Id probably pick a strangebination of unfashionable clothes. Phew, Im d to have Monica.


    Lost in these thoughts, Minyoung continues her exnation, unaware of my distraction.


    To put it simply, the monitors sold quite well, but the monthly ie of Art is zero.


    Well, that was expected. The monitor came with a six-month free use promotion, so there was no way it would make a profit right away. Including contemporary art with copyrights would actually incur losses.


    Minyoung grins and says,


    Art slowly seeps into our lives. There may not be a huge response now, but the stylish paintings seen at a friend''s house will be a hot topic among housewives. They will want them, and this desire will gradually spread.


    I see. Business is sometimes about ying the long game. I chuckle and lift my ss,


    Its more like mold than a virus. Slowly permeating, but eventually spreading throughout the whole house.


    Monica, who was eating her sd, frowns and turns sharply.


    We''re eating here!


    Haha.


    As Minyoung and I burst intoughter, Monica, who had been wiping her mouth with a frown, joins in. The atmosphere bes more rxed, and we exchange updates about each other''s lives along with discussions about the exhibition. Then, I faced a situation I had never contemted before.


    During the meal, Minyoung casually asks Monica a question.


    So, when are you going back?


    I was about to spear an olive with my fork when I paused and turned to look at Monica. She continued eating nonchntly and replied,


    In a month.


    ................


    Monica is going back?


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 Chapter 98 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 98 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    I was momentarily at a loss for words.


    I knew she would eventually leave.


    I knew she was here temporarily to work for her dream.


    I thought it didn''t matter since she was never a part of my life to begin with.


    But now, faced with the reality of parting, I feel a sudden surge of emotion.


    Actually, its moreplicated than that.


    I cant quite exin it.


    Monica, wiping her mouth, said,


    The factory construction will be finished in a month. Then Ill go back to fulfill my real dream.


    Monica looks at me and smiles.


    Like the painting you made, Ban. Ill change my vige that way.


    ................


    Right, Ban?


    ................


    Strange, why cant I speak?


    I should be encouraging her, telling her shell do well.


    But my mouth is mped shut like a m, unable to utter a word.


    Minyoung, observing me in silence and confusion, leans on her hand and chuckles.


    "Our ss''s artist seems a bit upset."


    "...................................."


    Monica, unaware of what''s going on inside me, speaks happily, thinking that there''s someone who''s sad about parting ways.


    "Wow, that''s something to be grateful for."


    I''m still unable to say anything, just looking at Monica''s face.


    I don''t feel romantic emotions towards Monica right now.


    It''s indescribable gratitude and regret. That''s the source of my emotions.


    Will I miss Monica''s beautiful smile when I can''t see it anymore? Do I long for her? I''m not sure yet. She''s someone I''m grateful to for giving me so many opportunities. Someday, I''ll be able to repay this kindness. And when that timees, I''ll do my best.


    Minyoung, leaning on her hand and smiling, signals with her eyes.


    "It might be better to speak before you start crying."


    Huh? Who''s crying? I''m not crying. It''s just something in my eye.


    Damn it, don''t flow. If I cry here, I''ll end up kicking my nkets at home.


    I turn my tear-brimmed eyes to the ceiling, desperately holding back tears. Monica''s sweet voice reaches my ears.


    "How about going to Italy with me, Ban?"


    Huh? What did I just hear?


    Startled, I look down at Monica, and at that moment, the tears I''d been holding back stream down my cheeks.


    Then Monica bursts intoughter and wipes my tears with a napkin.


    "Oh my! Were you that upset, Ban?"


    "No, no! It''s not like that. Something got in my eye!"


    "Oh, sure. Enough with the excuses, just wipe your nose."


    Damn, I''m so embarrassed. What a humiliation. What a fool.


    Wait, the thing about going to Italy, that''s a joke, right?


    I quickly wipe my tears and say,


    "It''s nice of you to offer, but I can''t leave my position at thepany, haha."


    I say it trying to sound mature. I know you''re joking, don''t tease me, I thought, putting up a defensive mechanism. Then Monicaughs.


    "I know you''re a CEO."


    Huh? What? It wasn''t a joke?


    My eyes widen in surprise, and Monica, erasing her smile, says,


    "I''m making a business proposal to the head of Artist Company."


    I have something to do in Italy?


    "What is it?"


    Monica smiles, lifting her lips.


    "My first store is opening in Mn. Will you design it for me?"


    "...................................."


    Oh my god, not only am I going to Mn, Italy, but I''ll also be designing a store there? Is this a dream?


    Speechless, I just keep looking at Monica''s face. She scrapes her te with a fork and says,


    "Of course, we''ll take care of all the necessary expenses."


    Wow, so it''s not a joke if it''se this far.


    But can I really leave my position? What about thepany?


    Seeing my worried expression, Monica says,


    "Don''t feel too burdened. Nobody understands the heart of someone starting a newpany better than me. It''s okay to refuse, just think about it, okay?"


    "...................................."


    I couldn''t respond until the end of our meal that day.


    **


    The next day, at a Hongdae beef intestine restaurant.


    I pour Youngju a shot of soju after frying some juicy intestines, sizzling on the grill.


    "It''s not possible, right? It won''t work. Ah, I shouldn''t have said anything. Just forget it, forget!"


    Ha, I spent the whole day at my desk pondering Monica''s words, feeling suffocated, and ended up dragging Youngju out for a drink after work. Feeling guilty for always eating in Paju, I came near Youngju''s ce in Seoul to our usual Hongdae beef intestine restaurant, where I told her about Monica''s proposal.


    To be honest, it was more like talking to myself than discussing it. I talked and came to a conclusion all by myself.


    While shaking his ss for more soju, Youngju frowned upon hearing my words.


    "Are you crazy?"


    "Right? I think so too. It''s a bit much for me to leave my position now."


    "No, you idiot. Not that."


    "Huh?"


    Youngju res at me, then downs his soju and goes to refill both our sses.


    "Dude, what did you do at work today?"


    "...................................."


    I didn''t do anything. Or rather, I couldn''t.


    Every time I tried to do something, I just thought of Monica''s proposal.


    "Sorry."


    "No, dude. I''m not scolding you for not doing anything."


    "Then what?"


    Youngju, pouring the drink, says,


    Dude, youre normally the type who doesnt do anything anyway.


    .....................................


    The world goes on just fine without you, thats ourpany for you, you maniac.


    ..............................


    Youre ourpany''s face. What''s the face? Its about meeting people, shaking hands, building credentials. Youre the person we mention when doing business, saying our CEO is this impressive guy, you might have heard of him.


    Hmm, I get that, but arent you being too direct?


    I made a ''T'' with my hands and asked her,


    Are you by any chance a T? [T/N: oversimplified but T is essentially analytical, logical, rational while F is more emotional.]


    Obviously a T.


    Youngju shows her middle finger and says,


    And what about you? Are you an F?


    Im a T too.


    Youre not acting like a T, why are you dragging this out? Go. I''m here to hold the fort.


    ........................


    Youngju looks at me sideways and says,


    Honestly, you really want to go, right?


    I do want to go. Ive never been abroad before. Plus, the destination is Italy, the city of art. How could I not want to go?


    Seeing my expression, Youngju smirks and holds out her ss,


    Bring back one line to add to your business card. Thats enough for your job.


    ... Thanks.


    If youre grateful, raise my sry.


    Really? How much?


    Shut up, damn it. Ever since you became CEO, youve been too scared to spend money.


    Youngju hits me on the head, but I cant help butugh.


    Henri, are you watching? My friend is still by my side.


    Still my biggest lifesaver. You must have such a friend too.


    I rubbed my head, not even hurting, and shouted,


    Then Im going! Should I go? Im really going!


    Go! Just leave, damn it, thepany is mine now, muahaha!


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 Chapter 99 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 99 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    <i>1/2 Bonus chapter thanks to Ko-fi subscribers</i>


    Youngju''s Permission.


    Technically, our rtionship didn''t require permission. It was more of a hierarchical bond. However, I viewed Youngju not as an employer-employee rtionship, but as a partner on equal footing, so her consent was important to me.


    Once I had Youngju''s approval, I couldn''t contain my excitement.


    Though it seemed out of order, I first contacted Monica to ept the offer from Italy, followed by informing my colleagues andstly my family. In truth, thest two were more of a notification, but everyone supported me.


    The flight to Italy was a month away.


    But my heart was already there.


    Acting without realizing, thinking and preparing the travel documents in response to Monica''s request.


    Embarrassingly, I hadn''t nned anything specific to do in Italy.


    The mere fact that my first trip abroad was to Europe, and to Italy of all ces, filled me with joy.


    As each day dragged on, looking back, the month flew by like an arrow.


    As July began and the heat intensified, I faced the day before my departure to Italy.


    "So, there was this guy in the department next to yours when you were in school, he harassed me so much for your phone number, practically roasted me alive for a month. The value of the meals I got out of her was almost equivalent to my current sry," Youngju rambled.


    It was ourstpany dinner with the employees, most of whom lived in Seoul, so we stayedte in the Jongno area. Youngju didn''t seem sad about the farewell but was chattier than usual.


    Though my mind was already in Italy, Youngju was going to take care of thepany in my absence, so I casually engaged in her conversation.


    "Really? What was her name?"


    "Jae-yeon."


    "Oh, really? Sounds unfamiliar."


    Of course, you wouldn''t know. She whined so much about not being able to talk to you until graduation. What an idiot, right? If she liked you, she should''ve juste and talked to you, why trouble me? At least I got some free meals out of it."


    "Hey, if you weren''t going to give the number, why ept the meals?"


    "Why refuse when offered? Am I a fool?"


    "Did you end up not giving my number?"


    "Are you crazy? You said you didn''t like her."


    "................"


    I don''t remember. I vaguely recall Youngju mentioning something simr, but I never paid much attention.


    It''s not that Icked interest in women. Like my friends, I wanted to walk around the campus as a couple, to love and be loved. As these old memories resurfaced, Youngju fell silent.


    We walked through the backstreets of Jongno in silence. Finally, Youngju broke the silence.


    "Hey."


    "Yeah."


    "Do you ever think about her?"


    "Who?"


    "Ji-Hye."


    "...................."


    Yang Ji-Hye. My first girlfriend in freshman year of university.


    "I don''t think about her."


    A lie.


    It''s impossible to forget the first real rtionship I had, beyond my high school teacher crush.


    Youngju, tasting the air, said, "She must be kicking herself now, seeing where you are, right?"


    "...................."


    An old, deliberately forgotten memory resurfaced.


    In my sophomore year, I met a pretty junior during an MT (membership training). She was full of charm andughter at the drinking party, understanding men''s psychology too well. Sometimes motherly, sisterly, or innocently provocative.


    The day after the MT, Ji-Hye began pursuing me. She called more than five times a day, texting over thirty times. Initially, I was flustered, but she was quick-witted and sensitive, refraining from contacting when I seemed busy.


    I thought being with such a woman would be wonderful.


    So, we started dating.


    After we became a couple, Ji-Hye''s capricious and pretentious side emerged, but I still found her endearing. She was more rational than emotional, calctive but still lovable.


    But the rtionship didn''tst long.


    Who would like a guy who only brings a single bill for a date? Most students were broke, but I was particrly so.


    Tired of walking all day on our dates because we couldn''t afford typical dates like movies, meals, and coffee, Ji-Hye couldn''t endure it for more than two months before breaking up with me.


    ''I felt sorry at that time.''


    Seeing my upset face, Youngju tentatively asked, "Do you still hate flowers?"


    "...................."


    I despise flowers.


    That''s why I don''t paint them.


    I had considered flower paintings for the refrigerator design contest at Youngju''s suggestion, but eventually didn''t go through with it. Of course, the reason was encountering the bizarre art gallery, but even if I hadn''t, I would have chosen differently.


    You might have felt it when taking pictures of your lover.


    The situation where the subject loves the photo I took.


    Why is that? Because in my eyes, she looks beautiful.


    To draw and photograph beautifully, one must find beauty and love in the subject.


    An object of hatred can never be expressed beautifully.


    That''s also why I don''t draw flowers.


    After receiving the breakup news, I felt terribly sorry for her.


    Even if we were breaking up, I didn''t want to leave with a sense of guilt, so I emptied my wallet and bought arge bouquet of flowers. A bouquet I had never bought in my entire life.


    I went to her house, put the bouquet in front of the front door, and sent a text.


    "I''m sorry, I''m leaving onest gift before I go. You probably don''t want it, but please ept this."


    I wanted to apologize, but I didn''t n on seeing her again.


    From the next day, the way the juniors at school looked at me changed. At first, I thought it was just because the news of my breakup with Ji-Hye had spread and they were being considerate. But then, when Youngju showed up, fuming with anger, I heard the truth from her.


    What Ji-Hye had been saying about me.


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 Chapter 99 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 99 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    "Ban Jeong-hoon? He''s a beggar, a real beggar. I''ve never seen him carry more than ten thousand won in his wallet. I thought he would spend some money if we broke up. He sent me a text saying he left ast gift at my house, so I thought it might be a designer bag or something. But guess what, he left flowers. Flowers that be trash once they wilt! That just proves he''s a beggar through and through."


    When I heard those words from Youngju, I dropped the paintbrush I was holding.


    Those flowers were bought with two months of my allowance.


    A foul smell seemed toe from the beautiful flowers.


    The rottenness inside was emanating from the flowers that looked beautiful on the outside.


    That day, when my gesture of apology was scorned as a beggar''s act, I didn''t resent her but rather despaired over myself.


    Why was I born into this family?


    Why did my father die so early, and why does my brother have a disability that perpetuates our cycle of poverty?


    I shut myself in my room for days, and when I finally looked in the mirror, I looked crazy.


    A dirty, disgusting, pitiful, and precarious child, tainted by poverty.


    But maybe that''s fortunate? I''ve been used to being treated like a beggar.


    It was just that it was the first time I heard such words from someone I once loved.


    I soon came to my senses.


    I washed my face, brushed my teeth, took off my clothes, and showered.


    Trying to wash off the foul smell clinging to my body.


    And I never painted flowers again. Nor showed interest in the opposite sex.


    Both flowers and love would wither and disappear the moment they realized the poverty writhing within my essence.


    Youngju''s cautious voice reached my ears.


    "I think I''m a bit drunk, I said something unnecessary. Sorry! Just forget it."


    Youngju, making a gesture of pleading with hands sped together. I chuckled and lightly punched her on the shoulder.


    "It''s okay, between us, what''s there to..."


    I took a deep breath and continued.


    "I forgot. It''s all bing vague now."


    "........................"


    "The pain and the wounds too. Everyone in the world suffers, I can''t just sulk and be stuck in one ce, can I?"


    Youngju, judging my expression to be not as bad as she thought, hit my back hard and said.


    "That''s right! That''s the spirit of a true adult!"


    She''s right.


    The pain I suffered? Yes, it was a big deal for me.


    But there are many people in the world who would scoff at such pain, people who clutch their dirty, painful memories and continue living. I should just suffer briefly, cry a little, and then get up and continue on my path.


    As Youngju and I walked, we soon neared the art gallery.


    It waste, so the gallery was probably closed.


    But suddenly, I wanted to introduce my best friend to the gallery. Even if we couldn''t enter, I at least wanted to tell him the location of this gallery, which had no website or anything. I told him to definitely visit it sometime.


    Who knows? Maybe Youngju will start dreaming too.


    "Youngju, do you often visit galleries?"


    Youngju made a strange face and said.


    "I work in a gallery, how could I not go? It''s tedious, really tedious."


    "Haha,e here sometime. It will be nice, it''s closed now, but. This gallery might give you a gift too."


    I pointed to the turned-off sign and then checked my watch.


    It was already one in the morning.


    If I want to catch the 11 a.m. flight tomorrow, I need to finish checking in by 9 a.m. It takes an hour to get to Incheon Airport from my house, so I should leave by 7:30 a.m. It''s time to go back.


    I held out my hand to Youngju, who was looking in the direction I was pointing.


    "I''ll be back."


    Youngju looked around distractedly before gripping my hand.


    "Don''te back early, stay there for a long time."


    "I have toe back after work anyway, what can I do."


    "Rtionships aren''t easy, buddy. Stay there longer so ourpany''s profile grows. Don''t worry about here, take care. Call often."


    "Yeah, I got it."


    "Did you pack everything?"


    "Yeah."


    "How many pairs of underwear did you pack?"


    "Ah, why ask such a thing?"


    "Did you pack enough?"


    "If I run out, I can buy more there. Let''s try Italian underwear this time."


    "Keke, good idea."


    I wanted to spend more time with Youngju, but thete-night bus was about to arrive. Missing it means waiting for more than 30 minutes.


    We exchanged final goodbyes and parted ways.


    Soon, I will be leaving Korea.


    What will happen there?


    My heart throbs with excitement turning into anticipation.


    **


    In the ce where Jeong-hoon left.


    Youngju, left alone, nkly watched Jeong-hoon''s retreating figure as he hurriedly headed to the bus stop. After hepletely disappeared from her view, she looked at her hand that had just shaken his.


    "He''s gone."


    Her face revealed the disappointment she had tried to hide.


    Youngju stared at her hand for a while, then clenched it into a fist and exhaled sharply through her nose.


    "I''ll protect thepany until the boss returns. Aja, aja! Let''s do well, Seo Young-ju!"


    With her fist clenched and cheering herself on, Young-ju nced around in the direction Jeong-hoon had pointed earlier, muttering to herself.


    "But what was that about? Where''s this art gallery he mentioned? And what''s this talk of a gift?"


    In front of Young-ju, there was nothing but an abandoned, deste building, with only a bleak wind blowing eerily between the building and her.


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 Chapter 100 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 100 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    I am currently stered against the airne window, my face filled with awe as we take off.


    I can''t believe I''m actually on a ne.


    I thought it would feel like a ride at an amusement park, but surprisingly, my body felt heavy during takeoff for a moment, and then it was no different than riding in a car.


    As we ascended and gained altitude, the buildings appeared like dots, and I could see the whole of Seoul from Incheon.


    I couldn''t take my eyes off the tiny airne window during the entire ascent.


    Monica''s voicees from the seat next to me.


    "Ban, it takes over 12 hours and 30 minutes to Mn, you need to manage your stamina well. This is your first long-haul flight, right?"


    It''s not just a long-haul flight; it''s my first flight ever.


    I even got a new passport for this trip - it''s brand new.


    Embarrassed about being a novice, I memorized all the tips for passing through immigration, items not allowed in luggage, and Italian etiquette. But I didn''t know that first-ss passengers don''t have to queue and can board early, unlike economy passengers.


    And what''s with this seat?


    Even if I stretch my legs, they don''t reach the front seat.


    On TV, I only saw nes with narrow aisles, two seats on each side, and either four or three seats in the middle. But here, there are spacious areas with only two seats on each end. It''s like the private jets I''ve seen in dramas used by chaebols. I didn''t know regr airlines had such seats.


    Ignorance isn''t a crime, but I was too shy to ask about everything and just silently followed Monica. However, I couldn''t take my eyes off the scenery outside the window during takeoff.


    Monica opens a magazine and says,


    "We don''t have a direct flight to our vige. We''ll stop in Mn and then go see the site chosen for the store. There''s still a long way to go before the opening, but for now, go there, take photos, and start nning."


    I am on my way to Monica''s hometown, Roseto Valfortore.


    The very ce I drew as a background when I first drew Monica. It''s her hometown that she dreams of reviving. The thought of going to such a fairytale-like vige excites me. And even more thrilling is the fact that we will stop in Mn, the city of fashion, first.


    ''I wonder if it''s true that models walk around with their clothes fluttering, and actors like Jang Dong-gun and Won Bin are begging on the streets?''


    I''m slightly worried about being treated like an outsider when I arrive in Mn.


    The flight to Italy is exciting.


    But my first flight was so tedious.


    Damn, I''ve never sat in one ce for twelve hours before.


    My whole body aches. I woke up seven times to check the time. The endless view of the ocean from the flying ne tires me out.


    Finally, the screen attached to the seat in front lights up, showing our current location near Mn Linate Airport, and an announcement ys.


    I wriggle in my seat with a bit of excitement, eager to grab my luggage and disembark.


    Monica looks at me andughs.


    "Ban."


    "Yes?"


    "We still have about 30 minutes before we can disembark. Calm down."


    "Ah."


    Embarrassingly enough.


    Then why start the announcement so early?


    I try to sit still and cross my legs, but my restless heart won''t settle. As the outline of Italy starts to appear outside the window, my excitement grows even more.


    ''I''m really in Italy!''


    **


    Wow, I thought the climate would be quite different since it''s such a distant country from ours.


    But Italy is also hot, simr to Korea''s July, around 31 degrees Celsius.


    Upon disembarking at the airport, a chauffeur who was waiting for us opens the car door.


    Monica, who got into the luxury car, smiles continuously, pleased to see her hometown after so long.


    "Mn isn''t exactly a city with a lot to see. However, thanks to its strategic location, it''s a frequent stop for travelers in Europe. To the west is France, to the north, Switzend, southwards Rome, and eastwards Venice. It''s a city that connects all these regions, making it a must-visit for train travelers."


    I know, I''ve already checked the map before leaving.


    Mn is located near the northernmost part of Italy. It''s a must-visit for travelersing from France or Switzend to Italy.


    I look at the cityscape with curious eyes and ask,


    "Where''s Monica''s store going to be?"


    "In the center of the Quadrtero."


    What''s that, some weird name? Sounds like a quattro cheese pizza.


    "Is it a famous ce?"


    The driver nced at me through the rearview mirror, understanding my question in English. Hey, it''s not a crime to be ignorant, right?


    Monicaughed and exined,


    "It''s in the heart of Mn''s fashion district, known as the ''Sanctuary of Fashion''. That''s where the potential site for my store is."


    Wow, the Sanctuary of Fashion? What kind of ce is it to have such a name?


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 Chapter 100 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 100 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Momentster, as the car stopped and I stepped out onto the street, I was astonished.


    ''What is this? The entire city looks like an outdoor department store.''


    My first visit to the Sanctuary of Fashion felt like a dream. Especially striking was a district with five huge buildings arranged in a star shape, covered by a transparent, arch-shaped roof. It was almost shocking.


    Not a single buildingcked an artistic design, and each store seemed too luxurious for a mere mortal like me to step into. After closing the car door and sending the driver to a nearby parking lot, Monica stood next to me, gazing at the street.


    "The Quadrtero district epasses areas like Via Montenapoleone, Spiga, Sant''Andrea, and Borgospesso. This way," she said.


    Monica had not been pulling me along, I would have stood there with my mouth agape for at least 30 more minutes. Then, a fly would have probably flown right into my mouth.


    As we walked toward the potential site for her store, Monica pointed out and exined various signboards we encountered.


    When you go to Borgospresso street, there are stores of famous luxury brands and local Italian brands. It''s not really a ce to buy clothes, but rather for kitchen utensils, dishes, small essories, and high-end household goods.


    Ah, is it like the international market in Busan? No, that''s not quite a fairparison.


    Monica continued her exnation.


    Over there is Spiga street. Its an emerging luxury brand street. When you want to visit stores like Colombo, Giorgio Armani, Dolce & Gabbana, Bton, and Moncler, you go there.


    Oh, the very brands famous for their first birthday parties. I''ve heard of them too.


    Monica gestured towards another direction and said,


    On Sant''Andrea street, there are chic select shops and big brands like Chanel and Prada. Especially Prada, its famous for having a wide variety of products that you can''t find in their other stores.


    Wow, Prada. The Devil Wears Prada. I''ve seen that movie.


    Then, Monica pointed out thest street.


    This is Via Monte Napoleone street. It''s a 500-meter street connecting the subway stations, lined with gship stores of the world''s top designers. And my store will be right there.


    Wow, the entire long street connecting subway stations is a fashion street?


    I followed Monica towards Via Monte Napoleone, ncing around. The luxury stores she had mentioned on the other streets were also here. Alberta Ferretti, Versace, Armani, Prada, Etro, Dolce & Gabbana, and more.


    Are these all gship stores? Amazing.


    I should buy a gift for Youngju when Ie to work here.


    Of course, I will also buy something for Mom.


    Mom is a woman too. She might seem uninterested in luxury goods, but that''s probably because she never thought she could have them. I''ve seen her nce at the disys in luxury brand stores while walking with her.


    This time, I should buy her a proper bag.


    Youngju has been so grateful for various things; I want to buy her something.


    What should I buy for my brother? I''ll have to think about that.


    Following Monica through the numerous fashion stores, we reached the center of Mn. Before Monica even exined, I recognized the potential site for her store.


    Unlike the bustling stores around, there was onerge store standing empty in the middle.


    Is this the ce?


    Yes.


    It''s quite spacious, isn''t it?


    Yes, it was originally used as a gship store by an emerging Italian designer.


    The store looked over 200 pyeong (about 660 square meters) by Korean measurement. Moreover, it was spread over two floors. Renting such a store in the heart of Mn must require a lot of money.


    Monica took out a key from her bag and opened the closed store door.


    There are still stores that use old-fashioned keys? Ah, Ive noticed a few stores around here that don''t use electronic locks. Well, there are shutters on the outside of the door, so it should be fine.


    Entering the store with Monica, I saw an empty white space.


    It seems like nothing has been done yet. Ive only removed the previous interior.


    Did the person here leave because they were sessful?


    One particrly important thing for Koreans.


    When moving to a new ce, if the real estate agent says that the previous upants moved to a bigger house because they were sessful, it makes one''s heart flutter. It''s like wanting to receive some sort of energy from the house. The same goes formercial properties. If the previous business owner was sessful and moved to their own building, it makes one more inclined to choose that ce.


    Monica grinned and shook her head.


    No, the owner and designer expanded thepany too fast and then everything copsed in an instant. Now, theyre running away from debts.


    ................


    Wow, is it okay to do business in such a store?


    Damn, I shouldnt have brought it up. It feels ominous.


    I quickly changed the subject.


    So, you want me to take charge of the store design? You mean, like murals?


    I want to entrust you with everything - walls, floors, ceilings, and the exterior.


    Wow, this is bigger than I thought.


    Just with paintings?


    Ill leave it entirely to the artists judgment.


    ........................


    Although Im a bit worried, its actually easy to decide the design direction. Every fashion brand has a logo. The ultimate goal of store design is advertising, so the logo of the fashion brand bes the main symbol.


    "Have youe up with a brand logo yet?"


    Look at me, I don''t even know Monica''s brand name, let alone the logo.


    Monica catches the hidden meaning in my question and says with a smile,


    "Yes, but we don''t have any prototypes yet. The factory isn''t operational, so we only have the design."


    "Can you show me?"


    "It''s on myptop, I''ll show youter."


    "Oh, then can you just describe it roughly for now?"


    "Ah, I hope a wonderful paintinges out with my brand logo!"


    Monica sped her hands together and spoke earnestly.


    "My brand logo is ''Water Lily''!"


    "."


    Darn, Water Lily... Lotus flowers?


    The brand logo is the flower I least like to draw? Why of all things, sigh...


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 Chapter 101 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    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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 Chapter 101 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 101 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Augusto? Oh, the word she used to call that man earlier is his name. Sounds like a name of a coffee machine. Monica looks excitedly towards the kitchen.


    Uncles Osso buco is the best in the world, so look forward to it.


    Whats that?


    Its a dish where veal shanks from the back leg are cooked slowly with white wine, and the marrow in the shinbone is not removed, which makes the broth rich and the meat tender.


    Oh, a meat dish. And looking at the cooking method, it seems like a dish Koreans would love.


    I''m looking forward to it.


    In Europe, itsmon to wait at least an hour for food after ordering. I sat downfortably, expecting the same here. However, perhaps because the dish requires long cooking and had been prepared in advance, it arrived surprisingly quickly.


    Uncle Augusto fires off a rapid-fire rap, and Monica responds in kind with her own speedy rap, which to me, seems quite unfamiliar. Uncle points to a tomato-colored sauce and gestures for me to try it. I scoop some with my fork and put it on the meat and vegetables, looking at Uncle for confirmation.


    He nods, and upon tasting it, I smile broadly.


    Delicious.


    It''s not just ament. It really is delicious.


    I wonder if they dont sell this in Korea? Nowadays, there seems to be nothing you cant find there. I should look it upter.


    As I give a thumbs-up to Uncle Augusto, who''s eagerly anticipating my reaction, heughs heartily and pats my shoulder. Hmm, Italians do seem to enjoy physical touch.


    Once the meal begins, Uncle Augusto briefly steps away and then returns with dessert, joining us at the table and starting a lively chat. But I couldnt understand a word.


    Still, it would be rude to show my boredom.


    Monica hase to her hometown for the first time in 10 years and is catching up with an old acquaintance, so I can understand the lengthy conversation.


    But my patience soon wears thin.


    Holding my forehead, I sigh under the deluge of rapid conversation.


    He talks so much!


    It''s been an hour already.


    Monica starts to notice my restlessness, but Uncle Augusto shows no sign of stopping.


    As dusk falls and the deserted square remains empty, I feel increasingly frustrated. Is this why people left this ce?


    Noticing my growing boredom, Monica quickly wraps up our time there. Uncle Augusto seems eager to talk more, but upon seeing Monicas signal, he hurries to shake my hand, saying something. Monica trantes for me.


    He says hes sorry for forgetting his manners since its been so long since hes seen me.


    I respond in the Italian I had quickly memorized before leaving.


    Prego di niente.


    Uncle Augustos eyes widen in surprise at my Italian, and he bursts intoughter, pping my shoulder again. Uh, why is he like this?


    Monica stands up and says, Ive arranged for the amodation to be ready; lets go together.


    Ah, I guess there wont be any water or snacks there?


    Yes, if you need anything, we should buy it beforehand.


    Let''s do that.


    I wave goodbye to Uncle and head to the nearby market. It''s an unmanned store, but still has essentials. I grab wet wipes, water, some beverages, and Italian snacks, and ring the bell at the counter. The owner appears from the back.


    si, si.


    It must be the owner. I turn around and freeze.


    Twins?


    Uncle Augusto rushes in, wiping his hands.


    Augusto?


    He grins at me. So, the restaurant owner also runs the market. Well, in a ce with no people, that makes sense.


    I pack my purchases and tell Monica, whos waiting outside, Ha, looks like the restaurant owner also runs the market.


    She smiles and nods.


    He runs the butcher shop and fruit store too.


    He runs all four shops by himself? Talk about a monopoly. Well, it''s hardly a monopoly when there are no customers.


    Monica leads the way, saying, Our amodation is behind the cathedral over there.


    I follow Monica to our lodging.


    It''s a two-story house situated just below a hill, behind the cathedral, up a slope next to it.


    Entering the house, there''s a slightly chilly feeling. Monica, setting down her bag, says, This ce has been empty for a long time, but electricity and gas are connected. The bedroom is on the second floor.


    Its a small house with a kitchen, living room, and bathroom on the first floor.


    Though slightly bigger than the basement studio I used to live in, the two-story division makes the space seem ample.


    Where will you be staying, Monica?


    Ill be at a house near the vige entrance. Theres no parking here. I have to go to the factory site every day, and staying here would be too inconvenient.


    Then why didnt she arrange for me to stay near there too?


    Noticing my puzzled look, Monica smiles.


    Youll see how nice this house is once the sun sets. Ill go and rest now, call me if you need anything.


    Thanks for everything, Monica.


    After Monica left, I went upstairs to unpack my bags, then returned downstairs and decided to take a shower first.


    Fortunately, there was plenty of hot water. After a refreshing shower, I wrapped myself in a towel and went to the living room, where I noticed the moonlight streaming in through therge open window and walked over to it.


    And there, in front of therge window, I smiled at the sight of the big full moon.


    So, that''s why she gave me this ce.


    The full moon was clearly visible, unobstructed by anything.


    The view from this window was unique in the vige, offering an unobstructed view of the sky. I wiped my face with the towel andughed emptily.


    A deserted vige, and now a full moon too. It''s like something out of a legend.


    Somehow, it feels like tonight might be a bit eerie.


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 Chapter 102 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 102 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    5:30 in the morning.


    I stopped by Mn, but I just can''t seem to get used to this time difference.


    Since Italy is 7 hours behind Korea, it would be around lunchtime there. I tried to go back to sleep, but my eyes were wide awake, so I got up and called Youngju first.


    -Is that you, Junghoon?


    It''s quiet early morning here, but where Youngju is, it sounds busy.


    Hey, any issues at the office?


    -What issues would there be? Were handling the orders well, no problems. Where are you?


    Oh, Im in Monicas hometown vige.


    -Not Mn?


    No, came here yesterday.


    -Its not rural, is it?


    Yeah, why?


    -Are there hotels?


    No, Im staying in a separate house. There are many empty houses here.


    -Dont tell me youre staying with Monica?


    Nah, Monicas ce is quite far from here. Theres no parking. She often has to go to the factory.


    -Really?


    Yeah.


    Hmm, she seems relieved for some reason.


    -What time is it there?


    5:30 in the morning.


    -You crazy, go to sleep.


    Haha, seems Im not adjusted to the time zone.


    -Yeah, that can be tough. Youll get used to it in a few days.


    Did you struggle with jetg when you studied abroad?


    -Of course, it took me about a week to adjust.


    Ugh, I have to do this for another week?


    -If you dont like it, just stay up all night. Youll crash and adjust the next day.


    Haha, Ill keep that in mind.


    I guess we miss each other since we see each other daily. I talked with Youngju about trivial things. I learned he was having lunch, and after catching up on thepany and the team, 30 minutes had passed, and dawn was breaking.


    I called mom yesterday, so I''ll skip today. I stretched in bed and opened the curtains.


    Its still not sunrise; the sky is slightly bright but still dim. I went downstairs, washed my face, brushed my teeth, threw on some training clothes, and left the house. I didnt want to stare at my phone since I can only watch Italian TV here, and it seemed a waste of time.


    I went out for a walk and to look around the vige.


    The vige at dawn is no different fromst night. It''s still deserted.


    It seems even more peaceful than I heard.


    I heard that about 900 people live in the vige. I remember when I first painted Monicas portrait, there was news that the vige poption had fallen below a thousand.


    How can a vige with 900 people be this empty?


    I trudged down the slope, passing the church and reaching the square I visited yesterday. There are houses scattered along the road, but no signs of life.


    Maybe there will be people around when it gets brighter.


    Then, a little way off, I saw a man leaning against a parked car. He was smoking but looked up, surprised to see me.


    Italian morning greetings.


    Recalling what I had memorized for such sudden encounters, I awkwardly raised my hand and said,


    Bon giorno, piacere.


    The man took the cigarette from his mouth and seemed about to say something. Just then, a boy about seven years old came out of the house with a backpack.


    The man stubbed out his cigarette, helped the boy into the car, and then looked at me, saying,


    ci vediamo, e stato un piacere conosce.


    What did he say?


    He waved his hand, probably a greeting.


    The man drove off with the boy, probably taking him to school. Something like see youter, I guess.


    Phew, at least its not a ghost town.


    What''s with this strange sense of relief?


    As I was about to head back to the square, I stopped seeing a cute little girl, about five years old, toddling out of the house and squatting on the ground.


    She wore a pink T-shirt, red pants, and sneakers. The girl sat on the steps, looking at the ground. I saw white stones scattered around, and there were drawings on the ground.


    She had rosy cheeks, chubby, blonde hair, and blue eyes.


    Having learned not to touch children''s heads in foreign countries, I squatted beside her, met her eyes, and greeted,


    Bon giorno.


    The girl, searching for stones to draw with, turned her head at my greeting and looked like she was about to cry. I panicked and waved my hands,


    No, I''m not a weird uncle, just saying hello.


    The girl, teary-eyed and pouting, ran back into the house.


    Sitting crouched, I watched her leave and then stood up, licking my lips.


    First time seeing an Asian person?


    She looked about five, so that might be possible.


    I probably would have been scared too if I saw a Westerner for the first time at that age.


    Scratching the back of my head, I looked down at the child''s scribbles and smiled.


    Brings back memories.


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 Chapter 102 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 102 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    I used to scribble like this while waiting for my dad to return from his fishing trips on the deep-sea fishing vessel.


    Before dad bought me pencils, I, like this child, used to look for white-colored pebbles to scribble on the cement floor. It was easy to erase by rubbing with shoes.


    Is this an elephant?


    It looked like an elephant but with wings. The trunk even had a human hand at the end. A strange drawing, but cute, thinking a five-year-old drew it.


    After ncing at the house where the child went in, I walked back towards the square.


    Upon arriving at the small square, I spotted Mr. Augusto, whom I had seen yesterday. He was in the midst of opening the butcher shop shutter. I ran over to help him lift the shutter and said,


    "Bon giorno, Augusto!"


    Mr. Augusto looked a bit surprised but then recognized me and smiled broadly. The problem was, he started spewing rapid-fire rap-like speech again. I couldn''t understand a word he said.


    Realizing I couldn''t understand him, Mr. Augusto gestured towards the restaurant and mimed eating.


    ''Ah, he''s asking if I came for breakfast.''


    I was going to eat anyway, and since this was the only restaurant here, I obviously had to eat here.


    I nodded and gave him an OK sign. Mr. Augusto gestured to wait a moment and ran to the restaurant, opened the door, and offered me a good seat, inviting me to sit down.


    Though a rapid-fire rapper, he was a very kind gentleman.


    When I asked for a menu, he waved his hands and said something I couldn''t understand, but I got the gist from his hand signals. It seemed there was only one breakfast option. I nodded vaguely, asking for it, and he brought a meal that included a stew-like dish served with bread.


    Not knowing what it was, I dipped the bread into the stew, and oh, it was quite good.


    But do Italians intend to dry up all the tomato seeds, why is there tomato in every dish?


    And there''s bread in the stew too?


    As I mixed the stew with my fork and dipped the bread soaked in stew, it was surprisingly tasty. Monica was right about praising this man''s cooking skills.


    I gave Mr. Augusto a thumbs up, watching me. He seemed very pleased with my gesture of enjoying the food and went back into the kitchen.


    I looked out at the peaceful morning of the quiet town while eating.


    In the 30 minutes I was there, I only saw two people. Both weredies, one visiting the butcher shop and the other the fruit shop. We just exchanged nces, and they looked at me curiously.


    An amusing sight of mutual curiosity.


    Perhaps it''s a blessing to be in a rural vige.


    I couldn''t imagine going out alone in Mn.


    It was a bit scary.


    There were so many people, and the traffic was soplex that I wouldn''t go out unless I was with Monica, otherwise just staying in the hotel.


    But this ce was different.


    Even arge loop around the vige takes less than 30 minutes. Plus, the cathedral behind my lodging is visible from afar, so there''s no way I could get lost.


    After finishing my meal, I headed back to my lodging.


    I passed by the spot where I had encountered the little girl earlier.


    But there she was again, scribbling on the ground.


    She must havee out again after noticing I was gone. Hmm, such a cute child.


    I secretly watched her like a creep, smiling at her adorable antics. Then, she nced at me while drawing. What if she runs away again? I didn''t want to ruin her fun scribbling game.


    Was it because the sun was high in the sky?


    This time, she didn''t run away but watched me.


    I showed her my open palms, signaling no harm, and slowly sat down beside her. She looked at me with wary eyes. I tried to show the friendliest smile and picked up a pebble to start drawing on the ground.


    Elephants, giraffes, camels, eagles.


    The animal drawings I often did in my childhood were taking shape on the ground.


    Her eyes widened in amazement.


    First time seeing a fine arts student draw, right?


    You haven''t seen someone draw this well in your town, have you?


    I childishly boasted, meticulously crafting my doodles.


    When I ran out of space, I would scoot over to make more room. Initially, the child just watched, but eventually, she crouched beside me, moving alongside me in the same posture, watching the drawings with fascination.


    Her adorableness made me draw more, and soon, every time Ipleted a drawing, she would p her tiny hands together like fern leaves. It''s funny how receiving apuse from a child can feel so good. It''s like being praised by a cute little angel.


    The child, pping her hands and saying something, had a really lovely voice.


    I wish I could understand what she''s saying.


    I racked my brain for some Italian I had memorized and asked, feeling quite sure.


    Che cosa?


    Ah, I should have memorized the word for ''name'' too. This means ''what is it?''. The child tilts her head in confusion. I pointed at the child again and repeated.


    Che cosa?


    The child pointed at herself and said,


    Nome?


    Hmm? That sounds simr to the English word ''name''. I nodded vigorously and asked,


    si, si. Nome Che cosa?


    Using Italian with a disregard for proper grammar. Luckily, the child seemed to understand and pointed at herself, saying,


    Lea.


    Oh, Lea.


    Her name sounds like it''s from a fairy tale.


    I smiled brightly and pointed at myself.


    Ban.


    The child pointed at me and asked,


    Van?


    si, si. Lea, Ban.


    As I alternated pointing between Lea and myself while saying our names, the childughed. Such a beautifulugh, she''s like a real angel.


    In this small vige with few people, this morning I made my first little friend.


    An angel named Lea.


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 Chapter 103 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 103 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Although we couldn''t understand each other''snguage, it was enjoyable.


    I''ve never been particrly fond of children. To be more precise, it''s not that I disliked them; I simply had no experience dealing with them, having neither children of my own nor any nieces or nephews. I didn''t have many friends around, and even if I did, few of them were married. These days, people tend to marryter in life.


    However, during the time I spent with Lea, I discovered something about myself that I hadn''t known before.


    ''I guess I do like children.''


    Was it because she was as cute and pretty as a doll?


    I held a white stone and drew Lea''s house for her.


    At first, Lea didn''t understand what I was drawing, blinking her eyes in wonder. But once I finished and pointed at the house, she alternated her gaze between the drawing and the house, then raised her hands to p andughed gleefully. How could she be so adorable?


    What should I draw for her next? I hope she likes this next drawing too.


    "Have you made a friend already, Ban?"


    The beautiful voice interrupted my time with the child. Monica had arrived.


    "Ah, Monica."


    Lea, squatting down, just raised her head to look at Monica. Maybe because they were from the same country or because I was a man, Lea didn''t seem as wary of Monica as she had been of me when we first met.


    Monica waved at Lea.


    "Hello?"


    Lea waved back, slightly shyly. Monica smiled brightly and said,


    "Ban, I need to leave for work. I''ll be back by evening, so take it easy today. It''s hard when the travel fatigue umtes."


    As if she hadn''te with me from Korea. Perhaps it was her work? Monica really has an iron constitution.


    "Okay, take care."


    Monica started to leave, then paused and looked at Lea for a while before squatting down in front of her and asking,


    "Are you by chance, Sophia''s daughter?"


    Lea''s eyes widened, and she nodded. Monica pped her hands joyfully.


    "Oh my! Sophia got married! And she already has a child? Wow!"


    Well, it''s been 10 years since she returned, so it''s possible she wouldn''t know the child. In a small vige, most people would know each other.


    I chimed in.


    "I saw earlier that Lea has an older brother. It looked like their father was taking him to school."


    "Oh my, oh my!"


    Monica abruptly stood up and ran into Lea''s house. She knew where it was without being told, so they must really know each other.


    Soon after, Monica came out, arm in arm with Lea''s mother, Sophia. She was rattling on, and I had thought only Mr. Augusto talked like that, but maybe it''s just the way Italians speak.


    Sophia looked very happy to see Monica, which suggests that Monica is well-regarded in this vige.


    Monica spoke something to Sophia in Italian, and then Sophia looked at me, smiled, and waved.


    ''Ah, she must have introduced me.''


    Yes, if a child is ying with a stranger, a mother would naturally be anxious. But if a trustworthy person introduces them, she might be more at ease. Of course, mothers in the city might be more cautious, but this is a simple, warm-hearted rural vige.


    Sophia said something to Lea, who then stood up with a big smile and extended her small hand to me, as if asking me to hold it. Somewhat taken aback, I took Lea''s hand, and Monica exined,


    "Lea is going to show you around the vige."


    ".?"


    She didn''t look more than five years old.


    Young as she was, being a child who roamed around this small vige, she could probably introduce me to the ce without any problem. But was it really okay for them to entrust their child to a stranger they had just met today? Rural viges truly overflow with kindness.


    Monica went back inside the house with Sophia.


    She said she was leaving for work, but it seems gossip is more appealing.


    Lea grabbed my hand and pulled, indicating that we should go in that direction.


    Lea grabs my hand and toddles around the vige, making arge circle. She says something in the middle, but I can''t understand her at all. I just nod my head or smile back, and Lea seems happy with that.


    As the little angel in red pants toddles around, the restaurant owner Mr. Augusto and the neighborhooddies all smile and wave at us. It feels very different from when I was alone.


    Thanks to Lea, I even got to see the inside of the church.


    The very old church was pretty, featuring stained ss works whose creator was unknown. While it wasn''t as grand as the famous Duomo in Florence, Italy, the church was quiterge for the size of the vige.


    Lea, who had been wandering around every corner of the vige, suddenly looks at my face and puts her index finger on her lips.


    "What? Is it a secret?"


    What could be the secret?


    Lea grabs my hand and heads towards the outskirts of the vige.


    Passing a small stream and heading towards the forest with Lea.


    Hey, is this really okay? If I did this in Seoul with a child, Id be caught by the police.


    "Hey, Lea. That looks dangerous."


    When I speak, Lea looks at my face but doesn''t understand and continues to pull my hand. It seems she wants to show me something. Fortunately, it doesn''t seem like she ns to go deep into the forest, as she walks around the big mountain.


    "Where are we going exactly?"


    Then, as if by a miracle, a building appears before my eyes.


    A small building that looks like a Greek temple.


    The building, set alone on a path overgrown with wooden vines, seems to be Lea''s secret hideout.


    "At this age, it''s normal to have your own secret hideout."


    My brother and I were the same.


    When we lived in the countryside, there was an abandoned house in the vige that everyone said was haunted. But my brother and I took toys there and even stole agricultural tarps from around the neighborhood to make a tent.


    We made our secret hideout, keeping it a space only known to us, even from our mother. It was really fun back then.


    It seems Lea is the same.


    "Are you introducing your secret hideout to me? Do you consider me a friend?"


    Ive only drawn her a picture, but shes opened her heart to me. Im grateful.


    As I straighten my back from bending down to meet Lea''s eyes, I look at the building in the distance and tilt my head in curiosity.


    "But why is there such a building here out of the blue? What is it for?"


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 Chapter 103 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 103 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    The exterior of the building looks unmistakably abandoned. Was it used as a vigemunication office or something? Holding Lea''s hand and approaching the building, my eyes widen as we get closer.


    "What...?"


    The inscription on the building, resembling a Greek temple.


    The engraved letters. I freeze upon seeing them.


    Letters I never imagined.


    Today''s Exhibition: ude M, Meets the Scent.


    "Why is this here?"


    It cant be.


    But inside, I see it. A ticket kiosk.


    Just like the one I saw in Korea.


    Of course, there could be art galleries in Italy.


    But in such a rural vige?


    In such a secluded ce?


    With a ticket machine just like the one in the Jongno gallery?


    Stunned, I stare at the gallery. Then I remember there''s someone here who can answer my questions. Crouching down to meet the eyes of the little girl holding my hand, I gesture and ask her questions.


    "Lea! Has this been here for a long time? Have you been inside?"


    "..................."


    She doesnt understand my words.


    But her expression. She keeps ncing at the gallery. It must be different from what she remembers. A question mark is visible on the child''s face.


    ''This isnt the space the child knew.''


    I can''t be certain, but looking at Lea''s expression, it seems right.


    Hesitantly, I approach the gallery.


    The interior of the building differs from that in Jongno. Unlike Jongno, where staircases to the second floor and basement were visible together, here, there''s an entrance like a cave at the back of the building.


    To prepare for any potential danger, I first picked up Lea. In case something happened, I wanted to quickly escape while holding her.


    "Lea, you need to stick close to me, okay?"


    ".........................."


    As I cautiously entered the building and stood in front of the ticket kiosk, I was stunned.


    "Really, did that art gallery follow me?"


    The strange art gallery in Jongno.


    That''s their ticket machine. How do I know?


    Damn, it''s written in Korean, how can I not know?


    20,000 won for adults, 5,000 won for preschool children.


    This is written in Korean.


    "Wow, is my mind messed up because of the time difference? Lea, do you see this?"


    As I pointed to the ticket machine and asked, Lea, not understanding what I said, reached out and touched the machine. She seems fascinated, as if seeing it for the first time.


    I nced at the cave.


    There''s a ck door. I hope it''s not just an illusion.


    Holding Lea, I stepped outside the building again to check the writing on the stone b.


    The same text is still there.


    "ude M."


    No, it''s not important who is being exhibited right now.


    The problem is that this art gallery seems to be following me.


    A chill runs down my spine, and I feel the hair on my body stand on end.


    I re-enter the building and push the ck door at the entrance of the cave. But it doesn''t open. I try pulling and sliding it to the side, but the door doesn''t budge.


    As I struggle with the door, Lea pats my cheek.


    "Huh?"


    Lea points her finger at a spot. It''s the ticket kiosk.


    "Buy a ticket?"


    She nods emphatically.


    What does she understand and say?


    It''s not like ''Open Sesame,'' where buying a ticket will open the door, Lea.


    Buying a ticket at a closed gallery is like throwing money away.


    She probably doesn''t know what she''s saying. She must have been taught by her mother not to just enter ces like this. Lea keeps pointing at the ticket kiosk. Oh, I don''t know anymore.


    "Should I just buy one?"


    If I don''t, I''ll be curious for the rest of my life. Oh well, I can afford to spend 25,000 won.


    I''m d I have some Korean money left over from Incheon Airport, as I exchanged most of it for euros. I put the money in the machine and press for one adult and one child. A receipt-like ticket pops out from below.


    "Wow, it actually works."


    Hesitating in front of the cave door, I push it slightly with the hand holding the ticket.


    "Mom, damn!"


    Damn it, the door actually opens.


    What is this?


    Like a hinge doused in oil, the door opens silently and effortlessly.


    As soon as I open the door, music envelops us.


    I''m not sure what the music is.


    It sounds like an organ, but other instruments are audible too.


    It doesn''t seem to be aposition well-known to Koreans, but it''s very grand and beautiful.


    Inside the door is indeed a cave.


    The ceiling and walls are made of rough stone, but the floor is clean marble. Moreover, the interior is very bright. If it had been dark and damp, I would have hesitated to enter, but being so clean and bright, my guard is lowered.


    I look at Lea, whom I''m holding, and ask.


    "Do you want to go in there with me? Are you not scared?"


    Lea, nestled in my arms, wiggles her hips like she''s riding a horse, urging me to go faster and pointing inside.


    I look into the cave with tense eyes.


    "Surely, we won''t die, right?''


    I would have already gone in if I were alone, but I''m worried because of Lea.


    In an emergency, I should be able to at least get the child out.


    Oh well, let''s go in.


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 Chapter 104 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 104 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    <i>Bonus chapter thanks to @Chilu on Ko-fi!</i>


    "Wow, is this for real?"


    Passing through the ck door and walking along the cave passage, I came across stairs leading underground. Opening the door at the end of the stairs, I could only mutter in astonishment.


    "The museum really followed me here?"


    Inside the museum.


    The space resembled the strange museum in Jongno that I remembered.


    Even the appearance of the walls and ceiling.


    And the central rock sofa where I sit and fall asleep every day remained the same.


    Am I still not awake from my sleep?


    Am I still dreaming after falling back asleep following my dawn conversation with Youngju? It doesn''t make sense, does it?


    The grand sound of music.


    The beautiful flower paintings that adorn the walls and ceiling.


    Little Lea, five years old, gazes at the ceiling, her mouth agape at the sight she''s seeing for the first time in her life.


    She almost fell backward while craning her neck, but I barely caught her.


    "Woah! Lea, be careful. Stay safely in my arms."


    "."


    Lea wildly looks around, taking in the paintings. Her face shows wonder and amazement. Clearly, this is her first visit here too. So, the hypothesis that both Jongno and this ce had museums is false. There''s only one answer. The museum is following me.


    "What on earth."


    Why? Why is it following me?


    Thinking about it won''t yield an answer.


    For now, I take Lea to the central rock sofa.


    If this were Jongno, I''d have sat her next to me, but this ce is unfamiliar. Since I can''t predict what might happen, I put Leah on myp, ready to run out if necessary.


    Out of curiosity, I checked my phone.


    "As expected, no signal."


    This was the same in the Jongno museum. Whether it''s because it''s underground or something else is blocking it, cellphones don''t work well inside the museum. This means it''s hard to call for help in an emergency. Should we just leave? I feel uneasy.


    Then, Lea shouts triumphantly.


    "Wow!"


    What is it? The main wall Lea is looking at.


    A new painting is being projected there.


    ''Woman with a Parasol.''


    One of M''s masterpieces.


    Just looking at it fills one with happiness.


    In the painting, the woman holding the parasol is his wife, Camille. The child standing behind her is their eldest son.


    Lea seems to really like the painting, smiling broadly.


    Yes, even to a child, this painting seems happy.


    But I know.


    The kind of life M, who painted such happy scenes, lived.


    He was not a man who could be called happy.


    But in all his paintings, there is happiness.


    Did he yearn for happiness amidst unhappiness?


    Or did he long for the happy times?


    I don''t know the answer.


    But I do know how great a person is who finds happiness in unhappiness.


    Because I couldn''t do that.


    I adjust Lea sitting on myp and say,


    "Lea, this is a painting by ude M, drawn in 1875. It''s currently in the possession of the National Gallery of Washington."


    ""


    Ah, she can''t understand.


    Iugh awkwardly and keep an eye on the surroundings of the museum again.


    An empty museum. The only things heard are music, and the only things seen are paintings.


    ''Come to think of it, this is the first time I''vee to the museum with someone else.''


    Just then, an overwhelming sleepiness starts pouring in.


    "No, this can''t be happening. This ce might be dangerous."


    I try to open my mouth to wake myself up, but it''s no use. This can''t be happening! It''s not just me here.


    If Lea gets into trouble, I can''t face Sophia and Monica. It would be a major hindrance to Monica''s business, which ns to use this town as a base for her factory.


    ''No... It can''t be...''


    But the heaviest eyelids in the world, pressed down by someone, were not something I could control. I slumped over with Lea still in my arms.


    **


    ''Damn it! In the end!''


    At the end of a dizzying sensation.


    Anxious and unable to adapt to my surroundings in time, I opened my eyes wide, trying to grasp the spinning environment around me. Had I be somewhat familiar with the buildings structure after a few visits? This is France, after all.


    For someone who had only seen giant mansions orrge houses with gardens where nobles lived, the sight of closely packed houses was new to me. They were very close together, almost touching, giving off a feeling of poverty.


    Tap, tap.


    Huh? What''s this feeling? Something is hitting my leg. Is it a dog? No way, can people see me this time too?


    As I reflexively looked down, my eyes nearly popped out.


    Le, Lea?


    A little angel baby was looking up at me. Could it be that Lea was also dragged into this dream? Then Lea spoke.


    Yeah, Ban. Where is this?


    ..?


    Hmm?


    Lea? You understand me?


    Lea looked up at me and said.


    Since you''re speaking ournguage now. Didnt you always know it?


    ..


    But why havent you spoken until now?


    What is this situation?


    Let''s think for a moment.


    Right, when I first fell into this dream, I didnt know Czech or French, but I could understand and converse with people.


    With a puzzled face, I nced at Lea, who was looking at me, and nodded.


    In dreams, conversation flows.


    The problem is whether this is just a dream based on my imagination or if Lea is really dreaming with me.


    First, I should get Lea out of this dangerous street where even carriages pass through.


    I quickly picked up Lea and went to the front of a house by the roadside. It was a house with a door two steps up, and I sat down on those steps, making eye contact with Lea.


    Lea.


    Yes?


    The museum we entered together. Was it originally here?


    A museum?


    Yes, remember we went into the forest together, bought tickets and entered?


    A museum, whats that?


    ..


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 Chapter 104 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 104 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    A five-year-old should know about museums. Ah, maybe she has never been to one, being from the countryside.


    Oh, a ce for viewing paintings. Remember we went into the forest together and entered a building after buying tickets?


    Oh, yeah.


    Was this originally here?


    Lea tilts her head then shakes it.


    No, there was just a building here before. Nothing inside.


    Just as I thought, the museum followed me. Then what happened to the museum in Jongno? Ah, what is going on?


    Just then, another carriage passed by.


    Arge carriage pulled by four horses,rger than a grown man. Lea, seeing horses for the first time, pped her hands in amazement.


    Horses, horses!


    She must be seeing them for the first time. Yes, everything is fascinating at that age.


    I envy her, all curiosity and no fear.


    I asked Lea, pping her hands in delight.


    Lea, can you stay alone for a bit without Mom?


    At this age, a child might have separation anxiety.


    When I was this age, Dad, as always, went out fishing, and Mom said she was taking my brother to the hospital and gave me five hundred won, saying,


    Jung-hoon, can you stay alone for a bit? Our second child is brave.


    Yes! I can do it!


    I proudly showed how grown up I was. Mom warmly smiled and patted my head.


    Okay, our second child. If you stay well at home, Mom will give you another five hundred won when she returns.


    Really? Great! I can do it!


    I was confident then.


    Even when Mom left with my brother and I was alone at home, it was the same.


    But I broke into tears in less than thirty minutes. Even in the house where I lived every day, everything was scary without Mom and my brother. It seemed like someone might enter from outside, and something seemed to be watching me from the dark bathroom.


    Eventually, I hid in the closet until my mom came back, and when she did, I burst into tears.


    She held me warmly,forting me. Although I couldn''t keep my promise, she gave me 500 won.


    Looking at Lea''s beautiful eyes, I was reminded of the past. Lea asked me, as if puzzled, "I usually y alone and go home when it''s time for dinner?"


    ".."


    Is this normal for country kids?


    Are there parents who let a five-year-old y alone?


    I lived in the countryside when I was young but moved to the city too early to remember, so I don''t know much about the life of people here. Anyway, it''s good that she''s okay without her mom.


    Medieval France as seen in a dream.


    On another asion, I would have quickly sought out a painter for something to see. But falling into a dream for the first time with someone else, especially a child who couldn''tmunicate before but now can, makes me feel curious and keeps prompting me to start conversations.


    "Leah."


    "Hmm?"


    "How many people live in the vige?"


    "I don''t know."


    Ah, a five-year-old wouldn''t know that.


    While I was pondering how to ask, Lea quietly said, "The vigers are in the east right now."


    Eh?


    "What do you mean?"


    Lea gestures and says, "A big factory hase to the east, and theyve gone to work there. Theye backte at night."


    ''Ah.''


    I see. The vige of 900 people seemed deserted because Monica had mobilized them for factory construction.


    They all joined the construction to earn money, since there were no other means of livelihood.


    The factory was a few kilometers from the vige, so they workedte and returned homete at night.


    Ha, its so much easier when you canmunicate.


    "Lea, how old are you?"


    Lea holds up six fingers.


    Ah, not five, but six years old.


    No wonder she speaks so well for her age.


    But shes quite small for six years old.


    She needs to eat well to grow tallerter.


    "How old is your brother?"


    "Ten."


    A four-year age difference.


    "What''s your brother''s name?"


    "Vittorio."


    "Oh~? Do you like your mom and dad?"


    "Yeah! I like them the most!"


    Thank goodness she has good parents, like an angelic baby.


    Then, with a serious expression, Lea said, "But I don''t like oppa."


    "Why?"


    "Because he doesn''t y with me."


    "Haha."


    Boys and girls y differently. From Vittorio''s perspective, ying with Lea might not be fun. Hes only ten, what can you expect?


    Right at that moment, Lea''s head suddenly turned, and she closed her eyes tightly and leaned against me.


    "Ah!"


    Instinctively, I hugged Lea and turned my body to assess the situation. And I could see a man passing through us like water, climbing the stairs.


    "Phew, that startled me."


    Yeah, when I first went to Paris, Sarah Bernard''s manager passed through me like this. It must be quite surprising for Lea, experiencing something like this for the first time.


    "Lea? It''s okay, it''s okay."


    Lea feels someone passing through her and opens her mouth in astonishment. First, I need to calm the child down.


    "It''s okay; we''re dreaming right now. It''s okay in dreams even if it hurts a bit."


    Lea opens her mouth wide and points to a man climbing the stairs, unlocking the door with a key.


    "Is that uncle in the dream too?"


    "Well, of course..."


    I stopped talking as I looked at the back of the man Lea was pointing at. It was because I recognized the face of the man who, after unlocking the door, nced around.


    ude M. It''s his face from his younger days, as seen in a portrait.


    Of all the ces, the house where I brought Lea happened to be in front of M''s house from his youth.


    After quickly checking the surroundings, I saw M entering his house and hastily said, "Lea! Quickly, hug the uncle!"


    I grabbed Lea like lightning and pushed my way into his house before the door closed.


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 Chapter 105 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 105 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    "ude, do I really have to wear this outfit? I really don''t want to."


    The red garment is splendid, its magnificence heightened by the gold dragon embroidery on the kimono.


    The blonde woman looks distressed, wrapped in the extravagant kimono. Holding Lea and leaning against the wall, I deduce the situation here as I gaze at the beautiful woman standing in the center of the carpet.


    ''It''s 1875, the time when M painted Camille in a kimono.''


    Lea, seemingly uneasy about intruding into someone elses house without permission, remains silent and obserBant. I readjust Lea in my arms and say,


    "Lea, you might not believe it, but we are dreaming right now."


    Lea tilts her head adorably, questioning.


    "A dream? The kind you have when sleeping?"


    "Yes, we''re asleep now."


    "I don''t quite understand."


    I put Lea down on the floor and point out,


    "See those two people over there?"


    M isying down his belongings on the floor and taking something out of his bag, while Camille sighs deeply, checking her kimono. Lea nods her head, observing them.


    "I see."


    "They can''t see us."


    Would she be surprised? Think I''m crazy? I wonder what her reaction would be.


    Lea looks back and forth between the two people and me, then suddenly breaks into a wide smile.


    "This is fun!"


    The innocence of a child.


    Instead of suspicion and wariness, she finds it amusing.


    Lea toddles over to the frowning Camille, sticks out her tongue yfully, and spins aroundughing.


    "I''m really invisible, like a ghost!"


    Haha, cute, but that''s enough.


    "Come here, Lea."


    Lea runs into my arms, and I lift her up again, assuring her,


    "We don''t need to be scared because they can''t see us. We just need to watch what they''re doing."


    "Okay!"


    M, having settled on the couch with his art supplies, takes out a canvas that he had ced behind him.


    It''s not a nk canvas. Over half of the painting is alreadyplete.


    Discovering the color-filled painting, Lea raises her hands and ps.


    "Wow! So well drawn! Better than Ban!"


    Hmm, not quite, Lea.


    What you saw was just scribbling on the ground with rocks.


    Honestly, that can hardly be called a painting.


    I''ll show you my real skillster.


    M looks at his wife apologetically.


    Camille, locking eyes with her husband, sighs and then assumes her usual pose. M examines her with a sharp gaze and instructs,


    "Sorry about this, honey. Just bear with it a bit longer. Raise your shoulder a bit more, and tilt your head slightly down. Move your left foot forward. Yes, that''s good. Stay like that."


    An ufortable posture.


    Initially resistant, Camille soon maintains a mesmerizing expression as the painting session begins.


    As M''s brush begins to dance as if alive, Lea opens her mouth in awe. Even if she wasn''t a mere country girl, who wouldn''t be amazed by M''s painting?


    Lea alternates her gaze between the painting and me, then asks,


    "Ban."


    "Yes?"


    "Can you paint like that? It looks like a photograph. Just like the real thing."


    "Yeah, I can."


    "Really?"


    "Yes, I can actually paint better than that."


    Lea looks skeptical.


    Really, Lea. I can paint better than that.


    "Lea."


    "Yes?"


    "The painting you''re looking at isn''t his real work."


    Lea looks puzzled at M''s painting.


    "Not his painting? But he''s the one painting it?"


    Hmm, how should I exin this?


    Just then, Camille, who had been posing, speaks up.


    "Dinner''s ready. Let''s eat together when you''re done working."


    I had been wondering about the smell of food; it turns out his wife had prepared dinner. M nods without a word and focuses back on his work.


    I carry Lea to the kitchen.


    The house is so small that the kitchen is just a few steps away from the living room.


    Pointing to the dish on the table, I ask Lea,


    "Do you know what this dish is?"


    Lea looks at the food in the pot, blinks, and responds,


    "Bouibaisse."


    "."


    You know it? A six-year-old Italian countryside girl knows a French dish?


    "How did you know?"


    "We eat it often too."


    Wow, I see. After all, people in our country also make Japanese-style udon or soba noodles at home.


    Holding Lea, I exin,


    "Originally, Bouibaisse wasn''t a luxurious dish like it is now. France, being a country surrounded by vast seas, had an abundance of seafood. Fish that couldn''t be sold at the harbor would be discarded or sold cheaply, and this dish was made by boiling those fish together like a mixed stew."


    Leah nods her head and holds her nose, making a face.


    "I don''t like that. It''s fishy."


    "Ha ha, right. Real Bouibaisse is indeed very fishy."


    I remember eating something simr when I lived by the sea.


    It was not long after my father had passed away.


    In our country''s insurancews, in cases of disappearance rather than confirmed death, the payment of insurance money is dyed until death is confirmed. This is because it''s difficult to recover the insurance money if the person returns alive.


    My father''s body was never found.


    So, our family didn''t receive any insurance money for 5 years.


    My mother, unable to work because of my older brother, did sewing or candy packaging jobs at home, but it was obviously tough to make ends meet.


    She would go to the harbor market and buy unknown mixed fish sold by grandmothers in rubber basins. With two hundred won''s worth of bean sprouts, half a radish, and some chili powder, she made a mixed stew.


    Looking back, I''m not sure how we managed to survive on such food, but at the time it was delicious. Even if they were just random fish, the ones that were plump and well-fed were abundant in meat.


    It seems that the dining situations of the poor living near the sea have always been simr.


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 Chapter 105 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 105 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    "And this is what poor people eat. Not anymore though."


    "Not anymore?"


    I have to be careful with my words. It might imply that Lea''s family is poor and eating this because of that.


    Outwardly, the child''s house did seem poor. Isn''t that obvious? In a rural vige like this without job opportunities, it''s hard for families to prosper.


    "Yes, in the past, it was the food of the poor, but now it''s expensive. People seek it out deliberately."


    "Oh, we eat it often at home."


    "Do you? So, your family often eats expensive food, huh, Lea?"


    Lea''s shoulders rise slightly.


    "Hehe."


    Holding the cheerful Lea, I move back behind the couch where M is seated.


    "This man doesn''t usually paint like this."


    "Then how?"


    This might be too difficult for Lea. Should I exin it to her?


    "Well, he usually doesn''t paint indoors."


    "So, he paints outside?"


    "Yes."


    "Cool."


    "Isn''t it? This person represents the Impressionist era."


    "Impression?"


    Lea asks with a puzzled look. Ah, she''s cute.


    I pinch Lea''s cheek andugh.


    "Not that kind of impression."


    "Then what?"


    I ponder how to exin it ande up with an example.


    "Lea, do you know what a sunset is?"


    "I know! It''s when the sky turns pink before evening!"


    "Right!"


    "It''s pretty, so pretty!"


    "Yes, very pretty."


    "But sunsets disappear quickly, right?"


    "Yes!"


    "The fleeting movement of light. Capturing that momentary impression on canvas is Impressionism."


    "Umm..."


    Lea seems to struggle with the concept.


    "Like a photograph?"


    "Simr, but while a photograph captures exactly what is there, Impressionism captures a moment as seen by human eyes. Even optical illusions caused by the light."


    "Umm."


    "It''s a bit difficult, isn''t it?"


    "Yes, I don''t understand."


    That''s understandable. It''s a difficult concept for a six-year-old.


    I give up on further exnation and look at M''s painting.


    "Anyway, this man is now setting aside his pride and painting something different."


    "Why?"


    Why. A simple question, but it stings like a dagger.


    Probably every artist living through the times would be pained by this question.


    "Because he needs to make money."


    In the mid-1800s, before Impressionism became mainstream in art, paintings like M''s were not popr. This wasn''t the case throughout Europe though. William Turner in nearby Ennd was considered a national painter during this era and was also an Impressionist. However, this was not yet the case in France.


    M waster influenced greatly after seeing Turner''s painting "The Storm" in Ennd. Turner had said about this painting:


    "I did not paint aprehensible picture. I wanted to show what a storm looks like."


    Words can be interpreted differently.


    Turner didn''t want to show what a storm looks like, but rather how it appears to the human eye.


    M said that this painting had a great impact on him.


    And his subsequent works contributed even more to establishing Impressionism than William Turner.


    I look into Lea''s round eyes and say,


    "What does your father do, Lea?"


    Lea thinks for a moment before responding.


    "Untilst year, he farmed."


    "And this year?"


    "He''s not doing anything."


    "What changed?"


    "Umm."


    Lea ponders and then her face falls.


    "No tasty food, no toys. Dad just keeps getting angry."


    I feel a rush of pity. Poverty can make even the kindest people irritable.


    "Yes, if a father can''t earn money, the family struggles. So, the father has to earn money, right?"


    "Can''t the mother?"


    "Of course, the mother can too. Someone in the family has to earn money to keep it together."


    "Yes, but Dad said he''s going to work from this year."


    "Really?"


    "Yes! A girl from the neighborhood who went abroad is back and starting a big factory. Dad''s excited to work there."


    Wow, our Monica. That''s a significant achievement. On arge scale, it''s rebuilding the vige, but on a smaller scale, it brings happiness to every household.


    I smile and nod.


    "Did your father always want to work in a factory?"


    "No."


    "Then what?"


    "He wanted to repair cars."


    "But why didn''t he?"


    "There aren''t many cars in our vige."


    "Right, so he can''t do what he wants and has to do something else to earn money, right?"


    "Yes."


    I gestured towards M, who was painting with a stern face, and said,


    "That gentleman over there is doing the same."


    An exnation tailored to her understanding.


    This time, Leah seemed to understand as she quietly observed M.


    "Ban."


    "Yes."


    "I think what you said is right."


    "Why?"


    "That gentleman. He doesn''t look happy at all."


    M''s face is rigid, mechanically repeating the same motions.


    I saw his expression and projected myself into the modern era.


    I, too, am a ve to money.


    Sometimes, the pride of an artist within me rears its head.


    I should stop painting thesemercial pictures and paint something that is truly worth an artist''s time.


    Don''t sumb to money, to capital.


    But I want to protect my family. To do that, I need money.


    ''Mucha, Klimt, and M. They all needed money.''


    The artistic creation and money.


    Two things that repel each other are, regrettably, indispensable.


    The choice of art leads to a lifelong struggle with conflict.


    The demon I must face is the endless internal battle I must fight.


    That''s money. Money maniptes artists in this era and even in the modern world.


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 Chapter 106 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 106 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    <i>Bonus chapter thanks to @Chip on Ko-fi!</i>


    On the way to take Lea home.


    Fortunately, the time spent in the dream was different from the current time, so not much time has passed.


    As I hand Lea over to Sophia, who was waiting for us, the child runs off with baby steps, turns back, and winks, making a ''secret'' sign with her index finger.


    Iugh and reciprocate the secret signal.


    It''s because of what I said to Lea before leaving the dream.


    "Lea, remember, it''s our secret that we came into this dream together, okay?"


    "Why?"


    "People don''t believe in these kinds of dreams. It''s a secret just for us."


    "Wow, I love secrets!"


    I should have also told her that we won''t be able to talk outside like this.


    I hadn''t thought that far ahead.


    As soon as I came out of the dream, Lea said something to me, but I couldn''t understand a word.


    I don''t know what she thought, but after trying to talk to me a few times, Lea just nodded silently and then expressed herself through gestures instead of words.


    I waved goodbye until the toddling figure of Lea disappeared into her mother''s arms. By then, it was already lunchtime.


    I went to Augusto''s restaurant, asked for the lunch menu, and sat at a spot with a good view of the square.


    ording to Lea, most of the vigers were employed in the factory construction. That''s why the ce was so deserted. Once the factory ispleted and starts operating, people will return. The square will eventually be bustling with people again.


    Unlike breakfast, lunch took quite a while since I could choose from the menu.


    I propped my chin on my hand, looking at the square, lost in thought.


    "The museum has followed me all the way to Italy."


    How did this happen?


    Do I really need to go to the hospital?


    Until now, I just thought of the strange museum in Jongno as the catalyst for my dreams, or a muse.


    But the museum itself has been following me. Does that make me a madman?


    I sighed. It all seemed so far from normal.


    Then Augusto came to my table with a tray, cing a bowl in front of me. He said something to me. What is he saying? I shrugged, indicating I couldn''t understand.


    Then the gentleman pointed to the sky, furrowing his brow, and then gestured inside.


    "Ah, you''re suggesting I move inside because of the strong sunlight? No, it''s fine, I like the sunlight."


    I signaled that I was okay, but the gentleman kept insisting that I change my seat. Only after I firmly gestured that I was fine and understood him did he return to the kitchen.


    The intense midday sun.


    My seat was half in the sunlight, making it a bit warm.


    However, it was bearable thanks to the parasol.


    I had chosen this spot specifically because I didn''t want to sit in a secluded area and eat while looking at the wall. There was no reason to move.


    "Let''s give it a try, shall we?"


    Today''s lunch menu was Saltimba.


    It was a dish I had never heard of back in Korea.


    It''s an Italian dish where thinly sliced veal is wrapped with prosciutto and sage, a type of herb, like a roll, and then cooked in wine and butter.


    I was pleasantly surprised at how delicious it was when I sliced a big piece of meat and put it in my mouth.


    "Wow!"


    Maybe he heard my exmation?


    He peeked out from the kitchen.


    He was pleased when I pped and gave him a thumbs-up.


    It must be the most gratifying moment for someone who cooks.


    But it wasn''t just politeness  it really was delicious.


    How do they make this?


    As I thought about the ingredients and spices that might be in the dish, I noticed a slight change in the sunlight. It''s the kind of change in light you notice when you''re staring intently at one spot.


    There are moments in life when we be aware of the sun moving.


    Like at sunrise and sunset, or when the sun emerges from the clouds. But when the sun is continuously visible, we rarely notice the changes in light.


    Only when you''re staring at one ce for a long time can you detect such subtle changes.


    As I noticed the changing light, M''s face came to mind.


    His expression was stern.


    In it was the despair over forcing his wife to wear clothes she disliked for modeling and his own reluctance in painting what he didn''t want to.


    ''A painter who lived through thest era when art and beauty were meaningful.''


    Thest moment when art was beautiful was during the Impressionist period from 1840 to 1940.


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 Chapter 106 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 106 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Why this era, you might ask?


    It''s because of three inventions that drastically changed the course of art history.


    One is the camera, another is the steam engine, and thest is the paint tube.


    The camera was developed in 1839, and the ability to capture the exact likeness of objects in photographs made it pointless to continue replicating nature in painting.


    The invention of the steam engine poprized trains in Europe.


    Travel, once a pricey privilege of the aristocracy and bourgeoisie, became essible tomon people with the advent of the train.


    Lastly, the paint tube.


    The development of the tube expanded the working range of artists.


    Previously, carrying paints was impossible.


    Painters had to set up workshops and have their apprentices make the paint, so they couldn''t leave their workshops.


    They could sketch outside, but coloring was done indoors.


    However, with the development of the paint tube, which allowed painting outdoors, and the steam engine enabling day trips to desired locations, artists began to move beyond depicting just their immediate surroundings.


    They took trains to the outdoors and painted the scenes they saw directly.


    The development of photographic technology has led to an era where paintings no longer hold significance in preserving the appearance of nature. Thest era of capturing fleeting natural moments in light impressions was marked by artists like M.


    Light appears differently over time.


    Every color we see is an illusion.


    Its not the inherent color, but a visual effect created by light that we perceive as color.


    Because light constantly changes, Impressionist painters quickly captured these moments in their paintings.


    They omitted details and generally used bright colors, typical of Impressionism.


    I remembered M''s expression while quietly observing how the shadows of food change with the light.


    "A face that didn''t want to draw."


    I know that expression.


    It was just like mine, reflected in the window when I worked part-time at a factory painting fake art.


    A waste of time for the sake of earning living expenses.


    Of course, I rationalized it by thinking of that time as practice to hone my skills. Otherwise, it would have been too hard to endure.


    M of that era was not recognized at all.


    Now, Impressionist works are ssified as ssics, but in Europe back then, this style was too new.


    During the medieval Renaissance, novelty wasnt important.


    Artists drew vividity based on imagination rather than pursuing originality and innovation.


    Impressionism was the first to bring novelty to the art world.


    At that time in France, only artists who passed the Salon jury and won awards were allowed to exhibit, and those who didnt pass were not noticed and failed to seed. This jury required perfection in depiction, expression,position, and color, so Impressionist painters, who boldly omitted details, were bound to fail.


    The criticism Impressionist painters faced at the time was so severe that there was a magazine in France called "Charivari".


    Louis Leroy, a renowned critic, left such reviews on Impressionist works in this magazine.


    "It looks like a stain stuck on a dirty canvas. There is no hand, foot, top, or bottom, no front or back."


    "Its a pity. They have some sense of color butck drawing skills."


    Can you imagine?


    Someone left such criticism on works of Impressionists including ude M.


    And that''s not all. He evenmented on M''s ''Impression, Sunrise,'' now a headline work at the Louvre Museum in Paris, saying:


    "Impression? Sure. I got an impression. I muttered to myself that it must contain an impression. Such an easy painting. A preliminary drawing for wallpaper patterns would be more refined than this seascape."


    Art of that time had to contain philosophy.


    But Impressionist painters did not include philosophy in their paintings.


    There was no historical or philosophical background to the paintings. Just pleasant to look at, offering a sense of freedom.


    Impressionism broke the philosophy that nobles had heavily attached to art.


    I mused, chin in hand.


    "Maybe our thoughts when viewing bizarre and obscure contemporary art were simr."


    Go to a contemporary art museum now.


    There are no pretty paintings. Mostly iprehensible ones.


    Now we paint the unseen personality, philosophy, and emotions of the artist.


    Beautiful things have moved to the world ofmercial design.


    Humans began to look inside, not at the beauty of nature.


    The changes and explosions of inner emotions. These are what are painted now.


    Art is no longer beautiful in itself.


    The aesthetics of beauty have changed to the aesthetics of novelty.


    If it''s not new, it''s not recognized.


    That''s contemporary art.


    Everyone has said or heard someone say this when looking at contemporary art.


    "I could paint better with my feet. What is this? It just looks like paint was sprayed on."


    In the eyes of people from the medieval era, Impressionist paintings probably appeared the way we view contemporary art now.


    Maybe in the distant future.


    People a hundred years from now might think of those who didnt understand contemporary art of this era as ignorant. Or maybe they''ll see us as poor humans who lived in a time when art died.


    All these judgments are for the people of the future to make.


    To escape poverty.


    M had to earn money to protect his beloved woman.


    What was he feeling?


    Although I''m in a simr situation, my emotions would be different from his due to the different times.


    At this thought, I reflect on my life.


    I lived as a street portrait painter, then met Monica and designed refrigerators, and drew her portrait.


    That connection led me to Minyoung, and I received my current house for painting Mrs. Kang''s portrait, painted a theater ceiling, and created digital media art for a world-renowned pianist. I even had the exhibition I longed for.


    Did I paint what I wanted to, what I wished to paint?


    It would be a lie to say I never thought about this issue.


    But I dont think my activities were unhappy.


    I was happy with the whole process, and satisfied that it raised my family''s standard of living.


    Staring at the cold food, I mumbled.


    "So, can I continue to be happy?"


    After encountering the art museum, many things around me have changed.


    And the art museum always prompts me to ask questions to myself.


    Moreover, these questions never have predetermined answers.


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 Chapter 107 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 107 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    "Really? He really got a job?"


    After lunch, I called my mom in Korea and heard some unexpectedly good news.


    -Yes, he got connected with apany that is running a pilot employment program for the disabled, based on his education from the school. Its really fortunate.


    "How does hemute?"


    -He works from home.


    "Wow, that''s really great. Whats his job?"


    -Logistics site monitoring.


    Huh? Logistics site monitoring, like for a deliverypany? Can a visually impaired person do that? My brother isn''t just severely visually impaired; he''spletely blind.


    Mom added more details.


    -Theres a foreignpany that employs visually impaired people using assistive technology devices like screen reading software and braille information terminals.


    Oh, that''s impressive. Seems like apany that does good work.


    "Really? That''s amazing. But when did he start training for that?"


    -He had some training before, but he started again after your exhibition.


    "......................."


    Suddenly, I felt a lump in my throat. Tears seemed about to spill out.


    -Jihun said he found more things he wanted to do after experiencing your paintings. It''s all thanks to our second child.


    My eyes welled up. I desperately held back tears to avoid crying in front of Mom.


    Sensing her son''s deep feelings, Mom made an excuse to end the call.


    -Oh dear, look at me. Theundry is done. The dryer is beeping away. Lets talk againter, son?


    "Yes, Ill call again, Mom."


    After hanging up, I threw my phone on the sofa and buried my face in my knees.


    I''m so happy, incredibly happy.


    My brother has always been someone who can do most things by himself at home.


    Of course, he never felt the need to do so, since Mom was always there, but if asked, he could do them.


    Mom always worried about what would happen after she died.


    She busied herself looking for vocational schools to create conditions for my brother''s independence.


    But the problem was that hecked the will himself.


    Especially after visiting the job center for the visually impaired, he woulde home more dispirited than usual.


    They mostly rmended massage therapy.


    When he sought advice from seniors working as public servants or special education teachers, they tended to offer advice that confronted reality rather than encouragement.


    ''The reality wants the disabled who dont seem disabled. Andpanies that take this for granted.''


    Even if they employ disabled people and pay them, they expect them to work as much as anyone else. Of course, that''s fair. But if the standard is set the same as for others, its impossible. My brother needs to check more things, ask for help, and rely on consideration and attention.


    Around twenty, he was full of hope that he could work and looked into various jobs.


    He even worked as an intern.


    But on the day his internship ended, his supervisor told him this.


    ''Dont grumble about ack of jobs. You should bepetent enough forpanies to hire you first. Try harder, disabilities can be ovee.''


    Angry after hearing this, I wanted to run to thepany and grab the supervisor by the cor.


    Lacking effort?


    Do they have any idea how long it takes for a visually impaired person to memorize braille and train their touch to read a book that others could read in an hour? I wanted to ask that supervisor who criticized my brother''s effort andck of it, on what basis and how much they really understood about disabilities.


    Visually impaired people are not superheroes.


    They are just ordinary people. They put in much more effort than others to read books and live daily lives. Its problematic to demand a job just because of a disability, but its also wrong to overlook the fact that they are putting in so much more effort.


    After trying for about two years, my brother eventually gave up on employment. The only societal role deemed suitable for him, other than being a masseur, was nonexistent. Gradually, he lost his will.


    But after seeing my exhibition, he changed.


    And he really achieved something. Of course, it was good timing that he connected with apany doing public work, but opportunities don''t present themselves to those without will. It was because he changed that he was able to seize the opportunity.


    I stared nkly at the phone I had thrown on the sofa.


    I wanted to call my brother right away and shower him with congrattions.


    But I was cautious.


    Maybe my brother is just thinking about starting simple things like working, earning money, and eating meals like everyone else. Excessive congrattions might make him feel pressured.


    "Later, when I go to Korea."


    I decided to save the congrattions forter.


    Wiping away the tears that had slipped down my cheeks with my sleeve, I smiled faintly and stood up, dusting off my clothes.


    "My brother is putting in so much effort, I should too!"


    Brother, I hope you do well.


    Meet good people and dont lose hope in humanity.


    You can do it, brother.


    I sent a million words of encouragement in my heart, hoping they would reach my brother on the other side of the globe.


    **


    In the evening, the square I had visitedte at night lookedpletely different.


    The townspeople were out in the square, and the pink-hued sky illuminated them.


    The once deste square was now warm with people out for a walk or shopping.


    There weren''t many people, about thirty or so in sight. For the only square in town, that''s very few, but to me, who had never seen more than five people at once sinceing to this vige, it seemed lively.


    I was curious about how Uncle Augusto, who runs three stores at once, would handle this situation. But I soon chuckled.


    "People at the fruit store pick their fruits, put them in bags, and then go to the restaurant to pay."


    The butcher shop won''t work that way. He has to cut the meat himself. But does he live alone? Usually, families help out in such situations. It must be exhausting to cook, cut meat, and sell fruits all by himself.


    I found a nice spot to sit and observed the square, then looked up at the sky.


    ''The movement of light changes the space.''


    I thought about it earlier, but the square at sunset looks drastically different from the square I had seen.


    ''M must have thought about this too. That''s why he captured the movement of light as impressions.''


    Many Impressionist painters did the same.


    They stepped out of the indoors, packed their painting supplies in bags, took trains, and traveled to ces a day''s journey away to paintndscapes directly. Light changes endlessly from moment to moment. Since painting isn''t something thates out in just 1 or 2 minutes, it inevitably requires quick speed and the omission of details.


    In fact, I''m confident in that area too.


    On the day I first met Monica, I was sketching passersby quickly during a dull moment with no customers. I''ve practiced capturing the impression of my desired subjects in a short amount of time.


    While watching the constantly changing sunset, I suddenly remembered the thought I had in the morning.


    ''So, can I continue to be happy?''


    I don''t think my current self is just chasing money. After all, art is produced from wealth.


    Artists are people too. People need to eat and live, and that requires money.


    Earning money is not inherently wrong.


    However, speaking in terms of an artist''s happiness, there will undoubtedlye a time when I feel disillusioned with my current actions.


    I sat on the stone wall, crossed my legs, and rested my chin on my hand.


    "Non-profitable paintings. There seems to be no better time than now to paint what I want."


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 Chapter 107 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 107 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Monica said she would stay in this vige for more than three weeks.


    She''s waiting for thepletion of the renovations at the Mn store and observing the construction of the factory site. In truth, I could havee muchter.


    The three weeks Monica gave me were probably meant for me to ponder the store design. But I can''t find an answer to that yet. I remembered what Teacher Alphonse Mucha said.


    ''Amateurs wait for inspiration, but professionals just get to work.''


    Right, even if no one appreciates my paintings, it''s enough if I''m happy. I haven''t decided what I want to paint yet, but let''s just do it. I''ll give it a try. After all, I have nothing else to do.


    I had actuallye out to eat dinner at Uncle Augusto''s restaurant, but not wanting to bother him while he was so busy, I just got up and left the square.


    The uphill road next to the cathedral leading to my home.


    I love this road, where just walking among the beautifully built houses brings me peace.


    And on this road, I was lucky to meet the cute little angel again.


    "Lea!"


    Today, instead of the ground, Lea was scribbling on a wall at her eye level. Hearing her name, she looked around, spotted me, and ran over with a bright smile to hug me.


    "Whoa! Our Lea, have you eaten?"


    When I mime eating, she nods her head with a smile. Maybe because wemunicated once before, it feels like we can understand each other through gestures.


    Holding Lea, I look at the stone wall opposite her house. There, I see the drawing she had been working on.


    "What''s this?"


    It''s a drawing, but I can''t make out what it is. An animal? Or perhaps a person?


    As I look at the drawing and ask, Lea, guessing my question from my expression, struggles to get down.


    Once I set her on the ground, she strikes a strange pose, lifting one shoulder, pouting her lips, and extending one foot.


    Watching her peculiar pose, I blink and realize what she''s trying to convey.


    "Camille? Did you draw the woman in a kimono you saw in your dream?"


    "Verminte che be."


    I don''t understand what she''s saying. But looking closely, it seems she drew only the outline first. Such a color-highlighted drawing wouldn''te out well on the wall without paint. But why does Lea still draw on the wall? Doesn''t she have a sketchbook at home?


    ''There are no art supply stores in the vige. The child doesn''t have the means to draw.''


    It''s unlikely that an artist traveling abroad wouldn''t bring drawing materials. After a brief thought, I say,


    "Lea, I''ll go home and bring back a sketchbook and some pencils as a gift. Just wait a little."


    "......?"


    Lea, not understanding a word, looks at me while I signal her to wait with my palm. I quickly run home and return with a sketchbook, colored pencils, and an eraser.


    Lea is still drawing on the wall.


    Maybe because I returned quickly, and Lea hadn''t drawn much yet, but the picture seems almost unchanged from before.


    I open the sketchbook, take off the lids of the colored pencils, and show them to her with a smile.


    "Lea, present."


    She probably doesn''t understand English. Lea blinks at the items I offer, then smiles brightly when I hand them to her.


    "Now draw here, okay?"


    Lea puts the sketchbook on the ground, tries the colored pencils, and then cheers joyfully, raising her arms. Seeing the little angel so happy warms my heart.


    But then, Lea crouches down, draws something quickly, and goes back to picking up stones to continue her wall drawing. Watching her, I can''t understand why.


    "Lea, you should draw here."


    Just then, a car arrives.


    It''s Lea''s father, returning with her brother, whom I''d seen before.


    Lea runs to her dad as he gets out of the car, hugs him, then grabs her brother''s hand and brings him to the drawing, chattering away.


    ''Was the brother''s name Vittorio?''


    The boy, just back from school, smiles as his sister exins the drawing.


    Lea''s father nods at me, probably having heard about me from Sophia. I nod back, and he heads inside, while Lea continues exining her drawing to her brother.


    Simply put, she''s proudly showing her brother the drawing she made. But to me, Lea appears to be passionately exining her artwork.


    And the brother, looking at his sister''s drawing, seems happy.


    All this time, I''m deep in thought.


    ''What''s the point of a drawing if no one sees it?''


    Maybe a drawing made for someone else, like Lea''s, which doesn''t earn even a dor, is more meaningful than one drawn just for oneself. Like the drawings Lea makes for her brother returning from school, to show someone and make them happy.


    Perhaps the meaning of art lies in creating happiness for others?


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 Chapter 108 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 108 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    I turned my back silently as I watched Lea exining something, holding her brother''s hand.


    A painting that only satisfies me has no meaning.


    No, thats too definitive.


    Among famous paintings, some were painted for the artist''s own satisfaction and were recognized as masterpieces onlyter. But that doesn''t make them immediately happy for someone else.


    What meaning is there for me if people I don''t know find happiness in my work after I''m dead?


    Paintings that bring happiness to people. What should I paint?


    Walking quietly away from Lea''s house towards the cathedral, I stopped upon seeing the forest path where I had walked with a child.


    The forest path was a bit scary due to the darkening time, with no one around.


    Come to think of it, Ive never visited the art museum twice in a day.


    Can I dream again if I go back?


    Maybe watching M will give me some clue?


    The strange art museum, Lucid dream, always gave me hints.


    After hesitating at the crossroads for a while, I eventually started walking towards the museum.


    As I passed through the forest path, I worried about wild animals jumping out, but its unlikely to have dangerous animals on a path where young Lea walks alone.


    I cautiously walked very slowly, keeping a lookout, and finally reached the museum. The entrance was slightly obscured by tree vines, making the building hard to notice from the side. Staring at the kiosk on the first floor, I took out my wallet from my back pocket and approached it.


    The ticketing machine was still in Korean.


    If I buy a ticket for one adult...


    Then, something touched my leg.


    Having been tense all the way walking through the forest, I was startled and screamed, stepping back.


    Ahhh! Get away!


    I retreated back to a wall far behind me, and then I saw Lea looking at me with astonishment.


    Le, Lea?


    Lea looked as shocked as I was and seemed frozen.


    Thinking I might burst into tears, I quickly ran and hugged her.


    Lea, when did you follow me?


    Lea suddenly looked angry and made a walking gesture with two fingers, then pointed to her eyes and then at me, as if to say she had been watching me.


    Ha ha, you saw me going to the museum alone?


    Humph!


    Lea seemed to puff her nose. She must have wanted to go again. Well, there couldn''t be a more exciting experience for a child.


    I took out more money from my wallet and said.


    Let''s go together. Sorry for going alone. Don''t be upset, okay?


    As the money for two entered the ticketing machine, Lea, wanting to walk in on her own feet, struggled again. Knowing it was safe but still feeling anxious, I held Lea''s hand tightly and went downstairs with the printed tickets.


    Unfamiliar music could be heard.


    The melody was so nice that I tried to take out my phone to record it, but of course, my phone was dead.


    Lea, having been here before, shook off my hand and ran to the rock sofa, jumping and looking at the painting in front.


    Impression, Sunrise.


    The huge painting filling the front.


    It was a painting of the Le Havre port from 1872. Probably painted by M from the Lamiere hotel where he stayed at the time. The small medieval ships contrasted with the cranes in the distance. The rapidly developing Europe at the time was impressively depicted.


    The painting still looked warm, but I knew how unhappy M was when he painted it.


    M lost his beloved Camille to illness, and then his son. War broke out, he fled to Ennd, and upon his return, his father had passed and his hometown was devastated by the war.


    Of course, if he hadn''t gone to Ennd and seen William Turner''s paintings, the M we know wouldn''t have been born. But for him, it must have been a very tough time.


    I sat on the rock sofa, watching the painting and put Lea on myp.


    Lea, isnt that painting beautiful?


    Mamma mia!


    A familiar expression. What does it mean? Anyway, it must be an exmation.


    Lea, do you remember the painting we sawst time? The one with the woman holding an umbre.


    I mimicked holding an umbre, and Lea nodded. I pretended to fall asleep and said,


    When that painting appears, we''ll dream again. Let''s talk then, when we do.


    She must understand the part about falling asleep, but the rest might be unclear to her. However, Lea nods in agreement, still focused on the painting.


    "Wow."


    "Ooh!"


    The child exims in pure wonder with each change in the painting. I smile fondly at Lea''s reactions.


    Her big eyes sparkle as she gazes intently at the paintings.


    I can''t remember thest time I admired a painting so purely, without analyzing it.


    Perhaps the least able to enjoy art in the world are the artists themselves.


    I was smiling at Lea''s profile when she suddenly pointed at the front and shouted.


    "un attimo!"


    Turning my head, I see the woman with the parasol projected onto the wall. She must have understood what I said earlier. Wrapping one arm around Lea, I spoke in a soothing tone.


    "Close your eyes and rx your body. It''s going to feel dizzy."


    Lea looks up at me with round eyes, then mimics my posture and closes her eyes.


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 Chapter 108 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 108 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Ban, Ban! Open your eyes.


    Leas voice.


    I still can''t open my eyes, feeling dizzy as if I have motion sickness. Does a baby not get motion sickness? Why does Lea seem so unaffected? I slowly open my eyes and take in the faintly visible surroundings.


    Most of my dreams unfolded in the city, but for the first time, I saw endless farnd stretching before me. In the distance, a group of people seemed to be heading to the fields.


    "Ban, Ban! Do you understand me now?"


    Looking down, I saw Lea''s face, clutching and shaking the hem of my clothes. I smiled gently and hugged the child.


    "Yes, I understand now."


    "Hehe, I like this. Talking with Ban."


    I stroked Lea''s hair and said,


    "I like it too."


    "Hehe."


    "But Lea,"


    "Yes?"


    "Are you drawing in front of the house to show your brother?"


    Lea pondered for a moment before replying,


    "No."


    "No?"


    "Yes, I''m not just drawing for my brother to see. Mom, Dad, and the neighborhood kids alsoe to see my drawings. When the kids are happy seeing my drawings, I''m happy too."


    "................"


    My thoughts were right.


    To me, it seemed like mere scribbling, but perhaps among the neighborhood kids, Lea was considered a pretty good artist. Drawing pictures that the children liked, their happiness fueled Lea''s energy.


    The most ideal life of an artist.


    And it existed not in the life of an artist like me, but in a little Italian vige girl''s life.


    I stroked Lea''s hair again and said,


    "You''re kind."


    "Hehe."


    Lea, nestled in my arms, turned to look around.


    "Where are we?"


    "I don''t know, let''s find out."


    "Let''s ask those people over there! Oh, can they not see us?"


    "Let''s check."


    "Okay! I''ll do it!"


    As I put Lea down, she ran off like a dog out for a walk. I worried she might fall, but falling in a dream wouldn''t harm the real Lea.


    Surrounded by farnd on both sides, Lea ran to the men carrying pitchfork-like farming tools on their shoulders and circled around them,ughing and teasing.


    "Mister, can''t you see me? Here! Here!"


    They couldn''t see her. Enough, Lea.


    I followed quickly and pped my hands.


    "Lea, they can''t see us. Come back here."


    Lea ran back and took my hand, asking,


    "Where do we go now?"


    "................"


    I didn''t know either. But why did the museum send me to farnd? There must be a reason.


    "Let''s follow those men."


    "Okay!"


    The three farmers.


    One of the men, walking silently, turned his head and said,


    "Did the real city nner really die?"


    I raised my eyebrows in thought.


    ''A city nner? Who in a French rural vige would be known as a city nner? Le Corbusier? Who else? Ah, Gustave Eiffel. The man who built the Eiffel Tower in Paris that we know.''


    Another man tapped the questioner''s shoulder and said,


    "They said it''s not certain he''s dead."


    "No, his wife went to the city and heard the nobles talking about it."


    "I heard something simr too."


    "Really dead? What happens to Paris now? Damn! I was hoping to earn some money in his next construction project."


    "There were many jobs in the entire Paris renovation project. But the nobles were fussing about spending too much tax money."


    "What does that have to do with me? I just work and get paid. My kids are starving right now. I just hope the Paris renovation n doesn''t get canceled."


    I listened to their conversation and confirmed the era.


    ''The Paris renovation n. They''re talking about Georges-Eugne Haussmann.''


    If what that man said was true, then this is 1891.


    The city nning named after the Second Empire''s Paris renovation was conducted by Napoleon III and led by Haussmann. It involved rebuilding roads, avenues, building orientations, parks, road facilities, drainage, water supply, and amenities in Paris, from the city center to the suburbs.


    What was M doing during this time?


    As I pondered over who I should be looking for, one of the farmers spat out his contempt.


    "Living the life! While the country struggles to keep up with development, we don''t even have food for a day. Good life, just drawing pictures."


    Another farmer elbowed him and said,


    "Watch your mouth, the vige chief said that man is a very famous painter from Paris."


    "Famous, my foot! That man has been there for three years, you know? What kind of painter paints the same scene for three years? He must be a swindler."


    "You fool, what''s there in our vige to swindle?"


    "Anyway! His drawings are weird too. I sneaked a peek while working, and it was a bizarre painting. Painting the same scenery for three years. I couldn''t do it, I''d go crazy. That gentleman must be insane."


    The murmurs of the people. At the end of their suspicious nces, there was a middle-aged man.


    He sat at the edge of the field, unfolding a chair and painting.


    M.


    Hearing my murmur, Leah, who looked up at me, asked,


    M? The man we saw before? No, thats an old man.


    Right, Leah.


    Thats him, around 50 years old.


    And if my memory serves me right.


    Its the birth moment of the Haystacks series.


    M spent 3 years painting 25 different versions of the samendscape, observing the changes in light.


    One of those paintings was sold for 131.6 billion won at a Sotheby''s auction in New York in May 2019.


    "I have arrived at the moment of the birth of art that will adorn a page in history."


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 Chapter 109: The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 109: The Mysterious Art Museum


    M, appearing suddenly aged.


    I am used to dreaming and traveling back in time, but Lea seemed fascinated by the time-traveling aspect and quickly ran towards M, who was painting. She wanted to see his face and what he was painting, but she soon had to stop.


    Because of the old gentleman walking along the rice paddy path from the opposite direction of the farmers.


    The gentleman''s features were very sharp.


    A nearly square, rectangr jaw.


    A splendid beard running along his jawline up to under his nose and short hair.


    He seemed to be quite well-off, wearing an elegant suit made of fine fabric.


    Lea, having run towards him, stopped and looked at the gentleman before stepping back.


    She''s still a child, it seems. Even knowing it''s a dream, she''s scared of strangers.


    "Ban! Someone ising."


    "Oh, I see. Come here."


    Lea hurried back to me, grabbed the hem of my coat, looked up with wide eyes. Did she notice the admiration and respect in my eyes? She looked back and forth between the gentleman and me and asked,


    "Who is he?"


    I smiled and replied without taking my eyes off the gentleman,


    "Auguste Renoir."


    "..................?"


    Young Lea might not know, but this man is M''s close friend and a renowned historical master among Impressionist painters.


    ''I can''t believe I''m seeing Renoir. What luck.''


    I took Lea with me to where M was sitting on a stool, painting.


    Lea looked at the approaching Renoir with unease, but rxed a bit when she saw he wasn''t paying attention to us.


    Renoir stood silently behind his friend, watching the painting.


    One would expect a greeting when visiting a friend. But Renoir just silently observed M painting.


    Eventually, it was M who spoke first.


    "Have you arrived?"


    "Yes."


    This era in Paris.


    An era when people asked about each other''s well-being through letters, and painters traveling everywhere to paint didn''t often get to see their friends. The two greeted each other as if they had just met.


    Renoir, with his arms crossed, watched the painting, and M focused on his painting.


    After a long silence, Renoir spoke.


    "How many have you painted?"


    "Hmm, this is the twentieth."


    "How many years has it been?"


    "Three years."


    "Three years looking at the same ce, your passion is indeed remarkable. Aren''t you tired of just painting this haystack?"


    M put down his brush and said,


    "The subject is secondary to me. I try to express the living thing between the object and me. Just a moment."


    M stood up.


    Was he taking a break from painting?


    I understood why he stood up as I checked the surroundings.


    The farmers we had seen walking and talking were about to move the haystack. M approached them and took out some money from his pocket.


    The farmers initially looked irritated, but their expressions quickly changed to gratitude as they took the money and left.


    M returned to his painting and said to Renoir,


    "I''m not painting the same thing for three years. I''m painting something new every day. And sometimes, I discover something I''ve never seen before. It''s a difficult task, but I''m managing well."


    Renoir, with his arms still crossed, nodded towards the painting.


    "The light?"


    "The light constantly changes, altering the beauty of the atmosphere and objects every moment."


    I nodded slightly. His words were correct.


    The colors we see are, in fact, an illusion. They are not intrinsic. Everything that has color looks different in the absence of light. The colors we know are an optical illusion caused by changes in light.


    Was it tooplicated a story?


    Lea tilted her head.


    "I don''t understand, Ban."


    I smiled and picked her up.


    "Yes, it''s aplicated story. It''s difficult for Lea to understand now."


    "Will you exin it to meter?"


    "Yes."


    I''m not sure if I can exin it once we''re outside the dream.


    Renoir, looking at M''s painting, said,


    "M, why don''t you at least try to add some detail to this haystack? If you leave it all smudged like this,


    Renoir hesitantly opened his mouth.


    Speaking of which, I thought you were truly mad when Camille turned to dust.


    M did not respond to Renoirs words.


    But I know why such a story came up.


    Instead of mourning by his dead wifes side, M painted her. It was an act that shocked people at the time.


    M, looking at a haystack with eyes full of reminiscence, spoke softly.


    At dawn, I found myself sitting in front of a woman I loved and will always love, who had passed away. I was staring at her tragic sleep. Suddenly, I realized my eyes were following the color changes of a deceased person.


    Hmm


    Shades of blue, yellow, and gray. What am I doing? A wish emerged in me to imprint the disappearing image of her in my heart.


    Really?


    M slowly turned to Renoir.


    The tone of a friend who understands him.


    But in M''s expression, there is a hint of anger towards himself.


    But me, Im such a person that before I thought to paint my beloved, those colors evoked an organic emotion, leading me to act reflexively, governed by the unconscious behavior that has dominated my life. Like an animal turning a waterwheel.


    I closely observed his expression as he spoke.


    What kind of emotion could produce such an expression?


    His expression harbored a variety of emotions.


    Anger towards himself, sorrow, reminiscence, longing.


    Pride and responsibility as a painter.


    The two remained silent for a while.


    After a while, M picked up his brush again and said,


    Colors obsess me all day long, bring me joy, and also pain. My life passes by thinking only about my work, my paintings.


    M gestured towards a haystack lying alone in nature.


    If one must imitate, it should be the greatest thing, which is nature itself. I desire no other fate than to live and paint in harmony with thews of nature.


    Renoirs expression as he looked at his friend.


    His expression also carried a lot.


    Think not only of your paintings but your life and family.


    Keep living like this and youll be in real trouble. Please,e to your senses, M.


    Life isnt just about painting, friend.


    Many words surfaced on his face, but his mouth never opened. Perhaps because he himself was a painter who had devoted his life to art.


    Renoir took off his hat, looking at the golden fields, and changed the subject.


    Paul asked to be contacted. He felt sorry that he couldnt help when you sent a letter asking to borrow money a few years ago.


    My eyes sparkled at Renoirs words.


    Paul Czanne! An impressionist painter and friend of M.


    Theres a saying in art history that geniuses are born at the same time. It''s true. M''s schoolmates included not only Renoir and Paul Czanne but also Camille Pissarro.


    M, painting, said,


    Tell him not to worry. I was struggling back then, but not now.


    Renoir chuckled and joked,


    Have you already forgotten the days when you wrote letters to friends asking to borrow 20 francs?


    At that time, critics mocked us as Impressionists. Thanks to them, we were all jobless and poor.


    Finally, M put down his brush. He looked slightly irritated.


    Damn swines. Just by running their mouths, they put an entire field of painters, no, a whole genre, into the mire of poverty.


    Ha ha, but now even they acknowledge us. The word Impressionist, created to mock us, has be a term that represents us.


    Renoir seemed to be trying to lift his friend out of the emotional mire by bringing up old memories, smiling brightly again.


    Do you remember our trip?


    I do, was it 8 years ago?


    Right, our trip to the south. The difficult journey where we carried sketchbooks, pencils, palettes, dozens of canvases, and traveled in third-ss carriages. I dont know why it''s so memorable.


    Yes, I remember that.


    Renoir, looking at Ms face, said,


    A few weeks after returning home, I went to see you and they said youd gone on another trip.


    Thats right, Im happiest when painting outdoors.


    Why didnt you call me? I would have loved to join.


    M looked at his friends face for a moment, lips twitching as if deciding whether to speak.


    Renoir burst into heartyughter.


    Its alright, you can be honest.


    After a moment''s hesitation, M spoke,


    I produce good work when I rely on my own impressions and work alone.


    Words that could sound negative to the listener.


    It could be interpreted as saying that Renoir was a hindrance during that trip.


    But Renoir just smiled, unaffected.


    However, Leahs voice, filled withint, could be heard.


    "That man seems so grumpy. Mom said you shouldn''t say things like that to a friend."


    Ha-ha, Lea.


    He''s not an ordinary person, that''s why.


    The person in front of you now is a man who, even on the verge of losing his sight to cataracts after seeing too many years and losing his wife twice, continued to paint.


    He was, in every sense, a person crazed with painting.


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 Chapter 110 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 110 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    <i>Guys, we now have a discord server! Join us fortest updates and discussions.</i>


    Renoir, unaffected by his friend''s harsh words,ughed as he spoke.


    "Seeing your face reminds me of the Saint-Lazare station. Ha ha! Whenever I see your face, that''s the first thing I think of."


    Perhaps feeling sorry for his harsh words, M didn''t respond and just stared at Renoir''s face.


    Renoir continued with a smile.


    "That time, you wanted to paint the trains at that station, belching steam on the tracks. Then Paul said, ''Hey, M! Only officials can enter the tracks. No way they''d let poor painters like us in!''"


    M''s face softened slightly.


    It seemed like a pleasant memory for him too.


    Renoir, mimicking a silly walk, added,


    "Back then, you brazenly dressed in your best clothes, withce cuffs on your sleeves, and borrowed a gold-knobbed cane to wave around as you handed your card to the station master. I was so nervous watching that scene unfold."


    Renoir burst intoughter.


    "The station master''s face was so funny. He treated you like some great noble! Naturally, how could he think otherwise, seeing you so confident? But, M, did you really lie about being a noble that day?"


    M shook his head.


    "No."


    "Then?"


    "When I went into the office, the station master offered me a seat. I said I wanted to paint on the tracks. He admitted he knew nothing about art but didn''t have the courage to stop the trains for me."


    "Oh, but how did you get permission?"


    "I said this,"


    M, using his brush as a cane and striking a solemn pose, continued,


    "I''ve decided to paint your station. For a long time, I couldn''t decide whether to paint the northern station or yours, but now I see yours has more character."


    "Ha ha!! And then?"


    "The station master, pleased at his station being praised, immediately closed the tform and stopped the trains for me. I got to have the idle train belch smoke as I wished."


    "Ha ha, you didn''t just go there for a day, did you?"


    "I painted six pieces over several weeks. But the station master was always very gracious whenever I came."


    Renoir chuckled.


    "Probably the station master thought you were an incredibly famous painter at that time. If he knew you were a painter struggling for living expenses, he never would have allowed it."


    M grinned, then his face turned somber.


    "Renoir."


    "Hmm?"


    "Money, that monster, seems to put many masks on people."


    ".."


    M spoke as if reminiscing.


    "Around that time, I was busy painting for the Salon and takingmissions. I couldn''t even attend our gatherings."


    "Yes, everyone misunderstood you."


    "Then Paul came to me and asked, ''Why have you changed? Weren''t we supposed to chase ideals, not money? You seem obsessed with earning money. Have you really sumbed to it, M?''"


    ".."


    Renoir''s face turned apologetic. Judging by his expression, he probably had joined the public in condemning M back then.


    "I''m sorry."


    ""


    "I didn''t know Camille, Jean was so ill. It''s partly because you didn''t say anything, but us friends didn''t understand that you were painting pictures you didn''t want to, shedding tears, just to pay hospital bills. I should apologize a hundred times. I''m really sorry."


    "That''s enough, you''ve apologized sufficiently."


    M stared intently at his own painting and said,


    "Money, poverty, it makes people both wise and desperate."


    Money is the best servant, but the worst master.


    Hmm, but M. While greed for money is considered the root of all evil, being without money is the same in this regard.


    M nods in agreement.


    Money is like a bottomless sea. It drowns conscience and honor, never resurfacing. There''s nothing that breaks a person''s spirit more than money.


    So, do I regret running around to pay for my wife and sons hospital bills back then? Absolutely not. If I had done nothing and just pursued my ideals, I might have been swallowing tears of regret while following them.


    Hmm.


    It''s because of my best efforts back then that I can love and paint again today. It was all for the sake of protecting the ones I love.


    Was it?


    M opens her mouth as she looks at her friend''s face. But coincidentally standing in the same line as Renoir, it felt as if he was speaking to me.


    Now that I''ve earned enough money, you may think this is something I can say. But if someone asks me if it''s okay to do something unprofitable, I would answer like this.


    A delusion of making eye contact with M.


    As I was intently looking, his mouth opens.


    If it''s not for the sake of money, forget about money altogether.


    It''s not a big emotion. Just like a gentle ripple, the words of the old man echo.


    The only way to forget about money is to have a lot of it. Happiness can''t be bought with money, but neither can it be bought with poverty. But if a person wakes up in the morning, goes to bed at night, and does what they want in between, thats a sessful life.


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 Chapter 110 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 110 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Coming out of the dream, I walked down the forest path holding Lea''s hand and returned to the vige.


    It waste after dinner, so I went to Lea''s house to take her home and squatted in front of her, making eye contact.


    Next time we go to the museum, I''ll definitely take you, so you don''t need to spy on me, okay?


    ..?


    Lea with her round eyes seems not to understand and tilts her head. But soon, as her mother''s voice is heard inside, the child scampers off.


    She looks back regretfully and waves her hand again. Ah, so cute.


    Just as I was about to return home, I suddenly remembered that I skipped dinner. It''s eight o''clock in the evening. By now, the busy crowds would have thinned. Monica and I first arrived in this vige at nine o''clock, so they should still be open.


    As I go to the vige square, it''s quieter as I expected.


    Uncle Augusto, enjoying some downtime after a whirlwind of activity, sits at one corner of the restaurant drinking coffee.


    As I wave, he sees me and waves back.


    I make a gesture of eating, and heughs and gestures for me toe in.


    Sitting close to the square, I order a suitable menu item and remember M''s words.


    If it''s not about making money, don''t think about money from the start. Do what you want to do.


    Of course, as someone who struggled financially for half their life, he didn''t mean to stop making money and just do what you want. It means at some point in life, put aside thoughts of money and move. That''s where happiness lies.


    I rested my chin on my hand and looked at the square.


    What do I want to do? What do I want to paint?


    Others have things they want to do but move for livelihood.


    Sadly, I dont know what I truly want to do.


    No, in truth, what I really wanted to do was to take care of my family.


    I''ve already aplished that. Even if I can''t live like the rich, it''s enough not to worry about meals and live in a good house.


    I give my mother 3 million won a month for living expenses.


    Of course, that doesn''t include pension insurance, health insurance, property taxes, gas, maintenance fees, ormunication expenses.


    It''s just money given to spend on food and clothes.


    On social media, it seems like there are countless people earning over a thousand a month. It''s uncertain if what they say is true, but anyway, I earn more than them but can''t live like they do.


    How do they manage to drive sports cars, eat in fine hotels, and enjoy nights in swimming pools at sky lounges? When I simply calcte, I earn more than them. Were they born rich, able to spend more than they earn?


    After payingprehensive ie tax, health and pension insurance premiums, and deducting living expenses for the house, not much is left. Of course, there''s enough to buy a bag for mom, but to live a life dining in hotels costing 300,000 won and enjoying pools, I''d need to earn twice as much.


    Maybe, it''s not about the money, but me.


    Even if I earned double, I probably couldn''t live like that. I''m too timid, after all.


    Anyway, every time I give mom living expenses, she would say this.


    "I only dreamed of spending a million won a month on living expenses. Thanks to you, my younger son, I''m living well in myter years. Thank you, son."


    It''s both gratifying and sad.


    So modest was mom''s wish.


    Then, I sense someone nearby.


    Expecting it to be the waiter with the menu, I turn my head, but unexpectedly, it''s Monica.


    "Monica? Are you just arriving?"


    She''s wearing quality clothes, but her shoulders are covered in white dust. She must be exhausted from managing and directing all day at the factory construction site.


    Monica, looking a bit tired, fixes her disheveled hair.


    "May I sit?"


    "Of course."


    I pull out a chair for her, and as she sits, she looks at the menu.


    "Haven''t you eaten yet?"


    "No."


    "It''s nine already?"


    "Betterte than never."


    "Ah, yes."


    That''s true.


    Monica asked.


    "What did you order?"


    "This."


    A hard-to-read Italian menu. I ordered without knowing what it was. There''s a detailed description below, but it''s in Italian, which I can''t read. This city isn''t for tourists, so there''s no English menu.


    Monica nods and says,


    "You''re not very hungry, I guess."


    "Huh? I''m quite hungry."


    "This is ice cream."


    "........................"


    Wait, did I order ice cream?


    Seeing my baffled face, Monica, guessing the situation, smiles and says,


    "How about seafood stew? Do you like it?"


    "Ha-ha, anything''s better than ice cream."


    "Then let''s go with this. Cio, a stew with seafood, meat, and vegetables."


    I nod quickly, and Monica goes to the kitchen to change the order herself.


    I''m impressive, ordering ice cream for dinner.


    Returning from the kitchen, Monica sits back down and looks out at the square. Just a while ago, a few people were visible, but now none can be seen. Nightse early in a rural vige.


    Monica murmurs while gazing at the square.


    "A vige where nothing has changed. I like it, but will those returning feel the same?"


    "........................"


    I understood immediately what she meant.


    The news of a factorying to the vige would have spread to those who left, through the words of the residents. She''s asking how those who left for jobs will feel about the unchanged vige.


    "Isn''t it good that it hasn''t changed, your hometown?"


    Monica looks at me tiredly.


    "Would you like a hometown you left because you hated it, even if it stays the same?"


    "................................."


    That''s true. They left not to earn money or chase dreams, but because they hated the town with no future.


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 Chapter 111 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 111 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Monica, who had been covered in dust all day at the construction site, was so tired that she kept wiping her tears even during the meal. She wasn''t crying because she was sad, but because she was sleepy.


    After the meal, Monica skipped coffee and went straight home.


    I sent Monica off first and sat in the restaurant for a while, looking out at the square and lost in thought.


    ''Why is the museum following me?''


    If I think about it rationally, I might assume there are two museums.


    But ording to what Lea, who led me to the museum, said, that building was originally empty.


    A secret hideout-like space created by young Lea without the adults knowing.


    The child bragged about that space to me, and that''s how we ended up entering the museum together.


    Then, the museum in Jongno must have followed me to Italy.


    ''What on earth is happening?''


    Suddenly, I get goosebumps, feeling like I''m watching a horror movie.


    ''But the museum hasn''t harmed me, right?''


    That''s right. The museum has been a lot of help to me.


    It''s not following me with any bad intentions.


    ''Wait a minute. What about Yeongju?''


    Didnt I introduce Yeongju to the museum before leaving Korea?


    I checked the time first. It was nine o''clock at night.


    It must be around two in the afternoon in Korea.


    After gauging the time, I immediately called Yeongju.


    - Hey, boss.


    "Yeongju, everything''s okay?"


    - Mm, you know I''m in charge of the proxy review for the architectural art piece. Yeonjeong is handling it.


    "Oh."


    - There''s a slight problem with the funding, so it might be dyed. I''ve exined the situation to thepany that requested it, but strictly speaking, it''s not Yeonjeong''s fault, it seems like the documents they prepared were insufficient.


    "Yeah, that''s something we can understand and move past. Did the conversation go well?"


    - Yeah, no other problems. Did you eat?


    "Yeah, I just ate. It''s dinner time here."


    - Huh? Isn''t itte night there? What were you doing eating sote?


    "Haha, you know, this and that."


    - Make sure to eat properly, kiddo.


    "Okay, but Yeongju."


    - Yeah.


    "Do you remember the museum we saw when we went to Jongno?"


    - .....................


    "Don''t remember? The night of the farewell party, we saw it while taking a walk."


    - Uh, Junghoon.


    "Yeah?"


    - I was wondering whether to talk about this or not, but I thought I just didn''t find it and was going to ask you next time.


    "What is it?"


    - That museum you told me to visit at that time. After you left, I walked around the area by myself? But I couldn''t find it. If it''s a nice museum, exin it in detail. I''ll visit it next time.


    "........................"


    That''s impossible.


    I had talked with Yeongju right in front of the museum.


    Where the first-floor ticket vending machine was clearly visible.


    Even the museum sign was above our heads.


    It was turned off, but it wasn''t just something we passed by without notice, and it''s not a location that couldn''t be found even after looking around.


    It''s clear now.


    The museum is visible only to me... No, not just me, Lea saw it too.


    Anyway, it seems that only I or someone whoes with me during business hours can enter there.


    "Oh, really? Okay. I''ll tell you when I return to Korea. But it''s a small museum, and there aren''t many visitors, so it might close down."


    - Why did you rmend such a museum then, what a waste of time.


    "Haha, I liked it. Anyway, let''s find a chance."


    - Alright.


    After that, I asked about work at thepany and Yeongju''s personal matters.


    It wasn''t so much out of curiosity as it was to quickly erase the museum from Yeongju''s mind. It was a difficult situation to exin properly, so I intended to gloss over it.


    Why is the museum following me?


    Why is it helping me?


    I can''t say I''ve done particrly good things in my life.


    Why has this fortunee to me?


    My mind is furiously spinning, but my mouth spent a few minutes asking about the employees and Yeongju''s recent situation.


    Suddenly, I remembered the story of M I saw in a dream.


    His friends criticized M for doingmercial art to earn hospital fees for his wife and son. I wonder how my friend Yeongju sees me now.


    "Yeongju, can I ask you one thing?"


    - Ask away, just say it.


    "Do you remember what we said that night during our senior year, sitting on the grass, drinking soju after working on our graduation pieces until dawn?"


    - "Was it just once or twice, man? We were so exhausted; we almost did it every day."


    "Do you remember, we said that night, ''Let''s be real great painters once we enter society.'' You said you wanted to be someone like Van Gogh, to follow your own path even if society didn''t recognize you."


    - "Yeah, it was a tough dream, though."


    I could sense the bitterness in Youngju''s voice. Yes, such a path is incredibly difficult. Not just one in a hundred, but perhaps one in ten million might seed in such a challenging journey.


    "I said something simr then."


    - "Yes, I remember."


    "What do you think of me now?"


    - "What do you mean by that?"


    I hesitated for a moment, then continued.


    "Well, the path I''m on now feels more like a businessman than an artist. It''spletely different from the path we resolved to take on that grassy field. I''m just curious how that looks to you."


    Of course, Youngju is in a simr situation.


    If she curses, it''s probably not at me, but at herself.


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 Chapter 111 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 111 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    After a brief silence over the phone, Youngju finally spoke.


    -Amazing, kid.


    Who is?


    -Are you ying coy with leading questions? It is you, who else? Do you want to hear more detailed praise?


    No, it''s not that. I genuinely dont know what you find amazing.


    Yeongju took a moment to breathe, then spoke in an embarrassed voice.


    -Its because you always give your best.


    ?


    -Honestly, Im not super rich, but I was born in a family where my parents are still with me, I have my own house, and I can pursue what I want. But thats not the case for you, right?


    -From a perspective of desperation, it might seem natural for you to put in more effort, but when you actually start working in society, it''s not that simple. No matter how desperate, breaking free from the circumstances you were born into is incredibly difficult. But Jeong-hoon, even while you were studying hard, you worked part-time when others were resting, to support yourself.


    That was true.


    I was always looking for work, even while I was doing my graduation project.


    On nights when I had to stay up working, I couldnt do art-rted jobs, so at 3:30 AM, I went to the agricultural market, loading and transporting vegetables to other markets. It was a job that paid 30,000 won for just an hour and a half of work, which was perfect for me when I urgently needed money for living expenses.


    I never told anyone about this menial job, but Yeongju saw it all.


    Yeongju''s voice echoed over the phone.


    -No one can point fingers at you and call you a pride-swallowing businessman. If theres someone like that, let theme forward, Ill make sure they regret it.


    Haha.


    -Youve taken responsibility. Everything that happened to your family wasnt your fault, yet you provided them a harmonious family life. It makes me feel pathetic that I still struggle without my dads help. Youre taking responsibility for everything. I think thats amazing, Jeong-hoon.


    Those were kind words.


    I was momentarily moved to tears, but Yeongjus next words made meugh.


    -Is that enough? Im getting goosebumps, so lets stop with the mushy talk?


    Haha, okay. Thanks for saying that.


    -Hang up, kid. I need to work.


    Okay, Ill call you again.


    -Stop calling! Its annoying!


    The call ended abruptly.


    But I was still smiling after the call ended.


    I could sense the embarrassment hidden in Yeongjusst words.


    Im really thankful.


    I have a friend who understands me. How happy is that?


    Putting down the phone on the table, I rested my chin on my hand and gazed at the dark square.


    Yeah, I cant say Im fully settled yet, but Ive found a steady source of ie. It might be good to try something that doesnt pay, just for a while.


    You cant be treated as a true artist just for doing art that doesnt make money. But theres definitely a difference between not acting at all and trying something.


    But what should I do?


    I have to start looking for something.


    I sat there until Augusto closed his restaurant, just staring at the vige, lost in thought.


    Before starting the job for Monica, pondering how to spend the next three weeks.


    **


    The next morning.


    Have I gotten used to the time difference?


    I did sleep lightly, but when I woke up, it was just past eight in the morning.


    Compared to yesterday, when I had to wake up at dawn, my body was noticeably more adapted.


    After washing up, I went out for a morning walk and saw the vige enveloped in fog.


    Huh, Haah.


    The rural fragrance and fresh air entered and left my lungs. Breathing in and out, I enjoyed this pleasant air like the hikers going up the mountain, swinging my arms around while walking along the path next to the church.


    In the distance, I saw a boy and his father, who was dropping him off at school.


    Sophia and Lea were waving them off. It seems like the same morning scene every day.


    I stopped to watch the cute Lea and smiled, then suddenly thought her house looked very pretty.


    The orange roof was built in a style simr to Korean tiles, but the color-faded ivory walls gave it a warmer feel. It was a single-story house.


    Just as I was admiring the beautiful house, the morning sunlight, hazy until then, changed. It was hidden behind clouds.


    I opened my eyes wide, watching the colors of the house change.


    The roof, walls, windows, even the sky reflected in them. All the colors are changing.


    I knew this theoretically.


    But I had never observed it like this before. Such dramatic changes in color - why do we never notice this in our daily lives?


    So this is what it feels like.


    M saw this and wanted to capture it.


    M''s eyes.


    Many artists agree that his eyes were different.


    The world he saw was this radiant, never dull with its myriad of changes.


    Lost in thought while looking at the house, the car with the boy drives off, and Lea, holding Sophia''s hand, spots me. The child sees me, smiles broadly, and waves her hand frantically.


    Distracted from my thoughts by Leah''s cute gesture, I wave back in greeting.


    As I approached Lea, still holding her mother''s hand, I nod to Sophia and crouch down in front of the child, gesturing towards the wall.


    "Leah, are you going to draw today?"


    "?"


    "Over there, are you going to draw?"


    Making a gesture as if drawing on the wall, Leah finally understands and nods with a big smile.


    I smile back and extend my hand to her.


    "Shall we draw together, little angel?"


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 Chapter 112 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 112 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Sophia, sitting at the dining table and sipping coffee while looking out the window, asks, "Can we really trust him?"


    Responding to Jung-hoon''s urgent call, Monica, who dropped by Sophia''s house before work, drinks her coffee and nods affirmatively, "He''s going to be a star in the East, I guarantee it."


    Sophia watched Lea struggle to carry a bucket full of water. Despite the hard task for such a small child, her daughter''s face was bright with enthusiasm.


    "I dont know what ''star of the East'' means, but Lea seems to really like Jung-hoon."


    "He''s pure-hearted."


    Sophia looked out at the wall with a troubled face.


    Strictly speaking, that wall isnt exactly part of her property. Its a public structure blocking the boundary between the mountain and the road, having been there since the vige was established.


    Yet, from Sophias house, where the doors are always open, one can see it directly when sitting at the dining table and looking out the window. A bad painting on it could ruin her delightful afternoon tea times.


    Sophia, squatting on the floor mixing paints, watched Jung-hoon exining something to Lea, who couldn''t understand hisnguage.


    The remarkable thing was that Lea, despite not understanding, was trying hard to listen.


    "It''s strange. She rarely opens up to men."


    Hearing Sophias words, Monica smiled and looked at the two, "Lea does that?"


    "Yeah. She doesnt have guards up around locals, as she grew up with them, but she never goes near the foreign technicians you hired for the construction. She''s especially scared of men."


    "Why? Did something happen?"


    "No, it''s not that. She just finds them scary. It happens with kids sometimes."


    "But she''s different with him."


    "Hmm."


    "You two came over the night beforest, its only been three days since she first saw his face, but look at them now? The usual Lea wouldnt get this close to a foreigner she cantmunicate with."


    Monica, resting her chin on her hand, watched Lea.


    Lea, holding a brush, asked Jung-hoon something.


    Jung-hoon smiled back, exining the use of the brush.


    He''s earnestly exining, even though she wont understand.


    "Children see things adults can''t. Lea must have seen Jung-hoons purity."


    Sophia''s eyes widened in surprise as Jung-hoon began painting the wall with arge brush.


    "Hes painting it that big?"


    The wall was once filled with Leas scribbles.


    Chalk-like powder from white stones could easily be wiped away with a rag, but this was different.


    "Monica, you know this house has been in our family since my great-grandfather''s time? I''ll hold a grudge if you ruin it."


    "Ha ha, just leave it to me. Jung-hoon is skilled enough to paint theater ceilings in Korea."


    "Theater ceilings?"


    "Yeah, have you seen any?"


    "I saw them during my honeymoon in Venice. He paints such incredible pictures? Is he famous?"


    "In Korea, he is. His name often appears in newspapers."


    "Does he do exhibitions?"


    "Of course. He recently sold over twenty paintings at a joint exhibition. Why else would I ask him to design my first store?"


    Hearing about his achievements  selling out at an exhibition, painting theater ceilings, and being chosen by the discerning Monica to design a store all the way from Korea to Italy  Sophia felt a bit relieved. But a part of her was still anxious.


    Monica noticed the changing expressions on Sophia''s face.


    "Don''t worry, if you don''t like it, we can always repaint it in the original color."


    "Wont it leave marks? I saw some murals being removed before, and they left uneven stains."


    "That happens when non-professionals do it. As I said, he''s painted ceilings. If he makes a mistake, he covers it cleanly with different paint and starts over. He''s a professional."


    "Phew, I was really shocked earlier."


    In the morning, after seeing off her son to school and her husband to a job training session at the factory, Sophia was returning home.


    Lea was smiling and waving at something, and when Sophia turned around, she saw the young man from the East smiling and waving back. He squatted down, said something to her daughter, and then spoke to Sophia in English. Not knowing any English, she was taken aback and stepped backward.


    The young man from the East gestured to wait for a moment and then called Monica. When Monica arrived at the house before going to work, she ryed that the young man had asked permission to paint a mural on the wall in front of the house.


    Initially, Sophia wanted to refuse, but Lea, who had listened to Monica''s Italian trantion, looked at her with such eager and sparkling eyes that Sophia couldn''t bring herself to deny the request.


    Sophia, looking worriedly at Jeong-hoon and Lea, raises her eyebrows.


    "What are they doing?"


    "Why?"


    Both Sophia and Monica, prompted by Sophia''s question, look outside with puzzled expressions.


    Jeong-hoon briskly covers the wall with white paint. Leah seems to have helped as well, evidenced by the white paint on her nose. Suddenly, both of them stop painting, climb onto the wall, and sit looking at the house.


    Jeong-hoon sits with his arms crossed, while Lea swings her short legs hanging down from the wall, gazing at the house.


    Monica, resting her chin on her hand, says,


    "He said he''d paint the house, so they must be observing it."


    "Hmm."


    "I need to go to work now. I''ll see you in the evening."


    "Okay, thanks foring. Go quickly."


    "Enjoy your coffee before you leave."


    Monica came out and waved to the two people sitting on the wall, then headed to the construction site.


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 Chapter 112 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 112 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    The construction, which started at dawn, was fortunately going well without any major issues, but from the owner''s perspective, everything seemedcking. Monica spent several hours today, as usual, walking around the factory, giving various instructions.


    It was past six in the afternoon.


    Construction usually goes on until eight o''clock, so there was still time left to work, but there was a break for mealtime in between.


    Perhaps because she inhaled so much dust, Monica had no appetite and decided to go back to the vige for dinner, resting for a while in her car.


    Ban will do well, right?


    She wasn''t really worried.


    She knows Jung-hoon''s skills well.


    In fact, she is more looking forward to the joy of seeing her friend''s reaction to thepleted painting.


    "Should I give her a call?"


    Monica dialed her friend''s number and spoke as soon as the call was answered.


    "Sophia, it''s me. How''s the painting? Isn''t it amazing?"


    -..


    "Why, are you speechless because it''s so amazing?"


    -..


    "Sophia?"


    Could it be a failure? But that''s unlike Jung-hoon.


    Then Sophia responds with an incredulous voice.


    -Monica.


    "What?"


    -They''re still on the wall, both of them.


    "What?"


    -Since you left in the morning, they''ve been sitting there all day. The painting is still just covered with white paint.


    "What?"


    -Is he really a skilled painter? What is this, they''ve been staring at the house all day doing nothing.


    Why would Jung-hoon do this?


    When she thought of when he painted her portrait, he was a person who could produce such incredible paintings in a short time. How could someone like that sit all day on the wall doing nothing?


    Monica cated her friend with some vague words.


    "Artists have various ways of working. It seems he''s trying a different approach this time. Trust him, or if not him, then trust me."


    "Alright, I understand."


    After ending the call, Monica bites her lip.


    "What are you thinking, Jeong-hoon?"


    It''s not doubt, just a bit of worry.


    Jeong-hoon is human, after all. He could make mistakes or give up halfway.


    Even if that were the case, it wouldn''t be a disappointment.


    The wall in front of her friend''s house could easily be restored, so it''s not a problem.


    Driven by curiosity, Monica, who has been restless in her car, finally can''t stand it any longer and instructs the driver.


    "That''s enough for today. Let''s return to the vige."


    Monica, meticulous by nature, gives instructions to the construction site manager over the phone while heading back to the vige. Getting out of the car at the vige entrance, she walks slowly, passing through the square. To reach Lea''s house from the entrance, one must cross the square.


    "In three weeks, some of the people who left the vige will return."


    Not everyone wille back. Only some of those who left will return.


    Those who went as far as America to start a new life said they would not return. Most of those who said they would return had gone to Florence, Mn, or Rome to find jobs.


    Monica knows well how harsh life can be for those who grew up in a simple rural vige and then moved to a big city to find work. They must have wanted to return to their hometown dozens of times a day.


    But the vigers, knowing that living in a hopeless vige was a distant dream, would have endured hard work every day with tears.


    "I will build it, our vige."


    The vige hadn''t changed in decades.


    While it''s a beloved vige from her perspective, how would it appear to those who had left and returned?


    She hopes that the vige will be lively when those who left due to ack of hope return. However, she doesn''t want to ruin the scenery of this old vige with major construction.


    "What should I do?"


    Monica, pondering, climbs the alleyway to Lea''s house.


    In the dim light, she sees the two people sitting on the wall opposite Lea''s house.


    Just as her friend said, they are sitting there just as they were in the morning.


    It''s surprising to see the young Lea, whocks the patience of an adult, sitting there like that. When Monica herself was that age, she couldn''t sit still for a moment.


    And Lea, with her round eyes, is looking at her own house. What''s so interesting about a house she sees every day?


    Monica walks slowly towards them and looks up at the wall.


    "Ban."


    "Huh?"


    Jeong-hoon, who had been focusing on something, looks down and waves.


    "Monica, are you off work now? You''re early today, aren''t you?"


    "Yes, shall we have dinner together?"


    "Sure, but in an hour."


    An hour? Why an hour?


    Monica, looking around, asks,


    "What are you going to do for an hour?"


    Jeong-hoon nces at the sky and grins.


    "The sun hasn''tpletely set yet."


    So why sit there from dawn until sunset?


    Monica, not understanding, asks again.


    "What have you been doing all day here?"


    Jeong-hoon, locking eyes with Lea sitting next to him, smiles softly. Leah, seemingly in on something, smiles back.


    Jeong-hoon lifts Lea onto his knee and gestures towards the house.


    "We''re observing the changes."


    Monica, furrowing her brow, asks back,


    "What changes are you talking about?"


    What kind of changes could be happening to a house that just stands there?


    In Monica''s eyes, the image of Jeong-hoon smiling brightly is reflected.


    "Light. We are observing the light."


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 Chapter 113 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 113 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    The next dawn.


    I got up before sunrise and headed to Lea''s house.


    It was because the only time I hadn''t seen when I observed the house yesterday was from the dim early dawn until the sky waspletely bright.


    Thinking I am not a genius myself, I climbed onto the wall of Lea''s house and took several photos of the dark house with my phone. As dawn approached, light clusters from afar engulfed the house like waves.


    It was a scene reminiscent of slowly dyeing fabric with color.


    I admired the sight while taking photos in burst mode.


    "Wow."


    This marvelous spectacle is something nature has granted us all, and I wonder why I never paid attention to it before.


    It''s so beautiful and impressive.


    "So this is why medieval painters painted nature."


    I''ve had this thought asionally.


    Why do modern painters draw iprehensible pictures instead of beautiful ones?


    Why do they try to depict what does not exist?


    When I had negative thoughts, I thought it was because they were only chasing novelty.


    They struggled to be recognized in a world where if it''s not new, it''s not acknowledged.


    But my thoughts soon changed.


    The scientific advancements made by humans have transformed our lives so that we can see everything from aputer or smartphone, without having to travel to another country.


    Nature is no longer a wonder to humans.


    Human interests have shifted to inner emotions.


    Look at the bookstores nowadays.


    Compared to 20 years ago, the variety of book contents has greatly increased. Especially books like ''Rest if you''re tired'' or ''A few good things to do when you''re emotionally exhausted'' sell well. Perhaps it''s because our interests have shifted to managing our own emotions.


    As people''s interests change, so do the trends in art.


    Like athletes, artists also live off the attention of people. As the audience''s interests shift, so naturally do the subjects that painters want to depict.


    "Still, I find nature beautiful."


    It''s fine if I''m considered outdated.


    If I paint naturalndscapes in this era, my work might be ridiculed as amateurish.


    But so what?


    I''m not painting for an exhibition or apetition.


    I''m just trying a small experiment to make the houses of this beautiful countryside vige a bit more beautiful. It''s better to focus on the painting without any burden on my mind.


    The sun fully risen.


    Smoke rises from the kitchen window of Lea''s house.


    It would have been a more fantastic scene if smoke came out of a chimney like a real medieval house, but sadly, such houses don''t exist in modern times.


    I memorized Lea''s house in my mind once more and then headed to the square.


    It''s still early.


    The square is empty except for diligent Augusto, who''s sweeping in front of his restaurant and greets me warmly.


    "Buenos das, Augusto!"


    As Augusto, who''s been sweeping, straightens his back and greets me with a bright smile, I feel warmly weed.


    "Buenos das, Van."


    My passport spells my name as Ban, but Italians, or rather Europeans, call me Van. The pronunciation is almost the same, but slightly different at the beginning. Well, it doesn''t matter. There''s no need to correct them.


    Having been here a few days, Ifortably order my usual breakfast menu and sit in the square, resting my chin on my hand, watching the light-drenched square.


    As breakfast arrives, Monica joins me.


    "Ban, you''re up early."


    "Ah, Monica. Did you sleep well?"


    "Yes, I''ve been so tiredtely that I practically pass out when I get home."


    "Poor you. Sit down, you''re ordering breakfast, right?"


    "Yes."


    "Hey! Augusto! One more ck First Menu, please!"


    As I point at Monica with my index finger, Augusto understands and signals his acknowledgment.


    Monica looks at me andughs.


    "It seems you''re getting used to this."


    "I adapt quickly."


    "People would think you''ve been here for a year, haha."


    "Haha, it''s only my fourth day."


    "Haha."


    Something is enjoyable.


    Just waking up in the morning and having a meal in the square.


    This must be why people travel. Even a simple act of eating breakfast feels enjoyable on a trip.


    After a while, as the menu is served and we start eating, I ask Monica.


    "How''s the factory construction going?"


    "It''s in the final stages."


    "Already?"


    "Haha, Ban. Building a factory is different from painting. The final stages alone will take several weeks."


    "Does it take that long?"


    "The machinery hasn''t even all arrived yet. Actually, what I''m really focusing on is creating afortable working environment for the vigers. So, there are quite a few amenities."


    "Like a lounge?"


    Certainly a rest space, and also bedrooms for short naps, facilities for meditation and massage, a cafeteria and dining area, and a separate rxation area on the rooftop.


    Wow, that sounds amazing.


    I want to make it a space where everyone would want to work.


    Thats impressive, Monica.


    Oh, it''s nothing, haha.


    Monica looks more energetic than tired, perhaps happy that the factory is nearingpletion. It''s nice to see her like this. It seems like what she deeply desired when I first met her is nowing to fruition, and that makes me happy too.


    Monica is bing more and more like the image I had painted of her.


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 Chapter 113 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 113 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    As we finish our meal, Monica asks, Are you going to work today?


    Hmm, Im nning to observe for one more day.


    More observation? What exactly are you nning to draw that takes so much observation? With your skills, Ban, you should be able to easily draw a stationary house, right?


    Haha, it''s harder than you think.


    Monica looks at me skeptically, then smiles slyly.


    You must be plotting something, Ban.


    I wave my hands andugh.


    Plotting? Someone might think Im conspiring a crime, haha.


    After a moment, Monica looks at me and says, Its a series, isnt it?


    Wow, she''s incredible. Just by knowing that I''m observing the house, she guessed that I''m nning a series of paintings.


    Ah, thats right, Monica also graduated from the Florence Academy of Art, didnt she?


    Monica, you can''t be fooled, can you?


    I just took a wild guess, but I got it right. Youre nning a series on Sofia''s house, right? Since you observed for a day, I guess about four pieces wille out? Dawn, just after the sun rises, the appearance in the morning or afternoon, and the night. Right?


    Yes, about that.


    Will you only capture the impressions?


    Well, since it''s a series based on the changes in light, it seems like they will be impressionistic.


    Like ude M?


    I smiled wryly.


    Maybe.


    Maybe? The two words ''light'' and ''series'' are representative of M, aren''t they?


    Iughed and leaned on my hand, looking towards the square.


    I see some of the few children in the vige holding their parents'' hands, heading to school. I''m not sure where the school is located, but it seems to be quite far since everyone is driving.


    A child who doesn''t want to go to school.


    Parents trying to soothe their child and send them off.


    A child eager to go to school, pulling their mother''s hand.


    A mother, still half asleep, being dragged along.


    In these few people, I see a variety of life''s scenes.


    I said to Monica, looking intently at the people in the square.


    Monica.


    Yes?


    About M.


    Yes.


    He spent his lifetime painting nature, didn''t he?


    Thats true. Except for the paintings of his first wife, Camille, and his son Jean, most of his works were of natural environments. After they died, almost 100% of his work was about nature.


    Its more urate to say he painted the impressions of nature, not just nature itself.


    Thats right.


    I looked in the direction of Lea''s house, not visible from where we sat in the square.


    A small alley leading up to the church at the edge of the square. Lea''s house is in the middle of that alley.


    ording to Monica, the houses in front of and behind Lea''s house are currently empty.


    People who lived there moved to America a few years ago.


    I thought about thendscape of Lea''s house and said,


    Now, the real question.


    Yes?


    This vige is in the midst of nature, right?


    Monica looks around her hometown vige and smiles fondly.


    Yes, that''s why I love my hometown. A vige in the mountains, this air, the smell of grass. No matter where my body was, I always missed this.


    Yes, this vige exists naturally as if it''s a part of nature itself.


    But?


    I looked at Monica and winked.


    So, is this vige nature?


    Monica was momentarily speechless.


    It was a question she had never considered before.


    Is it not nature just because it has been touched by human hands?


    Let''s assume there''s a painting of a beautifully manicured garden. Is that not nature? Who can define that?


    Monica looked at her hometown vige again.


    A vige in the mountains. The vige doesnt spoil the surroundingndscape; rather, it blends in and enhances its beauty. But can it itself be called nature?


    Monica wanted to say in her heart that her hometown vige is nature itself, but her reason didnt allow it, and she answered.


    No.


    I leaned on my chin and met Monica''s eyes.


    Why not?


    After pondering for a moment, Monica said,


    Most paintings of nature dont include people. Nature is depicted just as it is. If people live there, I think it''s not nature.


    Hmm, so if theres a small person drawn in a mountain painting, is it not a painting of nature?


    That''s not what I mean.


    Then why do you think it''s not nature?


    Monica pondered again. Why did she think this vige, amidst nature, isn''t nature?


    As she looked at the square and the pretty houses, she suddenly said,


    Houses.


    I heard Monica''s answer andughed deeply.


    Correct.


    Monica sighed lightly and straightened her hair.


    Yes, the existence of houses determines whether it''s a true naturalndscape or not. Because people live in them.


    Its more about the proportion in the frame rather than just the existence of houses. If theres a painting with just one cabin in the mountains, it''s likely seen as andscape painting.


    So, if you paint the entire vige, it''s not nature?


    ''Not just nature'' would be more urate.


    Monica nodded and then asked again,


    But why are we having this conversation? Your answer to my earlier question about painting like M seems off-topic, Ban.


    "Haha."


    I softly spoke while looking at the people walking through the vige, which retains its natural essence.


    I willbine M and M.


    The two masters of Impressionism.


    As I mention these two painters, whose simr names often confused schrs, audiences, and even the artists themselves, Monica''s eyes widened in surprise.


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 Chapter 114 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 114 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    <i>Bonus chapter thanks to @Chip on Ko-fi</i>


    There''s an interesting anecdote in the history of art.


    It happened on the opening day of the 1866 Salon.


    At that time,pared to the then-unknown M, douard M had be famous for his painting "Olympia," which he had exhibited before the national exhibition.


    Of course, his fame was due to the scandalous way he portrayed a prostitute in the painting, giving him a bit of a bad boy image in the art world. Nheless, M was famous.


    M submitted his work to the exhibition, eagerly anticipating whether his painting would be selected. Upon his arrival, everyone in the exhibition hall started apuding him.


    Confused, M assumed his painting was selected for the exhibition and responded to the cheers with a bright smile.


    "Congrattions, M!"


    "You''ve really painted something extraordinary this time. It must be worth the price of a house."


    "Your work is really good, isn''t it?"


    People shook M''s hand and pulled him in front of his painting, offering their interpretations.


    "How did you manage to capture the flowing silk dress so vividly?"


    "The lines are both supple and strong."


    "It feels soft yet lively."


    "It''s not some doll''s clothing or dream-wrapped muslin; it''s real silk!"


    "And the woman''s figure! It''s like she just turned around while walking."


    "M has finally made a big ssh with his figurative painting this time!"


    Everyone in front of the painting was showering it with praise.


    However, M''s face contorted in confusion as he was led to the painting.


    Noticing his expression, the people around him asked, "M? What''s wrong? Aren''t you happy? All these people are praising your painting."


    M approached the painting with a twisted face and pointed to the bottom right corner.


    "This isn''t my painting!"


    With that, he turned and left the exhibition hall.


    The baffled audience gathered around the painting again. Standing in front of M''s familiar signature, they looked closely and suddenly realized, exchanging surprised nces.


    "It''s not M, but M! Who is this?"


    This unknown painter, who had lived in obscurity for nearly 30 years, was ude M, a pioneer and master of Impressionism. His emergence was marked by this incident, which confused people between his painting ''The Woman in the Green Dress'' and M''s.


    Later, it was said that M initially snubbed M when he came to greet him in society. However, the master soon admitted that his attitude stemmed from jealousy and apologized to M, bing close friends with him thereafter.


    These two great masters, not only sharing simr names but also living in the same era as Impressionist painters, have given students of art history a hellish time distinguishing them.


    As Monica reflected on these anecdotes, she watched Jeong-hoon getting up after finishing his meal.


    "Are you leaving?"


    "Yes, it''s about time Lea shows up. We promised to paint together."


    How did you make a promise with a kid you can''t evenmunicate with? Monica wanted to ask, but instead, she smiled as she watched Jeong-hoon climb up towards his house to fetch the painting materials.


    "It''s Ban after all. Of course, it will go well."


    Monica didn''t fully grasp what it meant tobine M and M, but she decided to trust Jeong-hoon and called over Augusto for the check.


    "Sir, the check, please."


    "Huh? Ban already took care of it."


    "Ban did?"


    "Yeah, he asked to split the bill."


    "Ha, I have much more money, but still, that''s nice of him."


    It wasn''t about the money, but the gesture that mattered.


    Monica recalled how Jeong-hoon always paid when they went to restaurants he rmended in Korea.


    "A good person."


    From Jeong-hoon''s perspective, raised in Korea, it was customary for men to pay when dining with women, a habit that came naturally to him. But for Monica, raised in Europe, this gesture was seen as an act of kindness.


    Augusto spoke up.


    "Time for some coffee?"


    "Yes, please."


    "No customers right now. Shall we have it together?"


    "Sure."


    Augusto brought two cups of coffee and sat down where Jeong-hoon had been.


    "Ban seems like a really good young man."


    "Ha, probably because he eats all three meals here?"


    "Ha, that too. But he''s definitely a good customer."


    "Ha."


    "Actually, it''s more than that. Ban has a certain... human touch."


    "Human touch?"


    "Usually, city folks who travel and stop by this vige give off a bit of a snobbish vibe. They''re always wary of being cheated. But Ban''s different. He always looks rxed and seems to enjoy observing things. I''ve not dealt with many Asians, but I heard Koreans are hasty and like to eat quickly and move on. They dont spend two hours on lunch like us."


    "Is that so?"


    "But Ban''s different. He eats and then stares out at the square for hours. I dont know what he thinks about, but he looks content. Always smiling too. Thats why he has a human touch. Living life at a slower pace, like people in our vige."


    Monica''s eyes widened as she listened.


    "The human touch, M, M?"


    Monica''s eyes twinkled as she burst intoughter.


    "So that''s what you meant, Ban! I finally understand what you meant bybining the two!"


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 Chapter 114 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 114 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Murals require a lot of paint.


    The paints Monica had requested arrived with construction materials at my housest night.


    Carrying arge paint can filled with mural paints in my bag, along with brushes and a palette in the pockets, I put on my work apron and headed to Lea''s house.


    Lea, who seemed to have been waiting for me, was sitting on the same wall as yesterday, looking in the direction of my house. Seeing me, she hopped down excitedly to let me know she was there.


    Lea struggles down from the wall and runs toward me.


    It seems she wants to help with the paint can in my hand.


    "Lea, it''s too heavy for you to lift."


    The mural paint weighed more than 3kg.


    It was too heavy for Lea, who didn''t look like she weighed more than 20kg.


    Lea, stubbornly insisting on carrying it herself, eventually gives up due to its weight. Seeing her cute attempt, I take out a palette and brushes from my bag and hand them to her.


    "How about carrying these instead?"


    I could have just put them in my bag, but I didn''t want to disappoint the child who wanted to help. Lea smiles brightly, feeling like she has helped.


    I touch Lea''s rosy cheeks and say,


    "Let''s paint today, shall we?"


    "Che vuol dire?"


    "We''ll paint your house and your family."


    "Potrebbe ripetere?"


    Ah, this is frustrating. It was easier tomunicate in the dream world of the museum.


    It would be great to rip off the wall and enter the museum dream to paint, but that''s impossible from the start.


    I had Monica buy a child''s work apron in town ahead of time and put it on Lea. Initially confused, Lea ps her hands and twirls around happily when she sees we are wearing the same apron.


    "Do you like it?"


    "Questo mi piace! Questo mi piace!"


    I still don''t understand what she''s saying, but her reaction seems positive.


    I squat down, prepare the paint, and take out a brush. Lea, without being told, brings water in a bucket, struggling due to her small size. The half-filled bucket isn''t much, but it''s still helpful.


    "Lea."


    She looks up at me as I call her name.


    I pick up a brush, stand in front of the wall, and say,


    "The first thing we''ll paint is your house at dawn. But there''s no one around because everyone in your family is asleep at this time."


    "Che vuol dire?"


    "Your family, Lea, Sofia, Vittorio, your dad."


    I didn''t catch her dad''s name. Lea seems to understand when I list her family''s names.


    "Papa?"


    "Yes, papa. What''s your dad''s name?"


    "Papa? Gabriel."


    "Oh, that''s a nice name. Later, we''ll paint a morning scene of Gabriel taking Vittorio to school."


    "..?"


    Lea doesn''t understand me, but I talk as if she does. If she''s curious, she can ask in the dream.


    "M was a painter who captured the impression of nature. But Lea''s house is where people live in nature. The meaning of a home is not in nature, but with family. So, I should paint the impression of both nature and life."


    ".."


    I wink at Lea and say,


    "M was a painter of life''s impression. Now, I''llbine the works of both artists to capture the impressions of life and nature. You can look forward to it, Lea."


    **


    7 PM.


    Gabriel, who had picked up his son from school after ying ser with friends on the yground, was driving home when he asked,


    "How''s school?"


    "Good, it''s fun."


    "You still enjoy ser?"


    "Yes, buttely I''ve been wanting to y baseball. But the kids in our neighborhood don''t know about baseball."


    "Really?"


    "Yes, and we need equipment, but there''s nowhere to buy it."


    "Hmm."


    Gabriel thinks he should look for a glove and ball when he goes to town next time.


    Just a few months ago, buying a glove for his son seemed an unattainable dream, given their financial difficulties. But not anymore. Monica, who had left the vige to study ten years ago, had returned after achieving great sess, building arge factory near the vige.


    Initially skeptical, the vigers, including Gabriel, became construction workers for the factory. Shocked by its size during a visit, Gabriel joined the construction and is now receiving technical training to work there.


    His son had to wait for him at the school yground, but he didn''t seem to mind. The family was bing more prosperous, and Gabriel had regained his smile.


    Feeling grateful to Monica, Gabriel smiles and says,


    "Alright, when we go to town next month, I''ll buy you a glove."


    "Really?"


    "Yes! But you have to listen to Mom, eat well, and y nicely with your sister."


    "Lea doesn''t y with me."


    "Why? Ive told you to y with your sister. You have school, but Lea is at home all day. Dont you feel sorry for her?"


    "Its not that, Dad."


    "Hmm?"


    "Lea has a new friend."


    "A friend? There arent any kids her age in the neighborhood."


    Lea is the second youngest child in the vige, with the youngest still being a baby. So, Lea has no one to y with when the other children are at school.


    Vittorio chuckled and said, "That man, the painter Mom talked about."


    "Ah, Ban?"


    "He ys with her every day now. When we go home, she talks about that man the whole time during meals."


    Gabriel was aware of that. Listening to his daughter''s chatter at the dining table was part of being a father. His daughter, Lea, had been endlessly talking about the painter from the East for the past few days. She must have taken a liking to him.


    "Haha, well. It''s good that she has made a friend. And since Monica brought him, he must be a good person."


    Gabriel, usually wary of strangers, viewed Ban favorably, probably due to his positive feelings towards Monica.


    It waspletely dark when Gabriel finally arrived home. As his son got out of the passenger seat, he said, "Go ahead inside, Ill park the car near the square ande back."


    ".."


    "Vittorio? Did you hear me?"


    His son stood frozen, just outside the car, staring nkly.


    Wondering what was happening, Gabriel opened the window and leaned out, only to be surprised by the sight of their home, making a simr expression as his son.


    "What is this."


    "Wow..."


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 Chapter 115 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 115 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Gabriel is not well-versed in art.


    He was born in this vige, grew up here, and except for his honeymoon, he has barely traveled, a typical countryside man. So, he''s someone who has never really visited a proper art gallery.


    His attention is caught by the long mural drawn along the walls of the alley in front of his house.


    He sees the face of his son standing still in front of the painting with his backpack.


    What expression is his son making?


    As far as he can remember, he has never shown his son such arge painting.


    "Wow."


    Pure admiration.


    The elongated painting filled with the child''s eyes quivers finely.


    The boy with a bright face steps back a few steps, looks at the whole painting, then realizing something, runs to the leftmost picture and points at it while smiling broadly.


    "Dad! Our family''s morning!"


    "What?"


    Gabriel is jolted back to reality by his son''s shout and looks at the whole painting.


    Although the painting is divided into sections, it''s created as one long painting using smooth connecting lines.


    There are four houses in this painting.


    But all four are the same house. Or are they?


    They look the same, but something is different. What is it?


    "Dad! Here, here!"


    His son hops and gestures.


    Gabriel walks towards his son without taking his eyes off the painting.


    The son takes his father''s hand and points at the first picture.


    "Here! Dad, me, Lea, mom."


    ".................."


    The picture is painted in slightly dark colors.


    He sees himself forcibly pushing his car into the narrow alley in front of the house and smoking. Inside, his son and daughter areing out holding Sophia''s hand, and his son has a backpack on his back.


    "Morning... That''s right."


    The son jumps to the side and then shouts at the next picture.


    "Lea!"


    Gabriel''s eyes tremble as he turns his gaze to the next picture upon his son''s shout.


    The house in the first picture is painted in a distinctly brighter color.


    Unlike the first picture where the whole family is shown, only Lea is in the second picture.


    In front of the house, the daughter is squatting on the ground doodling. Although he can''t often see her due to his busy factory work, it''s a scene he always sees on weekends.


    "Our house in the morning."


    The son looks closely at the picture, then cheers with a raised arm.


    "Mom''s in the window too!"


    Gabriel approaches the painting.


    Though it''s a roughly drawn picture with omitted details, it''s clear that Sophia is watching Lea doodle from inside, with a cup of coffee emitting white steam on the table as she rests her chin in her hand.


    ''What? It''s not a detailed painting. How do I know everything in the painting?''


    It''s not a Renaissance-era picture-like image from his childhood textbooks. It''s an impressive and warm picture with small details omitted. But it''s also a fun picture where tiny somethings are continuously discovered.


    The son runs to the third picture and stands in front of it.


    "Dad, we are in it again!"


    The third picture is simr to the first but with different colors. It''s probably brighter because of the light seeping out from inside the house.


    In the picture, the son is getting out of the car and walking towards the house, and the daughter inside the house is running out with a happy face. The wife, opening the kitchen window, is waving her hand, and a warm scene of cooking smokeing out of the kitchen.


    Looking at the same scene he sees every day, Gabriel unwittingly smiles.


    "Our family."


    The son stands in front of thest picture looking up at the mural and smiles.


    This time, the son is silent.


    Gabriel ces his hand on his small head from behind and smiles.


    "There''s no one in this picture. It must be veryte at night."


    The picture they are looking at.


    The house at night is drawn. Although there''s lighting from the windows, everything around is dark.


    A quietndscape with no people in the windows or surroundings.


    The son shakes his head at his father''s words.


    "No, here, and here. Our family is here."


    "Hmm?"


    "I don''t see it?"


    "Uh, dad can''t see it?"


    The son points at the windows represented with subtly spreading light.


    "I should be in the room doing homework at this time, so I''ll be here."


    The son points to the living room window, where the light is spreading, and says.


    "Dad is always watching the AS Roma game results on the sports news, so you''ll be sitting on the sofa behind this window."


    The son points to the bedroom window and says.


    "Mom is reading a fairy tale to Lea and putting her to sleep."


    ".................."


    There are no people in this picture.


    However, the light spilling from the windows suggests that the family has not yet gone to sleep. Gabriel and Vittorio know very well what each family member is doing at this time.


    Gabriel smiles broadly and hugs his son.


    "Yes, our family is definitely in this painting."


    Then, the bright voice of his daughteres from inside the house.


    "Daddy!"


    His daughter runs towards him, her hair flying and a bright smile on her face, her arms wide open as if asking for a hug. Her figure oveps with that of the daughter in the mural.


    Gabriel, feeling an inexplicable surge of tears, kneels down and hugs his daughter.


    "Lea, did you have a good day today?"


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 Chapter 115 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 115 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    "Lea, did you have a good day today?"


    "Yes!"


    As Gabriel stands up, he sees Sophia slowly emerging from the house.


    She too is looking at the paintings with a pleased smile.


    "Honey, you''re here?"


    Finally, the family of four gathers in front of the house.


    It''s just an ordinary day, but today, these moments feel exceptionally precious.


    Joined by Sophia, the family of four stands in front of the mural.


    Their ordinary life, treasured and grateful, is painted on the mural in warm colors.


    They stood in front of the painting for a long time.


    The smallest member of the family, Lea, spoke.


    "Ban asked me to pass on a message."


    The gazes of the three family members turn downwards. Lea looks up at her family and smiles broadly.


    "Daily lifees together to make life. Our beautiful home is onlyplete with us in it," she said.


    Hearing their daughter''s words, the couple exchanged nces and smiled broadly. Leaning on her husband''s shoulder, Sophia said,


    "It''s a really wonderful painting. I was doubtful at first because of the odd things he did. But he must be a truly skilled painter."


    "Yeah."


    "I''ve prepared dinner, let''s go inside. Are you hungry?"


    "Yes, very."


    "I made plenty, so eat up. Come on, kids, let''s go inside!"


    The two children run ahead,ughing cheerfully.


    The couple, holding hands tightly, also follow the children home.


    As Gabriel was following his children home, he stopped, tilted his head, and looked back at the painting.


    Sophia, following her husband''s gaze, looked at the painting and asked,


    "What?"


    "Did Lea just pass on a message from Ban?"


    "Yes, she said Ban told her."


    "..."


    "Why?"


    "How did she understand?"


    "..."


    Lea, who doesn''t speak English.


    Ban, who doesn''t speak Italian.


    How can these twomunicate?


    Sophiaughed, waving her hand dismissively.


    "Monica must have told her, I guess."


    "Oh, is that so?"


    "Come on, you said you were hungry."


    "Uh, okay. Honey! But shall we shower early today?"


    "Don''te near, it''s disgusting. Go away."


    "It would be nice for Lea to have a sibling, don''t you think? Lea looks so lonely in the painting in the afternoon alone."


    "Don''te closer! I''m already struggling, eek!"


    Sophia runs towards the house as if escaping, followed by Gabriel with a mischievous look. The happy moonlight shines on Gabriel''s figure.


    **


    The next day, lunchtime.


    Having painted four murals in one day, my whole body aches. I skipped breakfast and didn''t get out of bed untilte morning. After a quick wash, I yawned continuously as I went down to the square.


    As usual, I went down to Uncle Augusto''s restaurant, found a seat, and called him.


    "Augusto! Czione."


    I learned recently, thanks to Monica, that breakfast in Italian is "Czione."


    Uncle, who was in the kitchen, poked his head out, waved at me, and then went back into the kitchen. I sat, picking the sleep out of my eyes, and watched the square while drinking a ss of water.


    "It''s still empty."


    Usually, in the morning, you see children going to school and adults going to work, but around lunchtime, it really looks like a ghost town.


    Then, from the other side of the square, ady looked at me and hesitated before approaching.


    I didn''t pay much attention, thinking she might have some business at the fruit shop or the butcher''s, but she kept ncing at me anding closer.


    ''Does she have something to do with me?''


    I don''t know her.


    Of course, aside from Uncle Augusto and Lea''s family, I haven''t talked to anyone else.


    Thedy crosses the square,es up to the fence that marks the boundary between the restaurant and the square, and looks at me, saying something.


    "*%^%$#@&*%@@.


    "Huh?"


    "%@@*%^%$#@&.


    Is she talking to me?


    I looked around and pointed at my chest, asking,


    "Are you talking to me?"


    She nodded and started talking rapidly, but I couldn''t understand a word. Even if she spoke slowly, I wouldn''t understand, so how could I with her speaking so fast?


    I shrugged and said,


    "I don''t speak Italian."


    She kept talking to me, not understanding that I couldn''t understand her. Wondering if she needed help, I tried to understand what she was saying, but it was no use.


    Then, from a corner of the square, a grandmother came down.


    She slowly made her way down and, seeing me, quickened her pace and said something.


    "Yes? Grandmother. I don''t speak Italian."


    Since we couldn''t understand each other, I just spoke in Korean. What does it matter? It''s not like she would understand even if I spoke in English.


    But the firstdy who talked to me started speaking to the grandmother. They didn''t seem to be arguing, but their conversation was so fast it looked like they were.


    Their expressions weren''t bad, so it seemed like they weren''t arguing, but what was going on?


    Having given up on trying to understand, I just watch the two women, who have excluded me and are rapidly exchanging words, resting my chin on my hand.


    ''My peaceful morning.''


    It''s ruined. It''s incredibly noisy.


    It seems noisier than a crowd of Chinese people.


    As the outside gets noisy, Augustoes out of the kitchen, wiping his hands.


    ''Ah, now Augustos joined in too?''


    Augusto also engages in rapid conversation with the two women.


    During the conversation, he keeps ncing at me.


    I shrugged to indicate that I couldn''t understand.


    After a moment of thought, Augusto points towards the church and says something to the younger woman.


    She quickly nods her head and then scurries off in the direction of the church.


    Is it over now?


    Hoping for some quiet, I look around and see that thedy has left, but the old woman is now sitting at the table next to me, staring at my face. Uh, this is going to ruin my breakfast. Why is she looking at me like that?


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 Chapter 116 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 116 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    <i>Bonus chapter thanks to @SomeoneRandom on Ko-fi</i>


    "It''s Father Pedro."


    When thedy returns after running towards the church, she surprisingly brings Father Pedro with her. Then, English words flow from the priest.


    Relieved to finally understand thenguage, I quickly stand up and extend my hand.


    "Nice to meet you, Father. I''m d you speak English."


    Father Pedro warmly smiles and shakes my hand.


    "A priest''s tenure is short, so I move around a lot, picking upnguages here and there."


    Picking upnguages, as if it''s that simple.


    Priests undergo extensive education.


    Many can speak Latin and Hebrew, so surely they would have formally studied English.


    There''s no way a self-taught pronunciation could be so elegant and sophisticated.


    "It''s a real relief to find someone else who speaks English apart from Monica."


    "Monica brought an Eastern person to the vige, and it turns out to be you?"


    Typical of a rural vige.


    News travels fast.


    "Yes, sorry for thete introduction."


    There''s a church in the middle of the vige, but I never thought to meet the priest. Even if I had known, I wouldn''t have visited. I''m not religious. Maybe my mother would have.


    But that''s not the issue now.


    "What exactly are these people saying?"


    Father Pedro, having heard the situation from thedy, immediately starts the conversation.


    "Are you the one who painted the mural at Sophia''s house?"


    "Oh, this is Emilia, who lives opposite the church. Thedy over there is Elizabeth."


    I look at Mrs. Emilia as Father Pedro quickly speaks and nod to both and then say,


    "Yes, that''s me."


    As Father Pedro rys my words, Mrs. Emilia and Elizabeth start speaking rapidly,peting with each other. Watching Father Pedro mediate in Italian, it seems he''s trying to calm them down.


    Father Pedro then looks at me.


    "Do you charge for your paintings?"


    ".?"


    Of course, I make a living as an artist. Oh, wait. If he''s talking about Sophia''s house mural, is he asking if I was paid for that?


    "The mural at Sophia''s house was done for free."


    As Father Pedro speaks, the grandmother pushes her way to the front, speaking rapidly. Mrs. Emilia also gestures and speaks from behind.


    Looking to Father Pedro for help, he says,


    "Both of them are asking if you could paint a mural at their houses. Is that possible?"


    "?"


    A mural?


    I''m momentarily speechless.


    Seizing the moment, two more female rappers begin their rap. Oh, my ears hurt.


    Father Pedro listens to their stories, thenughs and says,


    "Lea and Sophia came bragging this morning. They were so impressed after seeing the mural, they begged you to paint one at their homes."


    This is begging?


    They look like they''ll kill me if I don''t start painting right now.


    Hesitating for a moment, the two start raising their voices, probably arguing with each other. I can''t let this happen. I raise my hands and shout,


    "Calm down, everyone! I''ll do it, I have plenty of time, plenty!"


    As Father Pedro quickly trantes, both women break into broad smiles. I sigh and say,


    "Just tell me where your houses are, and I''ll paint them in a few days, okay?"


    Honestly, I was wondering if I should charge them. Lea''s house is a different story because of our acquaintance, but not the others. But then again, these country folks probably don''t have much money.


    Besides, I nned to set aside thoughts of money for the next three weeks. Let''s consider it a service.


    Two peoplepeting to exin the location of their homes. I held out my sketchbook, asking them to draw a map and describe the features of their houses. The priest took the initiative, first drawing a map of Mrs. Emilia''s house. After grabbing my hand several times and rapidly speaking, thedy returned home.


    Next, the priest draws a map of the grandmother''s house.


    As I nod, understanding the rough location of the houses from the maps, the grandmother hugs me tightly. Then, her wrinkly hand sneaks into my pocket and quickly pulls out.


    Watching the grandmother leave, I check my pocket and let out a hollowugh as arge apple emerges from it.


    The priest, seeing the apple, alsoughs, saying, "She''s asking to start with her house, I guess that''s a bribe, haha."


    The apple is so red, it''s hard to believe how ripe it is.


    I toss the apple like a baseball, catching it and taking a bite while watching the grandmother''s departing figure.


    Crunch.


    The flesh of the apple falls away, and the juice bursts out. It must be the tastiest apple she brought. Chewing on the apple, I grinned.


    So what if I''m being taken advantage of? It''s not like someone wealthy is trying to trick me.


    Once in a lifetime, it''s not bad to draw a picture for an apple.


    That famous Van Gogh also used to paint for a piece of bread. Who am I to say any different?


    "From this afternoon, I''ll observe the houses, and I''ll start drawing from tomorrow. Please let them know if you see them, Father. Thank you for today."


    After the priest leaves, I sit alone, eating the apple and looking at the sky.


    The apple tastes incredibly good today.


    Is it different from Korean apples, or is it just because it''s filled with someone''s care?


    While rolling the apple in my hand and chewing its flesh, I muttered softly.


    "It''s a satisfying feeling, isn''t it?"


    Thinking rationally, there''s nothing to be proud of.


    I ended up agreeing to draw three houses for free. How is that a good thing?


    But strangely, I feel very happy.


    Biting into the apple again, I smiled broadly.


    Maybe what I really want to do is this?


    Creating paintings that bring smiles and happiness to others. My paintings touching their lives and bringing joy.


    Isnt this what I truly want to do?


    Im not sure yet.


    It doesnt seem certain.


    Life is different today and tomorrow.


    But asionally doing something like this seems nice.


    After finishing the apple and wiping my hands, I stood up.


    Now, shall I go call my little assistant?


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 Chapter 116 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 116 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Late afternoon.


    Sitting on a hill with a clear view of the grandmother''s house with my assistant, Lea, I looked down at her dangling her legs off the hill and said,


    Its dangerous there,e inside. This isnt a wall, its a hill. You could get hurt if you fall.


    Lea came into my arms as I pped my hands and reached out to her.


    I sat her on myp and looked at the house.


    Did you have to brag to people? You know, because of you, I ended up volunteering for free, right?


    Lea looked up at me with a puzzled face, then burst into a smile.


    Its impossible to stay angry when a baby angel smiles like that. Not that I nned to be angry in the first ce.


    I smiled back at Lea, took a few photos, and then stood up.


    Lets go to thedys house now. Lets see how different it looks at the same time of day.


    On the way down the hill.


    I saw Monica in the distance.


    As usual, she wasing from the factory after finishing her work. We recognized each other from afar and waved. Well, Ill see her at dinner at her restaurant after observing thedys house.


    I held Lea in my arms andughed.


    Lets go, Lea. To the second house.


    **


    Ten dayster.


    Monica, with dark circles under her eyes, emerges from the bedroom provided on the fourth floor of the factory. Her hair disheveled, as she had not yet washed it, she takes out a mirror tob her hair, then goes to the bathroom to wash her face, looking at her dripping wet face in the mirror.


    "Phew, this is hard."


    It''s tough even in moments like these, when she''s fulfilling her true desires and dreams. How do people manage to live doing things they don''t want to do?


    After wiping the remaining water with her hands, Monica finishes with a towel, brushes her teeth, and begins to apply makeup. Ten days ago, the textile machines finally started arriving at the factory. It became incredibly busy, with hardly a moment to rest.


    The artisans needed to pay attention to every detail, including lighting, for their work. Especially in areas requiring long hours of manualbor, the type of lighting could significantly affect work efficiency. Monica had spent thest ten days living and working in the factory.


    Having finished her makeup and changed into new clothes, Monica, who had woken up a bit early, took a walk around the still empty factory. Although it was a daily sight, it always pleased her.


    "With a facility of this size, we could employ at least a thousand people."


    A minimum of a thousand employees.


    That would be enough to sustain the entire vige.


    And with her n to contribute a regr portion of the profits to the vige development fund, the vige would revive.


    Even though the fatigue showed on her face, Monica, with a beaming smile, had just finished her round of the factory and was looking at the outskirts when she saw cars approaching the factory. It seemed the workers were starting to arrive.


    Though technically her subordinates, the factory workers, who had grown up with her in the same vige, felt like family to Monica as she went out to greet them.


    Two SUVs arrive side by side.


    Both are familiar; one belongs to Dn, the other to Thomas.


    Both were the same age, but six years older than Monica, who often yed with her when she was young.


    As Monica walks towards the cars to greet them with a "Good morning," she pauses, seeing a group of people getting out. They were different from the usual workers, unfamiliar yet somehow familiar faces.


    Monica''s eyes tremble as she watches them.


    The people getting out of the cars are amazed at the sight of the huge factory, expressing their surprise with hugs and joy. Besides Dn and Thomas, six others had gotten out of the cars.


    Monica swallows hard.


    "Alberto, Giuseppe, Mauro, Mita''i, Christian, Federico."


    She whispers the names.


    All of them had left the vige years ago to find work in the city. Now, they were finally returning. Monica clenched her fist.


    "This is just the beginning."


    They were just the start. Although only six, it was still okay. This was the beginning. Soon, more people would return, and her beloved vige woulde back to life.


    As Monica quickly approaches, the people who recognize her swarm around her.


    "Monica! You really built a factory?"


    "It''s amazing, I had no idea it would be this big!"


    "You''ve done something great."


    The warm greetings of the people.


    Tears seem to well up in her eyes.


    Monica, her nose tingling, hugs each person, asking,


    "Did youe from the vige? When did you arrive?"


    Federico speaks up.


    "Thomas said you''ve been so busy that you couldn''t even go home and have been living in the factory for ten days. So we came here first to help out. We''re nning to visit the vige in the evening. Ah, I miss it. My hometown!"


    The peopleugh heartily.


    Seeing this, Monica bursts into tears, wiping them away as she smiles.


    "Yes, let''s all go back together. To our hometown."


    Monica, smiling through her tears.


    In the distance, several more cars approach.


    And that day, thirty people who had left the vige returned.


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 Chapter 117 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 117 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    On the way to the vige in a car.


    Monica, despite having her own car, opted to join others in an SUV.


    They were all childhood friends who yed together in the vige, and despite meeting for the first time in ten years, they seemed as joyful as if they had seen each other just yesterday. The beauty of childhood and school friends is exactly this.


    Most of the returnees were older than Monica, but they all had memories of ying with her in the forests and fields when she was younger.


    Monica took the hand of Mario, her only younger brother sitting next to her, and asked,


    "Mario, how have you been?"


    The young man, in his early twenties but already showing signs of balding, grinned widely.


    "I was in Naples."


    "What did you do there?"


    "Worked as a bartender in a bar."


    "Really? Did you get paid well?"


    "Not at all. The boss was nice, but the bar struggled, so I haven''t received my sry for thest two months."


    "That''s tough. What are you going to do?"


    "That''s life in the big city, right?"


    "Hmm."


    If he had a job with the four major insurances, such issues wouldn''t arise. But what bartender in a bar would have such coverage? It seems Mario has lost two months'' sry.


    "The others have simr stories. Everyone has missed a paycheck at least once. That guy worked in a factory and didn''t get paid for four months because some ountant or something ran off with the money. Then he worked in a fish freezing warehouse."


    The young man Mario pointed to sniffed himself andughed.


    "I took a good bath beforeing. No fishy smell, right?"


    Everyone burst intoughter.


    People who can stillugh despite such experiences.


    Others might have be despondent or angry in their situation.


    It seems the vigers, meeting after a long time, have left their unpleasant memories in the city.


    Monica smiled at Mario and asked,


    "How long has it been since you returned?"


    "For me, three years. I think I''m the one who came back the soonest. Most have been away from the vige for more than five years."


    A look of sympathy appeared on Monica''s face.


    The reason for their return was that their families were still in the vige.


    Those whose entire families moved to America or to other cities don''t return. These people work in foreignnds, sending money back for their families still living in the vige.


    Mario asked,


    "Monica, when did you arrive?"


    "About two weeks ago."


    "Have you been to the vige?"


    "Of course, I went right after arriving. Haven''t been able to recently because I''ve been busy."


    "Is the vige still the same?"


    "Yeah."


    "Ah, the same old boring vige."


    "It was fun when we were kids."


    "That was when we were kids, haha."


    The car stopped, and the young driver turned his head.


    "We''re here!"


    "Wow!!"


    "Finally back home!"


    The youngsters eagerly got out.


    Monica, about to follow, dropped her lipstick and had to search the floor for it, eventually getting outst.


    "Alright, let''s all rest today and tomorrow morning... Why are you all like this?"


    Many young people had arrived at the vige.


    They stood still, looking at the vige square visible from their location. Monica, thinking they were moved by the sight of their long-missed hometown, smiled and patted one on the shoulder.


    "What''s this, getting sentimental in your old age? Let''s go, our families are waiting. Mario, Mom must be waiting. Let''s go."


    ".."


    "Mario?"


    No response from Mario. Monica looked at his face and then quickly turned her head, having seen the look in his eyes. It wasn''t a look of sentimentality or emotion but one of clear surprise.


    When Monica turned to look at the square, her eyes widened in shock.


    "What''s that?"


    The usual view of the square was different.


    The vige square normally had Augusto''s restaurant on the right, with a butcher shop and fruit store next to it, and around the spacious, empty square was a chest-high wall.


    But now, that entire wall was adorned with huge murals.


    The colorfully radiant murals warmed the heart just by looking at them.


    Though still too far to make out the details of the paintings, the murals covering the entire square made it look like a vige of art.


    And there was another significant change.


    The vigers were out in the square.


    Parents holding their children''s hands, grandparents sitting in the middle of the square looking at the paintings, having meals at the restaurant, or visiting the market. It was an evening with at least a hundred people gathered in the vige square, a sight Monica hadn''t seen since her return.


    Monica, taken aback and unable to close her mouth in surprise, feels someone''s hand on her shoulder.


    Turning her head swiftly, she sees Alberto, six years her senior, with reddened eyes.


    "Monica."


    "Huh?"


    "You really did it."


    ".."


    "You saved the vige. I haven''t seen it like this in a long time. Just like when I was very young. Our vige was full of life."


    "But, that''s..."


    "I thought our vige was dead. I thought it was a hometown that I had to let go of in my heart. But you revived it, really."


    ".."


    "I didn''t believe Federico when he said it. But seeing it with my own eyes, I believe it now."


    Alberto turns and hugs Monica tightly.


    "Thank you, Monica."


    Other young people gather around the two, hugging them as well. Some are tearful, while others smile brightly.


    "Thanks, Monica!"


    "It''s all because of you!"


    "Finally, I can live in my hometown! I can live with Mom!"


    "There''s hope now, I think I can start over again."


    Amidst the scene where everyone adds theirment.


    Monica, who initially didn''t understand why but received praise first, ispletely bbergasted.


    ''What''s this all about?''


    It''s impossible not to understand.


    The entire vige is painted with murals, and Junghoon is the only painter she knows in this vige.


    Monica barely suppresses her surging emotions and looks back at the square again.


    ''Junghoon...''


    The person who gave her strength and hope through his portraits, and not stopping there, beautified the vige like this. Monica is immensely grateful to Junghoon.


    After gazing at the square for a long while, Monica pushes the backs of the young people and says,


    "Let''s go, it''s time to meet our families."


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 Chapter 117 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 117 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    "So, this is what Mitai looks like, huh? How tall is he?"


    I sketch on the wall of a house in a quiet back alley, looking at a photo I received, and ask Lea. As I make a gesture to measure the height, Lea brings a chair and marks a line on the wall.


    "Ah, about this tall? Not very tall, right? Okay, let''s start again."


    Lea grins broadly.


    Although her whole body is covered in paint from smiling, she looks happy.


    It''s the first time Lea has had the chance to paint pictures to her heart''s content, and her face is full of satisfaction.


    Of course, even for me, who makes a living through art, this is the first time in ten days that I have painted so manyrge murals, so it''s impossible for a child to have such an experience.


    After stirring the brush in the bucket, shaking it well, and dipping it in paint, I say,


    "Look, only a third of this house gets sunlight in the morning. You saw it too, right?"


    Lea nods vigorously and ps as I paint the light with diagonal strokes over the sketched house.


    For the past ten days, Lea has followed me around, pping and cheering every time a picture is painted. She hasn''t really been helpful, just fetching water in a bucket or cleaning used brushes, but Lea''s presence has made this tedious task less boring.


    After working all day long, I massage my neck with my left hand and turn my head.


    "Ah, I''m so tired after painting all day."


    Painting murals is different from studio work, where you adjust the height of the canvas to your eye level. Since you can''t move a mural''s canvas, you often have to paint for a long time either on adder or crouching down.


    As I crouch to paint the lower part of the flower bed, my neck and shoulders stiffen, making me move constantly. Lea, with her round eyes, sticks to my back and massages my neck with her fern-like hands.


    "Haha, that tickles, Lea. Even with your strength, the massage isn''t effective. Haha! It''s ticklish."


    Lea''s earnest massaging efforts are adorable.


    If it means having a daughter like this, it makes me want to try marriage once in my life.


    I thought I had missed the chance for marriage in this life, but now it seems like it might not be such a bad idea.


    While Lea and I are yfully painting, I hear someone speaking Italian.


    "(*&^%$%^&*"


    Huh? As I turn my head, I see ady with a tray of cookies and cool juice.


    "Ah, is this for me to eat? Thank you."


    I quickly take the tray from thedy, set it on the ground, and sit cross-legged. Lea imitates me and sits down. Westerners usually can''t sit cross-legged, but she''s young and flexible, I guess.


    Thedy who handed us cookies and juice now stands in front of the barely started painting, smiling broadly.


    She seems pleased, even though she can''t tell what''s being painted, and talks to herself. I can''t understand her words, but from her tone, it seems like she''s grateful for having a painting done on her house.


    Interestingly, Lea responds to thedy''s words and rys them to me. The problem is, she speaks and trantes in Italian. Does she think I understand?


    I chuckle at the cute child''s actions, grab a chunk of cookie, pop it into my mouth, and gulp down the juice.


    "Okay, Lea, you sit and eat the rest. Uncle will continue working. I need to go to Mn soon, and I have to finish the paintings people asked for before I leave. Let''s go."


    As I lean forward to get up,


    Thedy looking at the painting suddenly shouts,


    "Mitai!!"


    Huh? Mitai? Wasn''t that the name of the person in the photo thedy said was her son?


    I look up and see a man running from afar. Mitai quickly runs up and embraces his mother, sharing the joy of their reunion. He must have returned today.


    As I watch the reunion of the two with a contented heart, I stand up with cookie crumbs all over my mouth and ruffle Lea''s head, who is pulling up her pants and puffing.


    "Okay, first assistant. Shall we continue our work?"


    Did she understand? Lea nods vigorously and hands me a brush from the palette.


    "Great! We''ll finish everything before leaving the vige! Let''s go, first assistant!"


    The evening in the vige.


    Unlike usual, the vige buzzes with life as the dayes to an end.


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 Chapter 118 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 118 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    <i>Bonus chapter thanks to @Sany on Ko-fi!</i>


    At 10 PM, in Uncle Augusto''s restaurant.


    Monica looks on with reddened eyes at Junghoon, who appears as if he hasn''t eaten in days, voraciously consuming his meal. His eyes are darkened with exhaustion, and his clothes are sttered with paint.


    ''A dear person.''


    After returning to the vige, she first went to Junghoon''s house, but he wasn''t there.


    Wondering if he might be at Lea''s house, she found Sophia, who told her that Junghoon and Lea had gone to paint murals at a different house and wouldn''t return until around 10 PM. Monica waited outside Junghoon''s house and then dragged him to the restaurant when he returned.


    Monica, who had arranged dinner in advance at Uncle''s restaurant, which usually closes at 10 PM, watched Junghoon with her chin resting on her hands. Her eyes were full of affection and gratitude, but Junghoon, starving as he was, only had eyes for the food.


    Monica silently waited until Junghoon had eaten his fill. Finally, Junghoon stretched and patted his stomach.


    "Wow, I feel like I can live now. I missed lunch because I was working, and my stomach was rumbling like thunder. When I was younger, I used to draw for a day without sleeping or eating. But it''s getting harder as I age."


    Though not yet thirty, Jeong-hoon''s words seemed mature beyond his years, and Monica, seeing how much he had changed in just ten days away from the vige, could only smile.


    "Are you done eating?"


    "No, I''m still hungry."


    "Should I ask for more?"


    "Hasn''t the restaurant closed yet?"


    "Uncle said he could serve you even at one in the morning if Jeong-hoon wants."


    "Ho."


    Jeong-hoon winked at Uncle Augusto, who was watching from the kitchen. The uncle gave a thumbs up.


    Actually, painting the square in front of Uncle''s store was their fourth project.


    Uncle, who hade to the alleyway to deliver meat to an elderlydy with mobility issues, stumbled upon Jeong-hoon and Lea painting. After watching for a while, he brought the priest and asked them to paint in the square too.


    ''In exchange, he said the meals are free. Forever. Haha.''


    The townspeople watched as the square was painted, observing the entire process."


    "Although everyone rarely gathers at the same time, the square where the vige''s only store is located is a ce where almost everyonees at least once a day. Hence, most of the vigers have seen Jeong-hoon and Lea painting.


    Two dayster.


    People who came to see the painting and ran into others starteding to the square every evening after dinner, enjoying the opportunity to chat with many people. Thanks to Uncle Augusto, who provides free food to the financially struggling vigers, the square became more lively.


    Jeong-hoon gestured with his index finger to Uncle Augusto and said,


    "Uncle! Give me something else, please. I''m still hungry."


    As Jeong-hoon rubbed his stomach to show his hunger, Monicaughed and ordered something suitable in Italian.


    Soon, a warm pork dish arrived, and Jeong-hoon started eating heartily again with his fork. He was getting full, but he couldn''t ignore the kindness of the person who cooked thiste at night.


    After finishing the meal and as the coffee was served, Monica spoke up.


    "Ban."


    "Burp! Ah, sorry."


    Seeing Jeong-hoon covering his mouth and apologizing, Monica burst intoughter.


    "Ha ha!"


    "Ah, I''m really sorry. I was about to answer, and then I burped. I must have eaten too much."


    "Ha ha ha!"


    Monica, finding Jeong-hoon''s embarrassed face and him scratching his head cute,ughed even more because of her unstoppableughter.


    "Ah, it''s okay. It''s been a long time since I''veughed this much."


    "I didn''t do it on purpose."


    "Ha ha, I know."


    "But why did you call me?"


    Monica, still not able to stop herughter, took a breath and then said,


    "Phew! Phew! Let me calm down a bit. Phew! Why am I like this?"


    Jeong-hoon squinted his eyes.


    "I said it was a mistake. Stopughing, it''s embarrassing."


    "Ha ha ha!! Phew! Sorry."


    "Tsk."


    "Ah, Ban, you''re so cute."


    "...................."


    Monica, afterughing for a while longer, then said,


    "How did you end up painting the mural? Wasn''t it just Lea''s house?"


    As Jeong-hoon exined how painting Lea''s house led to a chain reaction among the vigers, like a domino effect, Monica listened intently, her eyes wide with interest."


    "You painted without anypensation?"


    Jeong-hoon looked at his chest and picked up a cookie crumb.


    "Not entirely withoutpensation, I did eat cookies and juice."


    Monica instinctively moved her hand towards her bag.


    She wanted to express her gratitude to Jeong-hoon for transforming her hometown so beautifully. However, her hand stopped short of reaching her bag due to Jeong-hoon''s next words.


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 Chapter 118 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 118 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    With his chin propped up, Jeong-hoon looked at the painting in the square and smiled happily.


    "I grew up poor, and I was poor when I first met you, Monica."


    That was true. The Jeong-hoon Monica had first met was a humble street painter.


    Jeong-hoon continued.


    "My life has always been about chasing money. A life struggling to escape from the grip of poverty. That''s how I''ve lived."


    "........................"


    "It''s embarrassing to say, but even when I painted your portrait, and when I painted the portrait of Madam Kang, Min-young''s mother, I was pathetically looking forward to thepensation I would receive after the work."


    "Was that so?"


    "Yes, back then, art was just a tool for me to make money."


    "........................"


    "Suddenly, I had this thought. Why do I paint? What is it that I really want?"


    "Hmm."


    "Someone once said, when you''re doing something that doesn''t pay, you shouldpletely forget about money."


    "Who said that?"


    ".......... Someone did. I can''t remember who."


    "Hmm."


    Junghoon, momentarily flustered, smiles again as he looks at the murals in the square.


    "And I couldn''t find an answer to that thought. But as I painted the murals in the vige, the answer came to me."


    "You found the answer while painting murals?"


    "Yes."


    "What is the answer?"


    Junghoon turns to Monica with a bright smile.


    "When I was young, whenever my father returned from the ocean-going fishing vessel, I used to proudly show him the paintings I had made. I filled my sketchbook and the walls and floors of the neighborhood with drawings, showing them off to Dad all day long."


    "Is that so?"


    "Yes, then Dad would smile contentedly and pat my head."


    "You must have been happy to receive praise from your father."


    Junghoon smiles and shakes his head.


    "No."


    "No?"


    Junghoon looks up at the night sky with a warm smile.


    "It seems I wanted to be afort to my father who returned from hard work. His happy smile made me the happiest."


    ".............."


    Monica feels as if she is seeing a light radiating from Junghoon''s face.


    Junghoon continues, looking at the sky.


    "I remembered that I first started painting because I wanted to keep seeing my parents, who were happy and joyful looking at my paintings. That''s what I just realized."


    Monica is speechless.


    No, she couldn''t say anything.


    Junghoon, shining brightly, said,


    "Someone once said, our job as artists is to materialize the hope and happiness in people''s hearts and apply the utility of art to their lives."


    Junghoon stands up and looks at the night sky.


    "Another person said this. Art should never be far away. It is art when the ces within my sight, within my visibility, are beautiful. I think I have been wishing for art to be integrated into people''s lives."


    Junghoon looks at the vige filled with paintings and smiles.


    "And yet another person said. A painter just paints what they see. There are keys to be found in ces and situations that other painters didn''t think worth painting."


    Junghoon turns to Monica, meeting her eyes.


    "The paintings in the vige are each of the homes that make up the vige. While I was painting the mural with Lea, the priest asked me if I wasn''t bored of just painting houses, and if I should also paint mountains andkes. I answered like this. ''I paint something new every day. And sometimes I discover things I haven''t seen before.''"


    Junghoon approaches Monica and leans on the table.


    "Through all this, I became certain. I want my paintings to make people happy and smile. That is why I continue to paint. Monica, I found the answer to life in this rural vige thanks to you, thank you."


    Monica swallows hard and looks at Junghoon''s shining face.


    ''The Star of the East.''


    Maybe she is witnessing the birth of a master who will be recorded in the pages of history?


    The birth of a giant destined to be remembered as the Star of the East, burning brightly.


    Her hand, reaching for the money in her bag, gently falls back.


    **


    One weekter.


    Finally, Monica''s factory construction isplete.


    Since then, more than a hundred vigers have returned, and the vige has be more vibrant. Those who go out to work leave in the morning, and those who remain in the vige naturally gather in the square to talk with others. Their conversations are mostly about the paintings. Or maybe about the trivial stories of their lives.


    They ask about the everyday lives recorded in the paintings of each house,ugh, and talk about their own lives. This simple sharing brings vitality to the vige.


    I''m still in the midst of working, covered in paint.


    Finally, after adding thest touch, I throw my brush into the air.


    The white and blue paint mixed to form a sky blue color spreads in circles as the brush flies through the air.


    "It''s over!"


    Finally, thest piece of work ispleted.


    Lea, who always looked sleepy in the morning but regained her energy before noon, jumps around with a big smile. The dramatic changes in the vige over the past three weeks with the strange man seem to have given the child a sense of aplishment.


    I lift Lea up high and ce her face in the sunlight.


    "Lea! We did it, right?"


    Lea spreads her hands wide and waves them wildly.


    "Ha ha! It''s finally over! You''ve done a great job, my number one assistant!"


    In the backlight of the sun, the face of a smiling angel glows brightly.


    Looking at her beautiful expression, a mix of innocence, joy, and happiness, Iugh heartily and hug her tightly.


    And then I whisper softly.


    "And now it''s time to say goodbye, Lea."


    Now, I must leave for Mn.


    To resolve the reason why I came here.


    In my arms, theughing angelic child, giggling as if tickled.


    Does the child know that our farewell is drawing near?


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 Chapter 119 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 119 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    "Ban, are you doing well with your packing?"


    "Yeah, sort of. Didn''t bring much anyway."


    Tomorrow is the day we go to Mn.


    Monica will visit the stores in Mn and then return to the vige with the factory, but today is myst day here. Before heading to the factory, Monica, who hade to my lodging with coffee, sits at the table in front of the first-floor window, looking up at the sky.


    This house bathed in morning sunlight.


    It''s notparable to my home with my brother and mom, but it''s too beautiful a ce just to stay temporarily, especially with Monica sitting there so prettily.


    Monica, pushing a cup of coffee towards me, said, "Can I have a cup of coffee before I go?"


    "Of course, this is the lodging you prepared for me. Feel free to stay as long as you like. Anyway, I have plenty of time since I''ve finished all the murals."


    As I sat at the table, Monica rested her chin in her hand and said, "You must have been busy drawing all these past three weeks."


    "Haha, yes. I think this is the first time I''ve drawn so many murals."


    That''s right.


    In the past three weeks, I''vepleted a painting in a house every day. There were days when I pushed myself to paint two houses. Of course, I''ve never finished both in a single day because it got too dark, but I still managed toplete about 1.5 houses per day.


    There are now twenty-two houses with my murals in this vige, including the one on the za.


    Now, this vige can rightly be called a mural vige due to the number of murals.


    "It seems you wouldn''t have had time to think about store design while busy with murals."


    "¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤."


    That''s true.


    I hadpletely put it out of my mind.


    It''s not that I couldn''t think about it because I was busy with murals, but rather that it just didn''t ur to me as I was immersed in other things. However, Monica seems quite satisfied with the look of the vige, understanding my situation.


    "Still, the vige has be more beautiful, and thanks to that, peoplee outside. It''s so nice to see them interact with each other like in the old days, sharing stories of their lives. This is all thanks to you, Ban."


    "Haha, well, I just wanted to paint. But Monica."


    "Yes?"


    "Now that I think about it, I don''t even know the name of your brand. What is it?"


    "Rossellini."


    "Oh? Your surname?"


    "Yes."


    "Hmm."


    Did I ask something too obvious?


    The founder of Chanel was Gabrielle Bonheur "Coco" Chanel.


    The founder of Prada was Mario Prada.


    The founder of Herm¨¨s was Thierry Herm¨¨s.


    The founder of Versace was Gianni Versace.


    Most luxurypanies are named after their founders. I think the only luxury brand I know that isn''t named after its founder is Bottega Va.


    This means "Vian workshop," and Va is not a person''s name but an Italian ce name.


    The founders were Michele Taddei and Renzo Zengiaro.


    I nodded and asked, "Rossellini''s logo is a water lily, right?" [T/N: Previously tled as Lotus, it''s actually a Water Lily]


    "Yes."


    "Do you have a sample?"


    "Yes, I do. Just a moment."


    Monica searched through her phone gallery to show me the picture.


    Previously, she only had sketches as there were no prototypes, but now that the factory has started trial operations, she had produced the water lily logo in wool. The picture showed a wool-made water lily logo that could be attached to clothing.


    "Hmm, it''s pretty."


    I wasn''t just saying that.


    I don''t know anything about fashion, so I did some studying before leaving Korea. The only brand I know that uses flowers as its main motif is MARDI MERCREDI. Despite its French-sounding name, this brand is Korean and rtively unknown abroad since it''s a newer brand and not ssified as luxury.


    Among luxury brands, Louis Vuitton and Christian Dior often incorporate flower designs, but their main brand logos are monograms and logo ys, not flowers.


    The clever Monica has used a differentiation strategy to prate the well-established luxury brand market.


    Monica, resting her chin on her hands, said,


    "The business will proceed on two tracks."


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 Chapter 119 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 119 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    "Two tracks? Does that mean there are two business areas?"


    "Yes."


    "How so?"


    Monica, removing her hand from her chin, exined.


    "Have you heard of the term ''Contemporary'' brands, Ban?"


    I have no idea. It''spletely new to me.


    "Nowadays, in department stores, there''s a separate floor for brands belonging to this category, distinct from luxury brands."


    "What kind of brands are they?"


    "They are brands that respond to current fashion trends."


    "I see."


    So, unlike timeless luxury brands, these are brands that quickly adapt to changing trends.


    "Aren''t all regr brands like that?"


    "Yes, but there''s a difference. Brands in this category are created by internationally renowned designers and,pared to ordinary clothing, are priced higher."


    "How much higher?"


    "Lower than luxury brands but much higher than regr brands. Not quite mid-range but slightly below?"


    "Hmm."


    "So, you can think of a T-shirt in this category being priced around 400,000 Korean Won."


    400,000 Won for a T-shirt?


    Indeed, considering Monica gifted me a shirt costing 1.5 million won, it makes sense that anything less would be considered mid-range or lower. Still, I can''t muster the courage to spend 400,000 won of my own money on a single t-shirt.


    "So, are you saying one of your businesses will be a luxury brand?"


    "Yes, like a sub-brand or a downgrade version."


    "Like ZEGNA?"


    "Oh, you know that brand?"


    "Ha-ha, thanks to Monica, I got curious about high-end clothes and did some research. Their menswear is of great quality and expensive, but they also operate a separate sports brand, which seems a bit more affordable."


    "That''s right."


    "Is this amon trend amongpanies nowadays?"


    "It''s been quite a while since manypanies have adopted this business strategy. For instance, Armani operates with five representative tracks."


    "Five tracks?"


    "Yes, the premier brand representing their collection is Giorgio Armani, also known as the ck Label."


    I''ve heard of that. Are there others?


    "What else is there?"


    Monica counted on her fingers.


    "Armani Collezioni caters to business men and women."


    Hmm, not sure about that.


    "Another?"


    "Emporio Armani and Armani Jeans target younger demographics."


    "Oh? I think I''ve seen those in department stores."


    "Ha-ha, and there''s also the casual brand Armani Exchange."


    "Ah, the one with the AJ logo?"


    "Yes."


    "Wow, that''s really five different business areas."


    "In fact, there are more. They also have a junior brand, a jewelry brand called Prive, and a furniture and home interior brand Casa."


    "Wow, that''s a lot."


    Indeed, I was shocked when I saw a Gi sofa at Mrs. Kang''s house. Luxury brands seem to enjoy expanding their business areas.


    But does expanding business areas like this really help?


    "I don''t quite understand. Wouldn''t it be better to focus on one thing?"


    Monica smiled and said,


    "Ban."


    "Yes?"


    "Have you ever heard of New Money and Old Money?"


    "No?"


    What''s that? Does it mean old and new money?


    Monica continued her exnation.


    "I usually avoid making ssist statements, but in business, you can''t ignore these things. New Money refers to self-made, newly affluent individuals."


    Ah, that''s what it means. A distinction between those who have been wealthy for generations and those who are newly wealthy.


    "Really? I think self-made people are more impressive than those who were born wealthy."


    Monica smiled.


    "Of course, that should be recognized. But Ban, do you know? Almost 100% of people who fail in business are New Money."


    "Really?"


    Why is that? Do the old rich have so much money that it doesn''t matter if a business fails?


    Monica continued,


    "Let''s take an example of those born into wealth. In Korea, they are called ''gold spoons'', right?"


    "Yes, that''s right."


    I was annoyed when categorizing by spoons was trendy.


    ording to the kids, I was not even a dirt spoon but someone who ate with their hands.


    Monica said,


    "In Europe, they are called Trust fund babies."


    "What does that mean?"


    "Wealthy parents set up a trust fund for their child from birth, putting money into it. They create rules so the child can''t just spend the money as they wish. The parents set these rules."


    "Rules?"


    "For example, if a mother who contributed to the fund says, ''My daughter can withdraw double the amount of money she earns from doing what she really wants to do every month,'' something like that."


    "Why would they do that?"


    I don''t get it.


    People need lump sums of money sometimes. If such rules are in ce, doesn''t that mean they can''t withdraw money?


    Monica added,


    "It''s to prevent squandering arge sum of money all at once."


    "Oh."


    "Old Money groups are very smart and cautious in preserving their wealth. New Money, who only know how to make money but not how to keep it,ck this education. That''s why most who go bankrupt in a sh are from the New Money group."


    "Wow, I didn''t know that."


    "Yes, but as a businessperson, you have to earn money regardless of whether it''s old or new."


    "That''s true."


    "So, we divide our tracks. We first establish areas inessible to New Money and attract Old Money customers. Then, weunch trendy brands that New Money will be excited about."


    "I see."


    Now I understand.


    Old rich want to be different from others.


    New rich want to be different but also show it off.


    Those wearing t-shirts with big luxury logos are mostly new rich or their family members.


    True rich prefer high-quality clothes without visible logos.


    To satisfy the different desires of these two groups, both wealthy but with varying tastes, the strategy is to go on two tracks.


    After finishing her remaining coffee, Monica spoke.


    "The store we saw together in Mn was meant for a luxury brand. And this time, when we go to Mn, I''m nning to purchase a store for the downgraded version of the brand as well."


    I see. Monica is indeed a meticulous businesswoman.


    Observing me nodding in agreement, Monica looked at me with a slight smile and said,


    "And for both of these stores, I hope Ban will take charge of the design."


    "Really?"


    Huh? It wasn''t just one?


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 Chapter 120 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 120 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    <i>1/2 Bonus chapter thanks to @SomeoneRandom from Ko-fi</i>


    After Monica left for the factory, I remained alone, still seated by the window, lost in thought as I gazed outside.


    "Monica''s brand logo is a water lily. I should draw a water lily."


    Drawing a water lily is easy.


    I had drawn one during my school days, and even received an A+ for that assignment, so I''m confident in the drawing itself.


    "But what kind of design can I make with an ordinary water lily?"


    It''s possible to draw the flower in a stylish manner.


    water lilies have broad green leaves floating on the pond''s surface, with flowers in various colors that resemble chrysanthemums blooming above them.


    The issue is that unlike a rose, which has multiple blooms attached, water lilies have blooms that are separate from each other. Being a flower that is not mboyant, it''s not an easy subject for store design.I opened my sketchbook to view the rough sketch of the store''s structure I had made during myst visit. I hadn''t measured it properly yet, but if this square-shaped store were to bepletely covered in paintings, it would need four paintings, each 3 meters high and 30 meters wide.


    Of course, depending on the store design, only parts may need to be painted, so this is considering the maximum workload.


    After sketching a bunch of water lily flowers, I fell into thought.


    "water lilies are not shy flowers. They''re more like a dignified lone crane than a flock of birds. If I just paint a single bloom, it can bring out a sense of luxury."


    But the store will look too empty. And if I add too many nonexistent water lilies, it will seem cheap. Ultimately, I need to decide on an appropriate number of water lily flowers.


    "Phew, this is tough."


    Thest remaining day.


    I spent the entire morning in the living room, pondering over water lilies.


    Skipping breakfast, and as lunchtime approached, I wasn''t very hungry.


    Then, I heard someone someone knocking on the door of the lodging.


    Knock, knock.


    Huh? Monica already went to the factory.


    Who could it be?


    There''s no use answering in English as the other person wouldn''t understand, so I just opened the door, only to find no one there.


    "What the, are there pranksters here too... Ah, Lea!"


    I thought there was no one because I didn''t see anything at eye level, but then I noticed a cute baby below, holding out a basket filled with bread.


    "Mama, mama. Bread, bread."


    "Huh? Did mom ask you to bring this to me? Wow, this looks really delicious. Did mom bake this herself?"


    Isn''t that an obvious question?


    I''ve tried all the bread from the uncle''s restaurant for three weeks. There was no bread like this. There''s no separate bakery in the vige, so it''s definitely home-baked.


    Holding the basket, I went to the table and took a bite, exaggeratedly showing how delicious it was. After giving Lea enough signs toe in, I said, "Wow, this is really good. Mom''s cooking is amazing. Lea,e in."


    Lea handed me the basket and didn''te in, instead twisting her body at the door.


    "Why, Lea?"


    Lea suddenly ran up, grabbed my hand, and started pulling hard.


    "Galleria d''arte, Galleria d''arte!"


    Gallery? Oh, does she mean the art museum?


    "Art museum? Do you want to go to the art museum now?"


    "Galleria d''arte!"


    "Alright, just let me put on some clothes."


    Right, today''s myst day here. I should go into the dream and say goodbye to Lea.


    Lea doesn''t know yet that I''m leaving tomorrow. Seeing that I understand her and start getting dressed, she''s excitedly jumping around like a happy child. I don''t know how to tell her goodbye. I hope she won''t cry.


    After quickly getting dressed and grabbing only my wallet and phone, I held Lea''s hand and headed towards the art museum.


    This ce, bathed in warm sunlight during the day, is so beautiful.


    I think I will remember it for a very long time.


    And in my life, I feel like I''ll return here at least once.


    At the museum with cute Lea, hopping and holding my hand, I bought tickets and then we went through the cave and opened the museum door. As always, music was ying and beautiful paintings adorned every corner of the museum.


    Lea ran to the central rock sofa, found a spot, and sat down.


    I slowly walked over and sat next to Lea, saying, "Do you like the museum that much? Do you know what that painting is?"


    "............................"


    Lea didn''t understand or answer, but was staring


    Lea didn''t understand or respond, but she was intently looking at the beautiful painting.


    "That''s ''The Houses of Parliament, Effect of Fog'' in London. It''s a bit of a difficult name, isn''t it?"


    A painting condensed with abstractness created by colors.


    This artwork is divided into a fewrge areas, not schematically organizing the pictorial space.


    The buildings, water, and sky be a canvas projecting tumultuous colors,


    creating an image elusive like the foggy atmosphere.


    The Victorian Gothic style of the new Parliament building seems to disappear into the mist, barely visible.


    This painting, utilizing the entire spectrum of colors, is considered an important assignment in art schools.


    I ced my hand on Lea''s shoulder and said,


    "M, who took refuge in Ennd during the war, was greatly inspired by William Turner''s paintings. That''s when his style of painting changed like this."


    Lea looked up at me with round eyes and then pointed her finger at the painting.


    "Ban, ban."


    "Yeah?"


    "Ban, ban."


    "Is it simr to the painting I did?"


    "Ban!"


    "Ha-ha, got it."


    I understand what she means. Among the paintings I made of Lea''s house, one depicted the dawn, exactly like this. It was a day when the vige was shrouded in heavy fog. Of course, my painting wasn''t as grand as this work, but it had a simr impression.


    At that moment, the painting changed, revealing a woman holding a parasol.


    Lea had been here before andfortably positioned herself.


    I smiled broadly as I gazed at the painting.


    It was time to embark on our final dream journey with Lea.


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 Chapter 120 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 120 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    A familiar dizziness.


    The sensation of being sucked into somewhere.


    Having closed my eyes to minimize the dizziness, I opened them at the sound of Lea''s voice in the dream.


    ¡°Ban, wake up.¡±


    As I gently opened my eyes, I saw Lea holding my hand and looking around. And there we were, in a beautiful garden. There was arge pond, and the garden, orderly yet not losing the vor of nature, belonged to someone.


    Lea, examining our surroundings, said,


    ¡°It¡¯s different from the forest.¡±


    ¡°Yes, this isn¡¯t a forest.¡±


    ¡°Then?¡±¡°It seems like someone¡¯s garden. See over there? There¡¯s a fence in the distance.¡±


    ¡°Really? Whose garden could it be?¡±


    ¡°M.¡±


    ¡°Oh, that gentleman?¡±


    ¡°Yes, probably the garden in Giverny.¡±


    M had lived in this house in hister years. So, the M we would meet in the dream today would be an old man.


    As Lea and I walked through the garden, she said,


    ¡°He must be quite wealthy. Are all painters rich, Ban?¡±


    ¡°Hmm, most are poor, and they usually be famous after they die. But there are those who earn a lot of money during their lifetime.¡±


    ¡°Wow, that¡¯s great. We don¡¯t even have a garden at home.¡±


    ¡°Haha, this person also lived in great poverty.¡±


    ¡°In such a big house?¡±


    ¡°Well, when he first came here, he had no money and rented the ce. Then, he saved up a bit to buy the house and gradually acquired the surroundingnd. Over more than a decade, he kept saving and repeating this process until he finally owned such arge house with a garden.¡±


    ¡°Wow! Mom always says saving money is important.¡±


    ¡°Right, Lea should also save diligently, okay?¡±


    ¡°Okay! I¡¯m going to live in a house like this too!¡±


    ¡°Haha.¡±


    Ourst walk in the beautiful garden with the adorable child.


    Normally, I would have eagerly looked for M, but I had something more important to do first.


    After briefly holding Lea¡¯s hand and admiring the beautiful pond, I spoke.


    ¡°Lea.¡±


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤..¡±


    ¡°Lea.¡±


    ¡°I know.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    Lea looked up at me with her eyes trembling.


    ¡°Dad said so. Ban is leaving the vige tomorrow.¡±


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤.¡±


    ¡°Where to?¡±


    ¡°Mn.¡±


    ¡°Will youe back after going there?¡±


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡±


    ¡°No?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Where are you going then?¡±


    ¡°Korea.¡±


    ¡°Is it far?¡±


    ¡°Yes, quite far.¡±


    ¡°How many nights will it take to get back?¡±


    Suddenly, I felt overwhelmed.


    Thest night with my father. Tomorrow, he would board an ocean-going vessel, and I had begged my father the same question.


    <i>¡®Dad, how many nights until you return?¡¯</i>


    <i>¡®Oh, about sixty nights?¡¯</i>


    <i>¡®Ugh, that¡¯s too long. Can¡¯t youe back sooner?¡¯</i>


    <i>¡®Haha, I¡¯ll try. But until I return, you have to draw a lot of pictures. When Ie home and see the paintings drawn by our second child, all my fatigue disappears.¡¯</i>


    <i>¡®Okay! I¡¯ll draw lots and wait for you! Promise toe back a few nights earlier than sixty!¡¯</i>


    <i>¡®Haha, I promise. I''ll do that.¡¯</i>


    As the memory of thatst conversation with my dad came to mind, I turned my head to control my emotions.


    After taking a moment, I forced a smile and said,


    ¡°I can¡¯t promise when, but I¡¯ll definitelye back.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°Yes, I have toe back to see our cute Lea.¡±


    ¡°You promised.¡±


    ¡°Of course!¡±


    ¡°Pinky promise.¡±


    ¡°Okay.¡±


    I pinky promised with the child.


    Lea stared into my eyes and snorted, as if to threaten that I¡¯d be in trouble if I didn¡¯te back to see her.


    ¡°You promised, for sure.¡±


    ¡°I said I understand.¡±


    ¡°Then, it¡¯s okay.¡±


    Lea surprisingly did not cry.


    I had worried she might, but her not crying somehow made me feel ironically disappointed.


    As I was lost in these conflicting emotions, staring only at Lea, she tightly grabbed my hand.


    ¡°Ban.¡±


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°Look there.¡±


    Turning my gaze where Lea gestured with her head, I saw an old man with sparse white hair and sunsses.


    Lea stammered, seemingly shocked.


    "Is, is that old man the same person from before? He''s aged so much?"


    I smiled and stroked Lea''s head.


    "We are in a dream, remember? Time flows differently here."


    Lea made a sad face.


    "Then, could I suddenly be an olddy too?"


    "Ha-ha, no, that won''t happen."


    "Thank goodness. But why is that man wearing sunsses on a cloudy day?"


    As Lea spoke, I looked up at the sky and, just like she said, it was overcast, with clouds thick enough to herald rain. I looked towards M sitting by the pond, painting, and said,


    "Grandpa''s eyes hurt, that''s why."


    Lea rubbed her own eyes and asked,


    "Eyes? Why?"


    "Well, he couldn''t see well and even had surgery."


    "Surgery?"


    Lea looked sad.


    The caring child gazed at M with eyes full of sympathy for his pain.


    I stroked Lea''s head and said,


    "He painted outdoors too much. He looked directly into the sunlight for long periods."


    "Why? Wouldn''t that hurt his eyes? Why did he do that?"


    "........................"


    I silently watched M, wearing sunsses, repeatedly moving his brush, painting.


    "The grandfather over there wanted to paint the light," I exined.


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 Chapter 121 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 121 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Lea, who has experienced entering a dream before, seems to already know that the world inside a dream is free, and she hurries over to sit next to M, who is seated in front of a pond, silently painting with sunsses on.


    Lea approaches him and stares intently at the painting, then turns towards me and waves her hand.


    "Flowers! This grandpa is painting flowers right now."


    I already knew what he was painting.


    In hister years, M left behind about 250 paintings of water lilies. It''s known that he spent hisst years in this garden, without leaving his house, focusing on painting water lilies during this period.


    ''Water lilies.''


    What would his water lilies look like?


    In fact, I already knew. His paintings are important educational materials for art students, and I had seen them repeatedly since my childhood when I was studying art.


    Just as I was about to wave back to Lea to acknowledge her, I hear M''s voice, even though he''s wearing sunsses."Marie?"


    Startled by his voice, Lea, who was near him, screams.


    "Kyah!"


    M turns his head towards Lea.


    "Marie, why are you so startled?"


    Lea backs away and runs towards me.


    "Ban! Did this grandpa just speak to me?"


    I stand in front of Lea, who is hiding behind me, clutching the hem of my clothes.


    ''A dream wheremunication is possible.''


    There are two types of dreams in this art museum.


    One type is a dream that is invisible to others. The other is a dream where you canmunicate with them.


    This dream seems to be one where I have the opportunity to talk with him.


    "It''s okay, Lea. There are dreams like this."


    Lea looks up at me, full of fear, and asks.


    "Really?"


    "Yes, I''ve had many dreams. Sometimes it''s possible to have a conversation."


    "I''m scared."


    "It''s okay, this grandpa is just an ordinary person."


    As M, who was quietly listening to our conversation, puts down his brush and looks in our direction. It''s not clear whether he can see us because of his sunsses, but he''s definitely looking our way.


    "Who are you?"


    I suddenly feel like an uninvited guest in someone else''s garden. But I''m not worried. M''s garden was a beautiful ce where many people came and went without permission.


    I speak calmly.


    "Hello, sir. I''m an art student. I stopped by while passing nearby out of respect for you."


    "Ah, I see. But I heard a child''s voice just now."


    "Yes, that''s my younger sister."


    "I see. I thought it was my granddaughter."


    I gently nudge Lea, who is hiding behind my leg.


    "Lea, say hello."


    Lea, with a face full of wariness like when she first met me, takes a step forward and speaks with a trembling voice.


    "Hello, I''m Lea."


    "Oh, hello. How old are you?"


    "Six years old."


    "You must be cute."


    I raise an eyebrow.


    ''He just said ''you must be cute'', not ''you are cute''.''


    In hister years, he almost lost his sight due to cataracts but regained it after surgery. Is it still before his surgery? Then why is he wearing sunsses?


    "I heard you''re having trouble with your eyes. Are you okay?"


    At this time, he was very famous. His reputation was such that you didn''t need to live nearby to hear about him.


    M adjusts his sunsses and nods.


    "Yes, I had surgery recently. I still can''t see things far away clearly."


    "That''s good to hear, that the surgery has been developed."


    "Heh, I''m not sure until I''mpletely cured. I''m someone who doesn''t trust doctors at all."


    "You''ll definitely get better. I know that treatment well."


    "Are you a doctor? Ah, you said you were a painter."


    "I''m embarrassed to call myself a painter. I''m just a student studying."


    "Heh, what does it matter? Anyone who paints is a painter."


    I approach him with Lea.


    Since he said he couldn''t see things far away, it''s polite to show our faces up close.


    M looks at us approaching, then seems a bit surprised.


    "Asians?"


    "Yes, that''s right."


    "Heh, I''ve seen them in Paris before. But it''s my first time seeing them in this area."


    It''s the same in every dream, Asians are considered exotic.


    "Yes, everyone looks at me as if I''m strange. In fact, to my eyes, you all look more unusual."


    "Haha, I suppose so. There should be a chair over there. Please, have a seat."


    I see a wooden chair a little distance away.


    Since there''s only one chair, I seat Leah on my knee and examine the painting M is working on.


    Leah, alternating her gaze between the painting and the pond, looks up at me with a puzzled expression and whispers.


    "Ban."


    "Yes?"


    "Red water lilies."


    Leah, having seen the fiery red water lilies in M''s painting. I quietly nod.


    "That''s right."


    Leah looks again at the painting and the pond, then stands on my knee and whispers in my ear.


    "There are no red water lilies in the pond."


    "¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤"


    I know.


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 Chapter 121 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 121 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    The current M is still without his restored vision.


    But the instinct of the painter keeps him painting. The zing water lilies he is now painting represent the world as seen through his diminished sight. He was never a painter who relied solely on imagination; this must be what he sees now.


    I gesture to Leah to be quiet for now and then speak to M.


    "It''s a wonderful painting."


    "¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤"


    M, silently staring at his own painting, finally speaks.


    "A good painter imitates nature, but a bad painter vomits it out. It seems I am not a good painter right now."


    "No, you are, sir. It is quite beautiful. But I heard rumors that you only paint water lilies."


    M looks around his garden with a smile."That''s because I don''t go out. For me, painting is just another way of writing a diary."


    M picks up his brush again and says,


    "People can only see what they observe, and they only observe what already exists in their minds. But if you can imagine it, it''s already real. Here, I observe, imagine, and paint."


    M, wearing sunsses, bathes in the sunlight.


    I suddenly worry about him. It''s a good time to rest in the dark.


    "Maybe you can paint thatter? You seem to need a rest now, sir."


    M smiles gently, looking at his painting.


    "If I were sitting in a corner writing a diary just for myself, I might."


    "What do you mean?"


    "Art is not about what you see, but about making others see. My diary is for those whoe to see my paintings. Like you, they visit regardless of the time."


    "¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤"


    His words pierce my heart.


    ''It''s not about seeing for oneself, but making others see. How simple and clear.''


    I know that too.


    But living those simple words is a hard task.


    Seeing that I don''t respond, M, sensing that I''m lost in thought, continues painting without disturbing my musings, a fellow artist''s empathy.


    After a while, I speak.


    "Sometimes I get confused."


    "What about?"


    "The painters in my world paint their inner selves."


    "Every painter paints their inner self."


    "But those expressions are not for others, but for themselves. There are many iprehensible paintings."


    "Such paintings are destined to be forgotten, aren''t they?"


    An obvious statement from someone who knows nothing about contemporary art.


    Unsure how to exin, I scratch my head.


    "Haha, indeed."


    M stops painting and turns to me.


    "Is that how art is in your country?"


    Ah, that''s how I can exin it. Since artistic exchange between East and West isn''t active during this period, if I say Eastern paintings are like that, it would make sense.


    "Simr."


    "What do they usually paint?"


    "Emotions, and they struggle to paint something invisible."


    M quietly looks at the pond andughs.


    "My friend Renoir used to say this. A painting should be joyful and pleasant. Why deliberately paint something unpleasant in a world already full of unpleasant things?"


    "¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤"


    There''s no need to deliberately paint something unattractive.


    There couldn''t be a clearer answer for me, tired of contemporary art.


    "That''s true."


    M nods deeply, looking at me for a moment. Realizing that I''m different from the artists of his age, he puts his brush on the palette and turns to me.


    "Are you scared?"


    "¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤."


    His question is vague, but I understand what he''s asking.


    Whether I''m afraid of challenging the mainstream art of my time or worried about living in poverty if not recognized.


    "I am scared. I have a family, and I need to protect them."


    M smiles.


    "A young painter should not fear mistakes. Painting, after all, is about the most absurd adventures and constant exploration. What if you wander? With each wandering, you grow. One day, that growth will lead your family to a morefortable life. Look here."


    At his words, I look around his vast garden.


    "I was very poor once. I even discarded my paintings to make money. But that only gave me a little money. The real world recognized me when I abandoned everything and created my own. It was something far from mainstream culture, and I was ridiculed. But I didn''t give up."


    Looking at the beautiful garden as I listen to his words.


    The maestro''s wise words harmonize with the beautiful garden.


    "And by not giving up, I was able to live in this beautiful house."


    I close my eyes and ask.


    "Should I do art for people from now on?"


    M is silent for a while.


    Waiting for his answer, I open my eyes to see him leaning forward.


    Through his sunsses, his eyes, hard to discern their color, look at me and say,


    "Remember one thing. To move others, you must first be moved yourself. If not, no matter how intricate the work, it will never have life."


    M gestures toward the garden and continues.


    "When you paint, there will be times when you find something beautiful. Then, erase it and repaint it several times. Erasing is the process of changing the shape and adding more toplete the beauty. Dream of painting, and while painting, dream."


    M takes my hand and says,


    "And one more thing. Never forget. A true artist is not one who receives inspiration, but one who gives it."


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 Chapter 122 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 122 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Returning to reality from a dream, I sit nkly on a rock sofa.


    Lea was next to me, but I was deep in thought, so she sat quietly without disturbing my contemtions.


    M had said a lot to me.


    He talked about the direction of my life, but also gave me words that are immediately helpful.


    "Why do you paint nature, sir? Aren''t you able to move people with your work, even if you paint in the studio?"


    "Flowers, you see. They''re more beautiful in nature, among the grass, trees, wind, and beside ponds, than when plucked and put in a pretty vase. Why bring something beautiful from its best ce to an ugly one and force it into a painting?"


    I murmured, recalling our conversation.


    "There''s no need to artificially take something from the most beautiful ce and draw it elsewhere."


    Smiling faintly at his words, I got up from my seat."I dream of painting and paint my dreams. Yes, let''s do that."


    I turned to Lea, who was waiting for me.


    A child with lovely round eyes. I smiled and gently pressed her nose with my finger.


    "Good Lea, did you wait for uncle?"


    Lea, as if tickled by her nose, rubbed it and giggled.


    "Since we greeted each other in the dream, no crying when we really leave, okay?"


    "................"


    In the dream.


    Fortunately, I was given time for a final farewell with Lea.


    Whether it was a gift from the museum or a coincidence just before leaving, I didn''t know.


    But I had enough time to talk about parting and promise to meet again.


    "Shall we go now? Since it''s ourst day, let''s walk around the vige together, Lea. We''ll take onest look at the paintings we made together, how about that?"


    Lea, not understanding the words but catching the nuance, jumped off the sofa and ran ahead, urging me to follow.


    I followed Lea''s lead, smiling and walking slowly.


    **


    The next day.


    Monica stands with a vacant face as I wait for the car to the airport in the square.


    "What is this."


    Monica''s gaze wasn''t on me.


    It was on the countless people who hade to see me off.


    The number of people who came to the square for the farewell seemed close to a hundred. Probably all the families from the houses where I painted murals.


    An olddy handed me a paper bag and said something. Monica, regaining herposure, tranted.


    "She baked bread herself. She''s giving it to you to eat if you get hungry on the way."


    "Oh, thank you, grandma. I''ll enjoy it."


    The grandmother was just the beginning.


    Fruits, cookies, pies, and drinks.


    People one after the other put homemade food in my hands.


    Monica chuckled at the sight.


    "They all say thank you. You must have formed a deep connection with this vige during the three weeks you spent here."


    How could I form a connection with people I couldn''t even talk to?


    They were just grateful, having seen my hard work while painting.


    I beamed, my hands full of food.


    "Thank you all! I won''t forget."


    Uncle Agusto personally loaded Italian cakes he had prepared into the trunk.


    I handed over the food in my hands to the driver to pack, then looked at Lea for thest time. Her family was there ¨C mother, father, and brother. Lea, trembling her eyes and holding her mother''s hand, ran to me as our eyes met.


    "Ban!"


    I knelt down and hugged Lea.


    The child''s body shudders, on the verge of bursting into tears.


    I patted Lea on the back and whispered to her.


    "Didn''t we make a promise? Not to cry."


    ".................."


    Did she understand? Lea''s body trembled, but it was evident she was desperately holding back her tears.


    I smiled at Lea as our eyes met.


    Lea, with tears in her eyes, forced a smile too.


    I wiped her eyes and said,


    "I''ll definitelye to see you again, until then, Presto, Rea, Ci vediamo presto."


    I spoke the Italian I learnedst night from Monica. In Italian, there''s a different way of saying goodbye to someone you may never see again and someone you will meet again. What I just said means, ''See you soon, we''ll meet again.''


    Lea smiled at my goodbye, but her tightly bitten lips made it seem like she''d burst into tears as soon as I turned around.


    Thinking it would be harder to leave if I saw the baby cry, I stroked Lea''s hair once more and then spoke to Monica.


    "Let''s go."


    "Yes, Ban."


    Monica was also leaving the vige for a few weeks for store construction. While she was saying goodbye to the vigers, I got into the car first and looked at Lea through the car window. The child, with her big eyes wide open, is holding back her tears with clenched fists.


    Lea probably thinks that if she cries now, she might never see me again.


    I felt a lump in my throat and a chill at the tip of my nose, but I turned away. If I show any emotion, it would only make things worse for Lea. Finally, Monica got in the car, and it was time to leave the vige for real.


    After driving a few meters, I looked back from the car.


    Lea was in her mother''s arms, bursting into tears.


    I rubbed under my nose and turned my swollen eyes away.


    Then Monica teases me with augh.


    "Wow, are you crying because you''re sad about parting with that little one?"


    "Who''s crying? I''m not."


    "I see tears, though?"


    "No, you don''t. I just yawned because I didn''t sleep wellst night."


    "Haha, Ban, you''re really cute."


    I quickly turned my head and rubbed my eyes.


    But there were no tears on my hand.


    ''Damn, no tears. Fell for her teasing, damn it.''


    I rubbed my eyes as if wiping away tears, so she''ll think I did.


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 Chapter 122 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 122 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Fortunately, Monica didn''t tease me further and looked out the window.


    After driving in silence for a while, Monica spoke up.


    "We''re almost done setting up the factory, Ban."


    "That''s right."


    "Not much time left now."


    "The day your dream bes a reality."


    Monica smiled at me as I spoke.


    "You''reing with me, right?"


    "That''s why I''m here. Of course, I''ll be with you.""Thank you, Nan."


    "I''m getting paid for this. What do you mean? You''re not nning to skip payment, are you?"


    "What? Haha!"


    "I have a lot of dependents. Now even thepany staff. If a family man goes on a business trip abroad, he should bring back loads of gifts and earn a lot of money."


    "Haha!! Don''t worry, I''ll take good care of you, haha!"


    **


    It took over five hours just to get on a ne at the airport. The vige is so remote that it takes a lot of time to get to the airport. Once the factory starts operating, we''ll probably run trucks regrly to carry goods to the airport.


    Arriving at the airport and boarding the ne, Monica said,


    "We''re thinking of setting up the logistics warehouse in Hong Kong."


    "Oh, why?"


    "There are quite a few brands that have their logistics warehouses there. It covers all of Asia. Of course, we n to have one in Italy too, to cover Europe."


    "What about the Americas?"


    "I''m looking into warehouses in Mexico."


    "That must be expensive."


    "That''s what I''ve been saving for all these years."


    "I suppose."


    MG Electronics came here for the same reason. It must have been a tough decision for a designer who used to make clothes to switch to designing electronic products, but she has done everything to achieve her dream. Such a person deserves sess.


    It takes about an hour and 45 minutes to get from Crotone''s Sant''Anna Airport to Mn''s Orio al Serio Airport. It''s a short distance, so I slept a little and woke up to find we had arrived.


    After spending three weeks in a quiet neighborhood, arriving in a bustling city makes me miss the countryside again. Other travelers seem desperate to get to Mn, but I guess I prefer the countryside to this city.


    Meeting the driver we hired in Mn, Monica said as she got into the car.


    "Let''s go straight to the store."


    "Where''s our amodation?"


    "A hotel nearby."


    "Ah, a hotel."


    "Don''t you like it? It''s a nice hotel."


    "No, it''s not that I don''t like it."


    I frown at the thought of leaving a ce where I can sit by the window at night, listening to the crickets and looking at the moon, and waking up in the morning to the quiet chirping of birds, only to live in a dry hotel.


    Maybe it''s because I''ve never been to a hotel?


    I used to go to a hotel every day when I was working on Min-young''s theater ceiling painting, but I never actually stayed there. Having never stayed in a hotel in my life, I struggled to shake off an inexplicable aversion.


    ''It''s because I''ve never been there. Once I go, I''ll probably like it.''


    Of course, it''s better than home, isn''t it?


    We''ll see when we get there.


    After driving away from the airport and arriving in front of the store, we looked around the site where workers were doing electrical work.


    Monica, wearing a mask due to the dusty air filled with coal dust from the electrical work piercing the floors and ceilings, pointed around and said.


    "The electrical and bathroom works will be finished by today. Tomorrow, we''ll start the office interior work on the second floor."


    "When can I start working?"


    "You can start working in the first-floor store from tomorrow. How will you prepare the materials?"


    "Is there an art store nearby?"


    "Yes, just a short walk from this alley."


    "Tell me the location, and I''ll prepare it myself."


    "We can do it for you."


    "I prefer to pick and choose myself."


    "Then, you''ll start from tomorrow?"


    "That''s the n."


    I''m measuring the workspace with a tape measure. Monica quietly watches me and then asks.


    "But Ban."


    "Yes?"


    "You said you hadn''t thought about the store design yet, right? Are you starting to work on the design tomorrow? Then you can do it at the hotel."


    I smiled and shook my head.


    "No, I''ve already finished conceptualizing."


    "Really?"


    I stood up from my kneeling position for measuring and said.


    "I''m going to start painting right away."


    Monica looks at me with a slightly surprised expression.


    "But you said yesterday that you hadn''t thought about the design."


    "Ha ha."


    Monica sends a doubtful nce but then suddenly bursts intoughter.


    "I see! You got some inspirationst night, right? Artists are such beings."


    Monica pped her hands lightly, thinking it was obvious.


    I quietly shook my head.


    "No."


    Monica stopped pping.


    "Not? Then how?"


    I stood in the center of the space, only painted white, and looked around the store with a slight smile.


    "Someone once said that an artist is not one who receives inspiration, but one who gives it."


    "What?"


    I licked my lips while looking at the many pedestrians walking outside the store window.


    "Those people out there. I will paint pictures that will inspire all those many people."


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 Chapter 123 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 123 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    <i>2/2 Bonus chapter thanks to everyone on Ko-fi!</i>


    Located in the Mn city center is the Hotel Gran Duca Di York.


    Rather than typical Italian architecture, this splendid traditional hotel resembles more Moran style and looks extravagantly expensive. A quick nce at a hotel reservation app shows that an average double room costs over 560,000 KRW per night, marking it as a luxury hotel.


    Monica helped me check in and then handed me the card key, saying,


    "Did you see the driver earlier?"


    "The chauffeur?"


    "Yes, his name is Marco Leonardi. Here¡¯s his phone number."


    Monica handed me a business card.


    The card had only the name and phone number, with arge gold emblem of Rossellini engraved on the back.I whistled and showed off the card.


    "You¡¯ve already started distributing employee cards."


    Monica chuckled and rummaged through her handbag before pulling out another card.


    "I have one too."


    Monica extended her card and said,


    "Marco will be your personal chauffeur while you¡¯re here. Call him and he¡¯ll be here in 10 minutes, anytime."


    "He speaks English, right?"


    "Of course."


    Monica held up the key and said,


    "Your room is 601, don¡¯t get it mixed up."


    "Thank you, Monica."


    "Call me if you need anything. I¡¯ll be quite busy with the logistics center in Hong Kong, employee hiring, and store permits while you¡¯re in Mn."


    "Sure, Monica."


    "Here¡¯s the corporate card. Use it for anything you need here, including food. Goodnight, Ban."


    "Goodnight to you too, Monica."


    After Monica left, I took the elevator to room 601.


    Upon opening the door with the key card and turning on the lights, I was surprised by the room¡¯s opulence.


    "Do we really need all this luxury?"


    The room was decorated in four colors: gold, red, green, and ck. Furniture in ck, gold wallpaper, red fabrics, and green from the nts.


    Unlike the slightly chilly countryside restroom, this ce was warm with a neat shower booth and well-stocked amenities, ensuring utmost convenience for users.


    I dropped my bags and opened the curtain covering the hotel window.


    The beautiful cityscape of Mn outside the hotel. But it felt farthest from nature.


    Standing briefly on the balcony, watching people walk down the alleys, I sighed and turned around.


    "Maybe I¡¯m just a country person at heart."


    Surrounded by luxurious carpets, crisp clean bedding, plush beds, and elegant furniture and interiors, I couldn¡¯t feel any warmth in this ce.


    "Sigh."


    Maybe a bit of fresh air would help?


    Thinking it might improve my mood, I changed intofortable clothes and left the hotel with just my wallet and phone.


    The hotel¡¯s central location meant convenience facilities were right outside. ording to Monica, Mn¡¯s famous Duomo Cathedral was just a 10-minute walk away, suggesting well-developed infrastructure for tourists.


    "I should visit the cathedral."


    It wouldn¡¯t make sense not to see it while I¡¯m here. I¡¯ll find time to visit during the day. It¡¯s toote now; I¡¯d only see the exterior.


    Walking down the bustling street despite thete hour, I stopped at a sign for Coop.


    "A convenience store?"


    Seeing ''supermarket'' written in English, I decided to buy a few things for the hotel and entered the store.


    The loneliness of a dry city life, alone in a hotel.


    Just moments ago, I missed the countryside vige, but now, just a few steps inside the supermarket, turning left. I hadpletely blown away that nostalgia.


    "Wow! Korean ramen!"


    Cup noodles. And spicy ones at that.


    "Even a nce at the cover makes my mouth water. Who would have thought, Korean ramen in Italy.


    While ramen is a bit more expensive here than in Korea, Italian products including fruits are very cheap. Seeing such low prices, I went on a shopping spree.


    Whistling with a basket in hand, I soon forgot that I was longing for the countryside just a moment ago. Since I got a corporate card from Monica, I decided to indulge myself today.


    Back at the hotel, I started with the cup ramen as soon as I boiled the water.


    With the first bite, I was moved by the taste of MSG I hadn''t had in a while. I closed my eyes, savoring the vor, and muttered to myself.


    "This is definitely the taste of capitalism."


    I guess I''m a city guy after all.


    **


    A weekter, at the Mn City Hall.


    Monica, carrying a thick briefcase, gets into the waiting car and sighs.


    "Paperwork always gives me a headache."


    The woman seated in the passenger seat with Monica turns around.


    "That''s all for the corporate permit paperwork, ma''am. You did a great job."


    "Thanks, Ci. You too."


    The woman Monica calls Ci.


    Her real name is Ciolina, and she was previously a secretary at Alessandro Cucinelli, where Monica used to work. A highlypetent woman, she had been Monica''s personal assistant and was scouted to the newpany when Monica established it.


    Ci turned to the driver and said,


    "Let''s go, to the Mn store."


    As the car started, Monica, looking tired, gazed out of the window and asked,


    "How''s the storeing along?"


    "We''vepleted the furniture orders. There are ten staff members in total, including two managers and eight full-time employees. Furniture production will take about three weeks, and delivery and instation another week. The staff are hired and on standby, ready to start any time."


    "What about the artist?"


    Ci, checking her phone for the schedule, turned with a slightly strange expression. Monica, noticing Ci''s face, asked,


    "What''s wrong, is there a problem?"


    "It''s hard to say it''s a problem."


    "What is it then?"


    Ci thought for a moment before speaking.


    "You might want to see it for yourself."


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 Chapter 123 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 123 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Monica was about to press for an answer when she remembered the city hall and store were very close, and leaned back. Ci, watching Monica, spoke up.


    "Didn''t you say he''s a highly talented painter from Korea?"


    "Yes, dubbed the ''Star of the East.''"


    "..............."


    "Ci has different thoughts, I see?"


    "To be honest, I don''t understand."


    "Haha, you won''t understand what Ban is doing halfway through. It''s normal. Please ept it."


    "Yes, ma''am."


    As the car stopped, Monica looked out in slight surprise.The store, not yet opened and still ordering its sign, was busy with construction. But the problem was the passersby, stopping briefly to look at the store before continuing on their way. Though they didn''t linger long, almost no one simply walked by.


    With curious faces, they would nce at the store, cock their heads in wonder, chuckle, and then continue on their way.


    As the driver opened the rear door, Monica stepped out and asked Ci, who was already outside,


    "What''s going on with the store?"


    "..............."


    Ci motioned with her eyes as if to say, ''See for yourself.''


    Monica frowned and headed towards the store.


    Finally arriving at the storefront, Monica looked through the window at the store and was so astonished she couldn''t evenugh.


    "What on earth."


    Blue. Everything was blue.


    The walls and ceiling, every space except the floor, were covered in blue paint. Not neatly applied, but roughly, as if elementary school kids had yfully thrown paint and then smeared it with brooms rather than proper brushes, creating aical scene.


    Ci came up beside Monica and said, "It''s a bold choice."


    "He started working alone a few days ago. But now, the entire store is being painted blue."


    Monica frowned deeply.


    It was her precious business venture, a gship store for her brand, so how could she be happy with it looking like that? Monica, scowling, stared at the store.


    However, recalling the beautiful paintings Jung-hoon had presented in Korea, including the murals he painted in the town, Monica began to think there must be some n in his mind.


    Monica, about to open the door of the store, checked through the ss to see that Jung-hoon was not inside and asked,


    "Where is Jung-hoon?"


    Ci, checking the time, replied,


    "He''s probably gone for lunch at this hour."


    "Alone?"


    "ording to the reports from Marco, the driver, they always go to eat together."


    "He eats with the driver?"


    "Yes."


    Jung-hoon is an artist.


    Not a businessman, nor a tycoon, and certainly not a noble.


    He doesn''t dine with his chauffeur as an act of patronage, but simply as eating with a colleague.


    Monica chuckled and said,


    "Call and find out where the restaurant is. I need to eat lunch anyway."


    "Sure, Monica."


    **


    "My goodness, what is this, Marco? It''s delicious!"


    "Haha, that''s not Italian food, it''s Greek food. It''s called gyros."


    "What? It''s not a taco but something else? I thought it was Mexican."


    "It does look simr, but it''s definitely Greek."


    "Now that you mention it, the dough is a bit different. Kind of like a crepe."


    "Exactly."


    I''ve been having funtely getting rmendations for Mn''s best eateries from Marco, assigned as my driver by Monica. Marco, who''s lived in Mn for over 20 years and is two years younger than me, knows every nook and cranny of this town. I realized this the day after I arrived in Mn when he didn''t even need to turn on the navigation to get to the art store.


    It''s truly fun to travel with a local friend.


    Then, Marco''s phone rang while we were eating.


    Seeing the screen, he was startled and rushed out to take the call.


    A momentter, Marco, holding his share of the food, said,


    "The secretary-general and the boss are here. I''ll eat in the car."


    "You can eat here, it''s okay."


    "I may be fine, but not in front of them. I''m just a driver."


    Hmm, Italy also can''t escape its ss society culture.


    Europe has been dividing sses between nobles andmoners for so long, so perhaps it''s inevitable?


    Watching Marco hurriedly leave, Monica soon enters. I wave my hand high to signal I''m here, and shees straight over.


    "Did youe?"


    "Jung-hoon, do you like Greek food?"


    "No, it''s my first time trying it, but it''s good. Delicious."


    "This ce is known only to the locals of Mn."


    "Haha, Marco introduced it to me. He''s a good guy."


    Nothing beats praising someone in front of their boss. Noticing a woman I hadn''t seen before next to Monica, I leaned forward.


    "Do you speak English?"


    A stern-looking beauty with sses nodded.


    "I''m the secretary-general, Ciolina. Nice to meet you, Jung-hoon."


    "Oh, you know my name. No need for introductions, then?"


    "Yes."


    "It''s almost lunch, right? Let''s order something."


    Monica nodded at Ci, who then went to ce the order. Hmm, that must be convenient. Maybe I should hire a secretary if I earn a lot? Eh, no need for a servant at my side.


    Turning my gaze from Ci, I found Monica staring intently at my face.


    "What''s up?"


    Monica seemed to want to ask something, then just smiled.


    "Just. It''s been a while since I''ve seen you."


    "Oh, Monica, you''re quite the simple one."


    "Haha."


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 Chapter 124 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 124 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    <i>1/2 Bonus chapter thanks to @alckrn from Ko-fi!</i>


    In truth, I knew why Monica hade running.


    I pretended not to know, even though I did. I thought I''d answer if she asked.


    But Monica, thoughtful as she is, didn¡¯t inquire about the paintings in the store, showing her trust in me.


    ¡°How¡¯s the hotel?¡±


    ¡°It''s great, there''s a supermarket right next to it. Can you believe they have Korean ramen? I was so happy.¡±


    ¡°Ha-ha, a few years ago, there was a craze for Korean spicy stir-fried noodles. Since then, many people have been looking for Korean ramen.¡±


    ¡°Really? That''s super spicy, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°Italians like spicy food too.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I see. I didn''t know that.¡±


    ¡°You call for a car from the hotel to the store, right? You don''t walk feeling sorry for the driver, do you?¡±


    ¡°Of course not. Marco is so observant that now when I call, he¡¯s already there.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°He''s really good at his job. Efficient and quick-witted. I''d like to take him to Korea with me, you know? He knows the roads so well, I''ve never seen him use a navigation system.¡±


    ¡°That''s good. How do you find living in Mn? It''s been a week now, right?¡±


    ¡°Honestly, at first, I missed Monica''s hometown, but then I got a taste of the city and quickly feltfortable here. I guess that''s just how I am.¡±


    ¡°Ha-ha.¡±


    I looked at Monica, who was making small talk and circling around the topic, and smiled softly.


    ¡°Thank you, Monica.¡±


    Monica paused as she was about to eat. Ci had brought her food and then sat down at a distance, so only Monica heard my words.


    Monica quietly looked into my eyes and then put down her fork.


    ¡°What are you thanking me for?¡±


    ¡°For not asking.¡±


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤..¡±


    ¡°For trusting me.¡±


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤..¡±


    I think she faintly understood.


    If I had seen a designer I hired for my first business cover the entire store in a ghastly blue paint, I would have rushed to grab him by the cor.


    But Monica didn''t say anything, didn''t ask anything.


    That was her way of showing trust in me.


    Monica looked at me silently, then chuckled and picked up her fork again.


    ¡°I was going to ask, but now I feel like I can¡¯t for the rest of my life.¡±


    ¡°Ha-ha, you were going to ask?¡±


    ¡°Maybe, when the time was right?¡±


    ¡°Ha-ha.¡±


    Monica, with her big eyes, smiling.


    I am very grateful for her feelings.


    ¡°You''ve seen the store, haven¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°I became the talk of the town there, known as the entric artist.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Didn''t you see peopleughing as they passed by the store?¡±


    ¡°I did.¡±


    I saw my precious first store be theughing stock of passersby.


    But even so, Monica didn''t ask anything.


    Understanding how significant that was, I smiled and said,


    ¡°People stop by to take pictures, and some evene in to ask me things.¡±


    ¡°What do they ask?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, it¡¯s in Italian.¡±


    ¡°Ha-ha.¡±


    ¡°Their tone seemed to ask, ¡®What on earth are you doing?¡¯¡±


    ¡°Hmm.¡±


    ¡°You probably wanted to ask something simr, didn¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°If I say yes, would you take back your thanks from earlier?¡±


    ¡°Ha-ha, no.¡±


    ¡°Then can I ask?¡±


    ¡°Of course, it''s your store.¡±


    ¡°Then I¡¯ll ask. Why did you paint the entire ceiling blue?¡±


    I propped my chin and looked into Monica''s eyes, smiling slightly.


    ¡°Let me ask you first. Why do people wear clothes?¡±


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤..?¡±


    ¡°To cover their shame? To hide their bodies?¡±


    ¡°Hmm.¡±


    ¡°The Bible says Adam and Eve originally lived naked. After eating the forbidden fruit and receiving punishment, they became ashamed and began to cover themselves.¡±


    ¡°The first clothes were made of leaves,ter evolving to animal skins.¡±


    ¡°So do modern people wear clothes because they¡¯re ashamed?¡±


    ¡°Hmm¡¤¡¤¡¤¡±


    I shrugged and continued,


    ¡°Of course, it would be embarrassing to go out naked. But is that really why people wear clothes? Especially those who wear pretty and expensive ones? I¡¯ve thought about that.¡±


    ¡°No, it¡¯s not.¡±


    ¡°What do you think, Monica?¡±


    After pondering my serious question about fashion, Monica replied,


    ¡°People tell stories with their clothes.¡±


    I smiled slightly and rubbed my thumb and index finger together.


    ¡°That¡¯s right. They express their personality, their thoughts, their existence.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s true. But what does that have to do with you painting the shop blue?¡±


    I raised my index finger and said.


    ¡°Onest question.¡±


    ¡°Go ahead.¡±


    I leaned in closer to Monica¡¯s face and asked.


    ¡°What is fashion for?¡±


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡±


    Monica momentarily lost her words.


    I looked at her and winked.


    ¡°Does it exist for the sake of extreme beauty?¡±


    After a moment of thought, Monica replied.


    ¡°It¡¯s true that it seeks beauty.¡±


    ¡°Just like art. Therefore, fashion is art.¡±


    ¡°I agree.¡±


    ¡°So, what is art for?¡±


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤.¡±


    Monica fell into thought again. After a while, she spoke.


    ¡°For people.¡±


    I snapped my fingers and pointed at Monica.


    ¡°Bingo.¡±


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 Chapter 124 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 124 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Many artists create art for the sake of art.


    Many fashion designers design for the sake of fashion.


    But all of this is wrong.


    Art exists for people. It exists so that people can see it, be moved, be shaken, struggle, be happy, or be sad.


    I nced at the car outside the restaurant. I could see Marco, who was eating in the car and ncing this way.


    "A few days ago, I asked Marco to guide me to the fashion street."


    Monica waits silently for me to continue.


    "There were so many fabulous stores. Especially, the one with the giant Medusa sculpture was really cool."


    "Versace?"


    "Yes, that one."


    "Such a cool store."


    "The mannequin in the disy window wore a ck dress with golden embroidery. The dress was really stylish."


    "That brand''s dresses have a certain chic charm."


    I nodded and tapped the table.


    "But you know, Monica, at that very moment I was looking at the window disy, a customer came out of the store. She was wearing that very dress I was looking at."


    "And then?"


    "She looked like a model. Really tall and slim. Although her face wasn''t my type."


    "Haha, not critiquing her looks, are you?"


    "Of course not."


    "So, what happened then?"


    I leaned my chin on my hand and grinned.


    "Ipared the dress in the window with the one she was wearing. No matter how good the figure, it can''t be as perfect as a mannequin, right?"


    "Hmm, true."


    "But that dress looked most beautiful when worn by a person."


    "Hmm."


    "Someone once said that flowers are most beautiful in their natural environment, among grass and trees, by the wind and the pond, rather than plucked and ced in a pretty vase. There''s no need to forcibly paint something already beautiful in an ugly ce. Same goes for fashion. Clothes look most beautiful on people."


    "That''s a good point."


    I smiled and tapped the table again.


    "What''s the logo for your brand, Monica?"


    "Water lily."


    "Where do water lilies look most beautiful?"


    "..............."


    Monica falls silent. After a moment of thought, her face brightens.


    "The pond! My goodness, Ban! You''re transforming the entire store into a pond!"


    "Correct."


    Monica, realizing that I''ve been thinking about fashion and humanity in my designs, beams with joy. I smile broadly and say,


    "Right now, we''re theughing stock because of the ridiculous groundwork. But so what? As long as we get attention. People already seem curious about what kind of store will emerge."


    If the absurd work ends up being absurd, it would be foolish. But if a meticulously calcted process looks absurd in the middle, that''s not a problem at all. Monicaughs heartily and gives a thumbs up.


    I say to her,


    "Water lilies are beautiful next to the verdant pond. Why bring something beautiful to an ugly ce to force it into a painting?"


    "Exactly, Ban. I''ve always had faith in you."


    "Faith? As if. You asked me with your eyes several times. I spoke up first because I had to."


    "Haha!! Seriously!"


    Monicaughs so hard she clutches her stomach.


    Ci, unable to hear our conversation from afar, looks at us curiously.


    I give Ci a sly smile, then turn to Monica.


    "Just wait, I''ll change those mocking nces into awe."


    Monica stopsughing and gazes at me intently, smiling.


    "I''ll always believe in you, Ban, as I always have."


    **


    A few dayster, on the streets of Mn.


    Two young women, arm in arm, walk down the street.


    "Rafae, let''s go this way this time. I heard Prada''s new collection just came out."


    "Sure, Katie. But this area feels a bit barren. No fountains around?"


    "Because it''s inside. There are some in the central area."


    "Really? Then let''s walk that way."


    "Okay."


    The two women, Rafae with long brown hair and Katie with short ck hair, attract the gazes of many men as they walk, their beauty undeniable. As they stroll, enjoying the attention of passersby, they suddenly stop.


    Rafae, with eyes wide, exims in awe.


    "Wow."


    "What''s that? It''s so beautiful."


    The ce they are looking at.


    A store under construction, without any sign.


    It resembles a serene, blue, gently rippling pond.


    The ceiling and walls create an illusion of being surrounded by water.


    Then they overhear the conversation of two male passersby.


    "Just a few days ago, it looked bruised and unsightly, but it has suddenly changed. Art is truly amazing."


    "The people who were mocking it on social media have gone quiet. I saw it this morning; even though the construction isn''t finished, many are curious about what brand it is and are asking."


    "What brand is it?"


    "I don''t know, there''s an Asian inside painting, but he doesn''t speak Italian."


    "An Asian?"


    "Seems like a painter."


    Hearing this, Rapha and Katie exchange looks, their eyes brimming with curiosity. The two, with identical inquisitive expressions, exim simultaneously.


    "Let''s take a photo!"


    "Then post it on social media quickly! Won''t it get a lot of likes?"


    "Let''s try to include the Asian painting flowers inside in the photo."


    "Could he be famous?"


    "Of course! Who else could fill this entirerge store with water? He must be a famous painter! Let''s take the photo quickly!"


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 Chapter 125 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 125 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    On a national road in southern Italy.


    Vehicles covered in dust travel through a beautiful natural environment, with farnds on both sides.


    The words ''Vogue Italia Press Vehicle'' are prominently marked on the exterior of the vehicle.


    A young man in the driver''s seat fiddles with a camera on the passenger seat, remarking, "Why would they build a factory here, in the countryside? It''s not even suitable for a logistics center, and delivery must be costly."


    Looking in the rearview mirror, he sees a woman in horn-rimmed sses on aptop in the back seat.


    "We''re about to find out. We''re dealing with Monica Rossellini. She''s the reason Alessandro Cucinelli''spany became the giant it is today. The editor-in-chief told us to thoroughly investigate, so that''s what we''ll do."


    Pushing her sses up, the woman res at the driver, "You didn''t leak information to your journalist friend again, did you?"


    The driver hastily denies, "No, it''s alreadymon knowledge in the industry. Isabe, you''re too suspicious."


    Isabe kicks the back of his seat, "Suspicious? It''s a fact. Rememberst time you spilled our article source over drinks with a friend, Romano?""Ha, that was years ago. Let it go," Romano pleads.


    "Don''t you dare let our story get scooped, or you''re dead," she warns.


    Romano retorts, "It''s not me! Plus, everyone knows Monica''s moves in the Italian fashion industry!"


    Isabe falls silent, conceding Romano might be right, and looks out the window.


    "There''s a story here," she muses. "Monica returned from Korea tounch her brand, choosing a factory in a rural southern vige. There must be something hidden. Smells like a juicy story."


    Romano, joking about the smell, then notes the vige, Roseto Valfortore, approaching.


    Isabe examines the vige information, "It''s a rural vige in Apulia, 54km from the capital, mostly agricultural, suffering from poption decline for 50 years. Despite offering 5000 euros and free houses for settlers, the poption fell below 900. It''s a hopeless vige, likely a ghost town now."


    Romano, looking at the scenic but outdated vige, listens as Isabe continues, "If people didn''t return because they disliked farming, perhaps they''ll return now with the textile factory."


    Stepping out of the car, Isabe and Romano are surprised. The vige, bustling with people and adorned with beautiful murals, contradicts their expectations. Romano marvels at the vibrant square, filled with about 100 people engaging in various activities.


    Isabe, puzzled, wonders, "A ghost town?"


    Romano reassures her, "No."


    As Isabe spectes about the vige''s transformation, Romano learns from a call to theirpany that the vige is indeed Monica''s hometown.


    Isabe licks her lips, sensing a great story, "People love a good story. A businesswoman sacrificing profit for her hometown''s revival. This could be a hit, especially with the vige so lively. If true, this story will be a smash."


    Romano''s eyes light up at the prospect of a scoop. Hements on the murals, which weren''t mentioned in their research.


    Isabe admires the impressive murals, "These beautiful paintings depict the vige. You can see how the vige changes throughout the day."


    Wondering if Monica is responsible, they continue to explore the vige''s newfound vibrancy.


    ¡°They might have done it as part of a vige reconstruction project, hoping that those who left the vige would return.¡±


    ¡°Let''s dig into it.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    The two of them slowly walked towards the restaurant in the square.


    As the unfamiliar faces appeared, the locals, who knew most of the people around, cast their gazes at them, but Isabe, with her typical journalist''s sly smile, nodded her head in greeting as she sat down in the restaurant and raised her hand to order.


    ¡°Here! Two espressos, please.¡±


    A familiar face peeks out from the kitchen, it¡¯s Mr. Augusto.


    He looks at the strangers for a moment, then brings the coffee on a tray to the table, saying,


    ¡°Hello there, wee to our vige.¡±


    ¡°Oh, thank you.¡±


    ¡°Travelers?¡±


    Romano quickly pulls out a business card.


    ¡°Journalists.¡±


    ¡°Journalists?¡±


    ¡°Yes, we came to cover the story after hearing that Monica Rossellini set up a factory here.¡±


    ¡°Oh, that.¡±


    Isabe quickly pulls up a chair and says,


    ¡°Can we talk for a bit?¡±


    After checking the restaurant situation, Mr. Augusto nods his head.


    ¡°Well, I can spare a moment.¡±


    Isabe opens herptop and asks,


    ¡°Thank you, I heard this is Monica''s hometown.¡±


    ¡°That''s right, she was born here and lived until she was sixteen, then moved to Florence.¡±


    ¡°Do you know why Monica specifically chose her hometown to set up the factory?¡±


    Mr. Augusto smiles warmly.


    ¡°Monica always wanted to rebuild her hometown. She didn''t intend to turn it into a bustling city but hoped for a lively vige like it was when she was a child, where people who left could return.¡±


    Isabe and Romano nod at each other, their assumption confirmed. Isabe clenches her fist under the table.


    ¡®Yes! This is a scoop.¡¯


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 Chapter 125 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 125 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    A fashion brand CEO striving to revive her hometown. Even the brief description would attract people''s interest. In Italy, which is bing increasingly urbanized, such heartwarming news is hard toe by.


    Isabe, gesturing at the square''s mural, asks,


    ¡°Did Monica paint that mural too? Considering she graduated from the Florence Academy of Art, it''s understandable she has the skill.¡±


    Mr. Augusto waves his hand at the mural.


    ¡°That? No, Monica didn¡¯t paint that.¡±


    ¡°So, was it painted by another artist at Monica¡¯s request?¡±


    Mr. Augusto tilts his head, pondering for a moment.


    ¡°Well, it''s a bitplicated.¡±


    ¡°We have plenty of time. Please take your time to exin.¡±¡°Well, it was indeed painted by an artist Monica brought here.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°But Monica didn¡¯t ask him to do it. The artist just painted it.¡±


    ¡°For free? Such paintings?¡±


    Isabe and Romano simultaneously turn their gazes to the mural. Arge mural in the style of the Impressionists. It was not the work of an amateur who wanders around painting murals for free.


    Mr. Augusto says with augh,


    ¡°He was given bread and fruit as a gift, but yes, he painted it for free. And it''s not just that one.¡±


    Isabe turns her head sharply towards him.


    ¡°Not just one?¡±


    ¡°There are over twenty paintings in different locations.¡±


    ¡°Twenty? Large murals like that one?¡±


    ¡°Smaller than that one, but they¡¯re quite big too. Like that one, they change with the time of day, capturing thendscape of the house. You should take a look around before you leave.¡±


    As a customer in the restaurant raises their hand, Mr. Augusto stands up.


    Isabe, still staring at him, quickly tells Romano,


    ¡°First, take photos of the square''s mural.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    Romano goes to the center, asks the ying children for permission, and takes photos of the mural from the best angle. Isabe finishes her coffee quickly, pays, and leaves the restaurant.


    ¡°Before we go to the factory, let''s see if there¡¯s anything we can use for the article around the mural.¡±


    Romano, checking the photos he took, exims,


    ¡°Wow, what is this? It¡¯s as if M himself was reincarnated and painted this.¡±


    ¡°M?¡±


    ¡°Look, doesn¡¯t it resemble the style of the Impressionists?¡±


    Isabe, not entirely unimpressed, had brought Romano as a photojournalist. He was among the best at Vogue Italy, capable of taking photos that could grace the cover of any magazine. The photo on the screen, with the mountains and cathedral in the background, was no exception.


    ¡°Let''s check out the other ces too.¡±


    The two disappear down the side street next to the cathedral in the square.


    Shortly after, they reappear in the square.


    Romano, his face full of admiration, checks the photos on his camera''s LCD screen and says,


    "In my career as a journalist, I¡¯ve been to many mural viges, but this is the most beautiful one I''ve ever seen. It could be developed into a tourist spot. There isn¡¯t a single ce here that isn¡¯t beautiful."


    "We don''t have any lodging facilities."


    "If it bes a stopover on the way to the south..."


    "That¡¯s a good idea. We¡¯ll include that in the article."


    "Hehe."


    As they head back towards the restaurant, Isabe murmurs,


    "But who could it be? A painter capable of such work. Do you have anyone in mind?"


    "Not at all. Nowadays, artists aren''t interested in beautiful paintings."


    "Hmm."


    Uncle Augusto, smiling as if asking if they had seen everything, waves at them. The two rush over and ask,


    "Master, do you know the name of the artist who painted the murals?"


    Uncle Augusto raises his thumb and says,


    "Ban, the artist Ban from Korea."


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 Chapter 126 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 126 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    <i>Bonus chapter thanks to everyone on Ko-fi!</i>


    In Mn, Italy, on the Quadrtero street.


    Two journalists who had photographed every mural in the vige and covered thepleted factory appeared in Mn. Romano, apparently weary from the long journey, spoke with a tired look.


    "Ah, thinking about going to Rome where our head office is after finishing the report here, it seems like a dark road ahead."


    "For a scoop, a journalist must go to the ends of the earth."


    "Yes, yes. I get it."


    Watching the bustling crowd of Mn, so different from the quiet countryside, Romano asked.


    "The vigers seemed to really like that Ban guy, right?"


    "Mm."


    "I heard he''s Korean."


    "Yeah."


    "It seems the perception of Koreans has improved a lot. When I was young, back in the 2002 World Cup, there was a huge fuss when Italy lost to Korea. That Ahn guy, the yer from Perugia, had his car smashed, couldn''t enter the country, and had to flee to Japan. You know about it?"


    "No idea, I''m not interested in football. But Korean culture is popr these days. Music, dramas, and movies especially. Korea''s sweeping the Oscars now."


    "Hmm, that''s true. Definitely emerging as a cultural powerhouse. But it''s different in the art world. A Korean painter? Never heard of one."


    "True, in the ssic arts, we''ve only heard of Korean pianists. I''ve never heard a Korean name in the art world."


    "If a good painting came out by chance, but you''ve seen it yourself, right? Those vige murals. Not a single one was painted carelessly. Each one was a masterpiece. The whole vige looked like an art museum."


    "I felt the same way."


    "With such a person in charge of the store design, it''s naturally smelling like a scoop, right? Heh, how many scoops in one trip, this is."


    "We have to release them all at once. It''s trouble if someone else gets the wind of it first. Don''t expect a series."


    "Hey, we can still release a separate article on the rural vige."


    "Do journalists look like fools to you? Someone will surely catch the scent soon. We have to be the first."


    "Mm, a shame, but can''t help it. Oh? But it seems like something''s going on over there?"


    At Romano''s words, Isabe, who turned her head, saw a building where many people had gathered.


    "Did a fire break out?"


    Romano browses on his phone and then wrinkles his eyebrows.


    "Just a moment. Isn''t that the main store of Monica?"


    "What?"


    "Let''s hurry over there, if so many people are gathered, it means something''s there. We might lose the scoop if we''rete."


    Before he finished speaking, Isabe was already running.


    "Run!"


    The two people squeezed through the crowd.


    After twisting and turning to get through, Isabe gasped at the sight of the store that finally appeared before her eyes.


    "What is this?"


    Romano, who arrived a bitter at the front, habitually clicked his camera shutter frantically more than twenty times in rapid-fire mode, unable to take his eyes off the sight of the store.


    "A pond has appeared in the middle of Mn..."


    **


    Monica''s secretary Ci did not have a great first impression of Jung Hoon.


    Although he seemed kind and nice, his reliability as a work partner was doubtful, especially with such bizarre initial work, causing trust to be very low.


    However, she was astounded by Jung Hoon''s work once the process passed 50%. Her astonishment soon turned into respect for Jung Hoon.


    Ci, sitting on the floor next to Jung Hoon who was painting a mural, asked.


    "Ban, aren''t you hungry?"


    "Oh, Ci. Now that you mention it, I am a bit."


    "Should I get takeout if you''re busy?"


    "Mm, that''s fine too."


    "You seem to need a break. How about moving to a restaurant and eatingfortably?"


    Jung Hoon paused to think for a moment, then finally put down his brush and smiled.


    "That sounds better. Where''s Marco?"


    "In the parking lot."


    "Then I''ll be back. Aren''t you eating, Ci?"


    "I''m fine, go ahead."


    As Jung Hoon exited through the back door, Ci nced at the crowd outside the store window, gathered to admire the painting.


    It''s been like this since the morning.


    When he first started applying the bright blue paint, people ridiculed it as tacky, but when the painting transformed into a pond, their eyes widened in amazement, and now theye to watch every day.


    "Among them, there are journalists, fashion people, influencers."


    Ci, after a moment''s thought, walked towards the door with a click of her heels, opened it wide, and called out to the pedestrians.


    "You cane in and look around! But, please do not touch the walls. The paint is still wet."


    Upon her invitation, the people at the front surged into the store.


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 Chapter 126 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 126 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    The two journalists, pushed in by the crowd, paid attention to Ci, who stood a bit away from the busy onlookers.


    "Excuse me."


    Romano, who had a cold appearance, approached Ci, but retreated immediately upon catching her stern gaze.


    Instead, Isabe stepped forward.


    "Hello, I''m Isabe Boni from Vogue Italy."


    Ci''s eyes sparkled.


    ''As expected.''


    Straightening her posture, Ci said,


    "I am Ciolina, the head secretary of Rosellini."


    "Yes, Madam Secretary. May I ask you a few questions?"


    Ci, realizing the importance of marketing and publicity in a situation where even heavy advertising investment might not be effective, agreed readily.


    "Of course."


    "On my way here, I noticed crowds gathering like clouds. When did this scene start to unfold?"


    Ci, observing people closely inspecting the paintings, smiled slightly.


    "It started ten days ago."


    "Ten days ago?"


    "Yes, back then, many people mocked us."


    Isabe looked surprised.


    "Who would mock such paintings?"


    "Initially, it wasn''t like this. As you can see, unlike now where both the ceiling and walls have be like a pond, back then, it was just a mess of dark blue paint smeared everywhere. I even heard passersby saying things like this."


    "What did they say?"


    "It looks like Mn has developed a bruise."


    "Really? Haha."


    "But now, many peoplee to see it."


    "Right, this is Rosellini''s gship store, isn''t it?"


    "That''s correct."


    "In fact, beforeing here, I finished covering the Roseto Valfortore vige and factory site."


    "Oh, I haven''t received any reports about that."


    "Yes, since we didn''t have permission for a factory tour yet, we only took exterior shots."


    "If you leave your business card, I will arrange for a tour and coverage of the factory''s interior."


    "Thank you. When is the official opening?"


    "We n to start with a VIP pre-opening once the prototypes are ready, which should be in about a month."


    "May I ask about Ban, the artist who painted these?"


    "I can tell you what I know."


    "I haven''t heard of Ban in the art world; is he a famous artist? His work is quite remarkable."


    After a moment of thought, Ci spoke.


    "ording to CEO Monica, he is very famous in Korea."


    In truth, Ci only knew a few things about Jung Hoon''s activities in Korea from Monica. While these weren''t enough tobel him a famous artist, promoting Jung Hoon''s fame here would elevate her brand''s value, so she embellished a bit.


    "He has not only exhibition experience but has also coborated with MG, a well-known Korean electronics brand in Italy, on refrigerators and other products."


    "The MG Electronics? It''s quite famous even in Rome."


    "Yes, that''s right."


    "Ah, are you referring to that refrigerator that looks like it was painted in the style of Alphonse Mucha?"


    "Yes, the Belle ¨¦poque."


    Isabe and Romano nodded, recognizing the fame of the artist. Recently, MG Electronics'' Belle ¨¦poque,unched in Italy, received high acim from the art-loving nation, bing a hot topic. Introducing him as the designer of that refrigerator meant there would be few who didn''t know him.


    "Indeed, you''ve brought on board an artist with as much talent as experience. How did you connect with a Korean artist?"


    "Didn''t you know that Monica worked for MG Electronics in Korea?"


    "Oh! That''s right. So, did Monica discover this artist?"


    "You could say that. He wasn''t famous before."


    Isabe''s eyes sparkled.


    The story of a connection between a brand CEO and a famous artist was fascinating.


    "Could you tell me more about that story?"


    Ci pushed up her sses and smiled.


    "Certainly."


    **


    In the store at night.


    Like in Korea, where he had the help of YoungJoo and otherpany members, Ban had to work alone from start to finish. He often workedte into the night.


    After other employees had left and the onlookers had disappeared, only Ban and Marco remained in the store.


    "Marco."


    "Yes, Ban."


    "You must be tired, go ahead and leave. It''s only a 15-minute walk to the hotel."


    "Then I might get fired."


    "I''d feel bad about that."


    "This is my job. And I consider it a privilege to watch you work. It''s not tiring at all, so take your time."


    "Thanks for saying that."


    While talking, Ban continued to paint a red water lily, twisting his body this way and that to examine it from different angles. Initially, he wanted to paint the water lily in oil, but worried that the fragile oil paint might deteriorate if identally touched by customers.


    Thus, he chose acrylic paint and nned to apply a gloss varnish instead of a matte one to give the pond a shimmering effect when hit by sunlight, also protecting the painting from deterioration.


    Marco, sitting in the center of the store, gazed at the entire painting in awe.


    "It feels like being in a huge pond, Ban. You are truly amazing. What do you think of it yourself?"


    Ban put down his brush, walked to the center, and looked at the painting with a broad smile.


    "It''s moving."


    Marcoughed loudly, thinking it was a joke.


    "Haha, what a joke."


    "It''s not a joke."


    Ban smiled widely, folding his arms.


    "To move others, one must first be moved themselves. If not, no matter how intricate the work, it will never possess life."


    Hearing my words, Marco winks and gives a thumbs up.


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 Chapter 127 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 127 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Ten dayster, I reported to Monica over the phone that the painting in the store waspleted.


    Monica, who had been busy traveling between the south, Mn, and Rome due to external schedules, arrived in Mn that evening after receiving my call. Having been waiting in the store before Monica''s arrival, I stood up from my seat when she finally enteredte at night.


    ¡°Monica.¡±


    ¡°Ban, I''m sorry I''mte. The airport was unexpectedly crowded, and it took longer.¡±


    ¡°That''s okay, it''s been a while since west met.¡±


    It had been fifteen days since Ist saw Monica.


    Since ourst conversation, Monica hadpletely trusted me. Despite the store design being a concern, she never visited and continued with her work.


    Monica brought two wooden chairs used by construction workers and created seating in the center of the room.


    ¡°Sit down, Ban.¡±¡°Okay.¡±


    Monica saw the finished painting for the first time.


    She stared intently at the water lilies in the pond, a smile spreading on her lips, clearly pleased with it.


    I silently observed the painting I created with Monica for a while.


    White clouds and willow branches reflected in the pond with water lilies floating on it.


    The painting focused on the scene of the water surface where the sky and water lilies seemed to merge.


    Instead of separating the sky and pond horizontally, I painted clouds, trees, and water lilies as if they coexisted on a vertical ne, gradually dismantling the figurative forms so that only the traces of paint, that is, the colors, remained on the canvas.


    This painting started from recognizing the importance of tness as an essential attribute of painting and the significance of color, which had been considered secondary to line.


    And thispleted painting remained a significant impression in my art life.


    Could it be called the first painting that moved me?


    I had never used the word ''work'' for my paintings, but this one was different. If someone were to ask me at this moment what my masterpiece is, I would talk about this store without hesitation.


    I smiled and nodded, looking at the painting while Monica nced at my profile.


    ¡°What''s up?¡±


    ¡°Ban.¡±


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°You seem different.¡±


    ¡°My face?¡±


    ¡°No, the atmosphere.¡±


    ¡°Maybe it''s because of the night?¡±


    ¡°Maybe.¡±


    ¡°Do you like the painting?¡±


    Monica smiled and winked.


    ¡°I was already satisfied before the painting was finished.¡±


    ¡°Don''t be biased, and put aside our friendship.¡±


    Monica showed her phone.


    ¡°Do you think I''ve been too busy to care about the store design?¡±


    I chuckled, looking at the phone she was shaking.


    ¡°Did Ci report to you?¡±


    Monica shrugged.


    ¡°No?¡±


    ¡°Then?¡±


    Monica unlocked her phone and showed SNS.


    She showed a post where someone had uploaded a photo of the store and smiled broadly.


    ¡°The most talked-about store in Mn right now. It''s already attracting attention even without any advertising. The fashion industry is the most sensitive to trends. Did you really think I wouldn''t check SNS?¡±


    I looked at the SNS post in Italian with wonder.


    Seeing such a post in Korea would be surprising, but to have my painting on a foreigner''s SNS felt like a new experience.


    I smiled and nodded.


    ¡°Monica will do well.¡±


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡±


    ¡°More people will return to your hometown, and your brand starting from this store will surely be a global brand.¡±


    ¡°It sounds like a farewell.¡±


    ¡°It''s time for me to return, my work here is done.¡±


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡±


    It''s time to go back home.


    My few months in Italy felt like a dream.


    Meeting little Lea in a rural vige, visiting the art museum with her to meet the master M, painting murals in the vige, and then designing a store in Mn. So much happened, but the time that passed was just over two months.


    "I hope there''s another chance toe back to this country someday. I''d also like to visit Monica''s hometown again."


    "You should stay for the brandunch event."


    "Theunch?"


    "Yes, the prototypes have started toe in. We n to open the store within a week at least. Actually, if it weren''t for the dy inpleting your painting, we would have already been ready with the furniture set up and the staff hired."


    "Oh."


    "You haven''t had a proper vacation since you''ve been here. How about traveling around until theunch event?"


    "In Italy?"


    "Yes. Many people visit Italy, but they usually stick to big cities like Rome and Mn. However, that''s not the real Italy. The real Italy is in the countryside."


    Hmm, this is something an Italian celebrity working in Korea said on a TV show too. The real Italy isn''t in the big cities. Since I didn''te here with a fixed schedule and it wouldn''t be a problem to stay longer if mypany allows it, why not? When else would I have the chance toe to such a faraway country?


    Just as I was beginning to be swayed, Monica made a decisive suggestion.


    "We should also visit Florence, right?"


    Wow, Florence.


    The city of art.


    A city I''ve wanted to visit at least a thousand times. Along with Vienna, Austria, it''s one of the cities I''ve most wanted to see.


    "Florence..."


    "Yes, don''t you want to go there?"


    "Well, I do, but I''m worried about mypany."


    "But Director Seo Youngjoo is there. Director Seo can handle things well even without Ban."


    ¡°Then, may I call and get back to you?¡±


    ¡°Of course, and also, don¡¯t worry about the expenses for the trip. We¡¯ll cover it.¡±


    ¡°But it¡¯s a personal trip, I can¡¯t ept that.¡±


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 Chapter 127 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 127 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Monica nces over the painting that covers the entire store and smiles.


    ¡°Think of it as a bonus then. The owner is very pleased with the painting.¡±


    Monica¡¯s appreciation is felt. Probably Youngju will also agree to this. If I go to theunch event, I¡¯ll probably get photographed by journalists, and there will be a lot of material that can serve as references for thepany, so it aligns with Youngju¡¯s reasons for sending me here.


    I stood up, rummaged through my bag for my phone, and then, gesturing towards the store¡¯s exit, said,


    ¡°I¡¯ll step out and call Korea for a bit.¡±


    ¡°Alright, spend some time with me tonight. Let¡¯s have a drink, it¡¯s been a while.¡±


    ¡°Sounds good.¡±


    I left Monica alone and went outside to make a call to Korea.


    **After Jung Hoon left, Monica, now alone, looks at the paintings in her store, her eyes quivering.


    ¡°Such beautiful paintings. They''re almost too good for my store.¡±


    Impressionism mixed with Abstract Expressionism, perhaps?


    Jung Hoon had captured the pond, sky, and reflections on the water, transforming the entire store into a beautiful, sunlit pond.


    ¡°It should have gone to an art gallery, not here.¡±


    Despite feeling it¡¯s a waste, Monica was paradoxically moved that her store can be so beautiful.


    Willow trees over the pond, flowers of the season.


    Some flowers are white, others are red, and there are also purple ones.


    Then, amidst them all, a flower stands out, far yet with an overwhelming presence.


    ¡°The ck water lily.¡±


    ck water lilies don¡¯t exist.


    Well, with the advancement of gic engineering, they might be artificially made, so it¡¯s not entirely non-existent or impossible.


    The floating water lily, like a water poppy, is abstractly painted due to the instantaneous capture effect of light on the subject. The ck water lily is at the center of the store design. The overflowing colors of the pond! At this moment, she feels as if she''s in M''s garden in Giverny, by the pond.


    M¡¯s garden, with annual and perennial nts nted alternately, allowed flowers to be seen all year round. The various colored flowers blooming in each section looked like a palette. Hence, another name for his garden is ¡®The Garden of Palette¡¯.


    Monica, examining the painting and feeling moved every moment, nces outside at Jung Hoon who is still on the phone with Youngju.


    ¡°The only person with the eyes of a god.¡±


    Modern painters no longer care about beauty. They endure new and strange things in reflecting on their inner selves and expressing emotions. In this era,ndscape painting, especially of nature, can easily be seen as low-level art.


    ¡°Like a painter from the 18th or 19th century dropped into the modern day?¡±


    It¡¯s not just an offhand remark.


    Not only Monica herself, but Minyoung has also made simrments about Jung Hoon''s paintings being reminiscent of past masters.


    Monica''s gaze returns to the painting.


    Just looking at it brings warmth and happiness.


    A painting that makes one long for a moment of rest in that ce.


    Monica has always loved water lilies since she was young.


    The flowernguage of water lilies is varied.


    There are pure feelings like simplicity, innocence, and purity, but also mysterious, dream-like meanings.


    White water lilies mean ¡®Your love is pure¡¯,


    Yellow ones mean ¡®You are without coquetry¡¯,


    And red water lilies epass ''Your love is unknowable.''


    The reason she chose water lilies as her brand''s logo was not only because they are her favorite flowers but also because they convey so many messages.


    People express themselves through their clothes.


    She hopes that their expressions are as varied and meaningful as the symbolism of water lilies.


    Monica''s gaze again settles on the ck water lily in the center.


    "ck water lily, ck Label."


    A smile spreads across Monica''s face as she looks at the painting.


    "Got it."


    Monica immediately calls Ci.


    "We''ll make the ck Label our logo for the luxury line. The premium line will feature the ck water lily logo, while the others will use various colors. Please proceed with the differentiation process for the ck Label."


    After ending the brief call, Monica''s gaze shifts back to Ban, still on the phone.


    She watches him, seemingly with many things to ask, smiling widely during the long conversation.


    "A painter who inspires others. Maybe this person is not just a star in the East but could be a star of the world."


    Just then, Monica''s phone rings.


    Recognizing the name of a magazine editor with whom she had a rtionship since her previouspany days, Monica quickly answers.


    "Editor Silvio, this is Monica. It''s been a while since west spoke. I was actually about to contact you, but you beat me to it."


    As she speaks on what seems like a business call, her eyebrows twitch. She then looks out the window at me and speaks.


    "About Ban? Yes, he''s the painter I brought in."


    Monica listens intently to the person on the other end of the phone and then breaks into a grin.


    "Yes, he is the one who painted the mural in the vige. He''s quite a famous painter in Korea. Understood, I''ll arrange a meeting soon. See you at theunch event, Editor."


    After hanging up, Monica looks out the window and smiles with her eyes.


    "What do you think, Ban? It seems like your return to Korea might need to be postponed a bit longer."


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 Chapter 128 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 128 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Falcone Borsellino Airport (Aeroporto Falcone Borsellino).


    Had I traveled from Korea, I would''ve dragged a huge suitcase, but now,ing from Mn, I only carry a manageable backpack and exit the airport.


    This is Palermo, the capital of Sicily, at the southernmost tip of Italy.


    As soon as I step out of the airport, I feel a thrill upon seeing the ancient city with its crimson base.


    "This city has been here since the 8th century. Wow, I can''t believe I''m actually here."


    Overwhelmed, I gaze at the cityscape and head towards the taxi stand.


    In Korea, I prefer buses, butcking the courage and knowledge to use buses abroad, I choose a taxi.


    The fact that Monica is covering all travel expenses is also a big reason. The card for the taxi fare is Rossellini''s corporate card.


    Italian taxi drivers, lined up neatly, step out and solicit customers.


    People speaking a strange mix of English and Italian ents. It sounds like English, but I can''t understand a word. I respond to the moring taxi drivers with just one phrase.


    "Can you speak English?"


    A phrase I learned from Marco before my trip. It''s an Italian question asking if they speak English.


    Marco advised that after asking this question, if someone responds, try speaking to them in slightly moreplex English.


    Many drivers im they understand English but then reveal theirck of fluency once they have passengers, so it''s better to follow his advice.


    Following Marco''s suggestion, drivers who im they can speak English push through. I look at them and ask again.


    "I''m going to Monreale Cathedral (Cattedrale di Monreale). How far is it, and how much will the taxi fare be? Are there any ces worth stopping by on the way?"


    I ask three questions in one sentence. Drivers hesitate and retreat, but soon start rapping in rapid Italian and English again.


    I wave them away dismissively.


    "I want to hire a taxi for the day. If we can''tmunicate in English, we can''t go together. Please step aside."


    I weave through the crowd and walk past the line of taxis, throwing English questions at the drivers I make eye contact with.


    Some can''t respond, and others answer but fail at the next question. As I move on to the next taxi, I hear curses behind me.


    But I don''t care.


    Honestly, I wanted to see only the good side of Italy, but racial discrimination is severe here. I''ve encountered several people on the streets of Mn who, upon seeing me, either pull their eyes into slits or use derogatory words for Chinese people. The best response to such people is to ignore them.


    Walking along the taxi line, I reach thest one.


    The problem is, not a single driver passed the English test. I sigh and look back.


    "There was someone who answered one of my questions earlier. Should I go with him?"


    As I turn back, I spot a few taxis parked elsewhere, not at the taxi stand.


    "What''s this, the taxis are there, but the color is different?"


    I notice a badge saying ''Taxi'' on the chest of a driver standing outside. The drivers I''ve passed so far didn''t have such badges.


    Though a bit far, I need to make an effort if I don''t want to reduce the joy of my trip by half by being with a driver who doesn''t speak English.


    Walking about 80 meters from the airport, I arrive where the taxis are and am slightly startled to see a man hastily extinguishing his cigarette.


    ''A ck man?''


    There are certainly ck people in Italy, but most are travelers. It''s quite rare for a taxi driver in such a rural town to be ck. And this man looks very young.


    "Hey, do you speak English?"


    Of course, there are ck people in Italy, but most are travelers. It''s quite rare for a taxi driver in such a rural vige to be ck, and this one looked very young.


    ¡°Hey, do you speak English?¡±


    The young man, whose teeth appeared even whiter against his dark skin, gave a thumbs up.


    ¡°Of course, I used to be a sailor.¡±


    Huh? I''m not sure what being a sailor has to do with speaking English. I asked again.


    ¡°I''m going to the Monreale Cathedral (Cattedrale di Monreale). How far is it and how much is the taxi fare? Are there any ces worth visiting on the way?¡±


    The driver shrugged his shoulders.


    ¡°The cathedral is close by, so there''s no ce to stop in between. Instead, I rmend going down to the opposite side to see Pzzo Conte Federico or Norman Pce. The taxi fare is a standard 3 euros base, plus 1.5 euros per kilometer. It¡¯s about 48 kilometers away, so it''ll be around 80 euros.¡±


    A perfect response.


    I smiled and set down my bag.


    ¡°Let''s go.¡±


    ¡°Wee, customer!¡±


    As the driver loaded my luggage into the trunk, I watched him from the backseat. He turned around to offer a handshake and said,


    ¡°I''m Yona.¡±


    ¡°Excuse me?¡±


    ¡°My name.¡±


    ¡°Oh, Ban. But that¡¯s not an Italian name, is it?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m from Moro.¡±


    I thought so. Why would there be a ck man here? Most ck people in Italy are immigrants, from Moro, Tunisia, Egypt, but they are few and hard toe by.


    ¡°Yona, how old are you?¡±


    ¡°Twenty-two.¡±


    ¡°Wow, it must be nice to be young.¡±


    ¡°And you, Ban?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m nearly thirty.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I thought you were around my age. Easterners always look young.¡±


    ¡°Haha, that¡¯s nice to hear.¡±


    ¡°Why are you going to the cathedral? Tourism?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°I saw paintbrushes in your bag. Are you a painter?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, you have a good eye?¡±


    ¡°Many people who go there are painters.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°Yes, shall we go?¡±


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 Chapter 128 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 128 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    As the car started, I looked out the window with a subtle smile.


    ¡®The Monreale Cathedral, a ma for painters. It¡¯s the ce with mosaic works that transformed Gustav Klimt from a traditional academic painter into the artist known for his borate gold decorations.¡¯


    The same ce where Klimt, whom I met in a dream, had visited during his travels and was so moved by the church''s art that hepletely changed his style of painting. Finally, I¡¯m going to that historic ce.


    * * *


    At the same time, in the Rome headquarters of Vogue Italy.


    A middle-aged man frowning seriously on a phone call hangs up and connects to his secretary through the inte.


    ¡°Have Isabee in immediately.¡±


    After giving the order, the man bites his lip and stares at the PC monitor. On the screen are social media posts circting photos of the recent popr Mn pond store.


    A little whileter, Isabe knocks on the door and enters, greeted by the stern man.


    "Isabe."


    "Yes, Editor-in-chief."


    "You were supposed to send a special feature article about Monica''s new brandunch, including coverage of Roseto Valfortore Vige and Mn stores, right?"


    "Yes, that''s correct."


    "And also spotlight the Korean artist named Ban."


    "Yes, you already approved it. Is there a problem?"


    The editor-in-chief gestures toward the phone with a frown.


    "I smell ICON and Quid. Article Writer''s involvement."


    "...."


    Isabe''s face stiffens. The three magazines the editor mentioned were the most famous art magazines in Italy.


    The editor speaks with a furrowed brow.


    "You know this, right? We are a monthly magazine, but they are weeklies. If we publish the article in our next issue, we''ll bete for sure."


    Scoops are vital in journalism. If news breaks elsewhere and we follow it afterward, the impact of the story diminishes.


    "But Editor-in-chief, We¡¯ve also covered the Roseto Valfortore vige.¡±


    ¡°You think they wouldn¡¯t have done that?¡±


    ¡°........¡±


    ¡°Think about it, it¡¯s not the fashion magazines but the art magazines that are moving. What do you think that means? The Korean is a bigger painter than I thought. Do you think those art magazines would write about his work without mentioning Monica¡¯s brand?¡±


    ¡°........¡±


    The Editor-in-chief mmed the table.


    ¡°Of Course! Monica¡¯s brand will also be featured in an art magazine! If that happens, we¡¯ll bete, which we can''t afford to be! But that doesn¡¯t mean we can turn a monthly magazine into a weekly magazine, there has to be something different about us so that people buy ours, and we don¡¯t have anything like that right now!¡±


    ¡°That''s true¡­¡±


    ¡°I just spoke to Monica on the phone. We¡¯ve been in contact since the days of Alessandro Cucinelli, and luckily I got to know where the korean painter is now. Get on the ne right now and fly to him. Get an exclusive interview, take a picture. If you fail, you don¡¯t have toe back.¡±


    ¡°But editor, without a prior appointment¡­¡±


    ¡°Just go! He is now in Palermo, you know where the painter is going, don¡¯t you?¡±


    "Monreale Cathedral..."


    "Yeah, there''s a Korean artist at that cathedral, which is said to have inspired Klimt. Do you think there''s still time for that? There are probably reporters on their way there even now."


    "I''ll go quickly."


    "Take Romano with you."


    "Yes, Editor-in-chief!"


    * * *


    On the way to the cathedral, I struck up a conversation with Yona and we became friendly. He rmended a restaurant, so I invited him to eat with me, thinking of Marco. Initially, Yona declined, but when I offered to pay, he quickly sat down and ordered a lot.


    ¡°Can you really eat all that?¡±


    ¡°I''ll eat it even if I burst.¡±


    ¡°Haven¡¯t you eaten?¡±


    ¡°Well, you''re my first customer today. What would a taxi driver who hasn''t earned any money eat?¡±


    This guy must have grown up in a poor family. It¡¯s sad he goes without meals. Trying not to show pity, I said bluntly,


    ¡°Go ahead, eat your fill. I''ll pay for it.¡±


    ¡°Ha! Easterners are rich.¡±


    ¡°This isn¡¯t my money.¡±


    ¡°Then whose?¡±


    ¡°My owner''s.¡±


    ¡°Wow, your owner covers your travel expenses too. You must be quite the painter.¡±


    ¡°Not really. But you said you were a sailor?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s the connection between speaking English well and being a sailor? Were you on a deep-sea fishing boat?¡±


    ¡°Bingo.¡±


    A young ck man who looks much younger than me. Themon point of being on a fishing boat reminded me of my hardworking father.


    ¡°Family?¡±


    ¡°I have a wife and daughter.¡±


    ¡°Married already?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, because of my daughter.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡±


    ¡°Actually, it''s my wife''s birthday soon. I wanted to give her a small gift, so I''m saving up. That''s why I haven''t eaten.¡±


    ¡°Eat a lot, I''m paying.¡±


    ¡°Heh, thanks.¡±


    Soon, more than five dishes arrived for two people. Yona ate like he hadn''t for days, smiling happily and innocently.


    After finishing his meal at an incredible speed, he hesitated and nced at me.


    I slowly tore off a piece of bread and asked.


    ¡°What? Do you have something to say?¡±


    ¡°Uh, Ban.¡±


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to pay for the taxi, but could you do me a favor instead?¡±


    ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t you take the taxi fare? You said you were saving to buy your wife a gift.¡±


    ¡°Yes, that¡¯s why I¡¯m asking. Could you... instead of the taxi fare, draw a portrait of my wife? You said you¡¯re a painter.¡±


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 Chapter 129 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 129 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    In the middle of Mount Caputo, where Montreale is located.


    In fact, the ce where Klimt was moved by the mosaic decorations is not here, but the Basilica of San Vitale in the Ravenna region.


    Of course, this ce also inspired him, but based on historically recorded facts, I should be in Ravenna, not here.


    However, that ce is just a bit south of Mn, so I n to visit it by slowly moving up from the bottom.


    I started from Palermo at the tip of southern Italy, nning to go up to Mn, passing through Syracuse, Le, Naples, Rome, Florence.


    As I get off the taxi and look at the gray cathedral with an overwhelmed face, Yona approaches me.


    ¡°This cathedral is said to be the most beautiful among the Arab-Norman style buildings. It''s also registered as a World Heritage Site. One of the distinguishing features is that one of the bell towers remains unfinished.¡±


    While listening to Yona''s exnation and examining the building''s exterior, his exnation continues.


    ¡°You can enter the Benedictine monastery through the passageway inside the cathedral. This way.¡±


    It seems I''ve met a good driver. Indeed, a driver who speaks English is the best.


    Yona then moved to an area where about 200 paired columns formed a cloister in the Arab style, passing through the interior of the cathedral.


    ¡°It''s really cool.¡±


    ¡°Isn''t it? If you go to the north entrance over there, you can see the bronze statue of Maria, and opposite it is a statue of William II, who donated the cathedral. On the west side, there is a bronze door made by Bonanno Pisano, and inside, there is a basilica-style nave.¡±


    ¡°Shall we go?¡±


    Yona checked the time on his cellphone and then grinned.


    ¡°I¡¯ll tell my wife toe to the cathedral, and I¡¯ll go out to meet her. So, take a look around by yourself.¡±


    After getting my permission, Yona immediately called his wife to the cathedral. Fortunately, their house was not far from here.


    After Yona disappeared outside the cathedral, I looked at the statues and iron doors he mentioned, then entered the nave.


    An immensely high ceiling is visible.


    Of course, it''s a private theater, and although it may be narrower than the catb of W Tree, where I painted the ceiling mural, it''s truly remarkable that they built such a structure in a time without advanced construction technology..


    ¡°Did they also climb updders to paint every single detail?¡±


    The frescoes painted on the ceilings and pirs of the cathedral. The beautiful and splendid paintings emitting a sacred aura are dazzling to the eyes.


    The sunlight streaming through the high arched windows on either side is so bright, it feels like God is speaking to us.


    ¡°Is that the portrait of Christ Pantocrator?¡±


    A portrait of someone, splendidly painted in gold on the dome of the ceiling. In ournguage, it means the Almighty Savior, referring to Jesus Christ.


    The splendid cathedral is an artistic masterpiece, hard to believe it was built in the 6th century.


    ¡°Well, in the 6th century, we also had the brilliant culture of the Si dynasty.¡±


    Although the cultural properties of the Joseon dynasty, which upheld the values of integrity and frugality, are far from being opulent, the artifacts of the Si period were the epitome of splendor.


    Putting aside the historical darkness hidden behind them, in terms of the artistry of cultural properties, perhaps the Si and Goryeo dynasties were the best.


    After taking photos and leaving memories among the people, I, engrossed in the paintings that piqued my interest, realized an hour had already passed and stepped out of the cathedral.


    At the taxi stand, a short distance from the entrance, I see two people waiting. Yona and his wife.


    ¡°Yona, you should have called me when your wife arrived.¡±


    Yona shrugs his shoulders and puts his arm around his wife.


    ¡°I¡¯m in no position to do that when asking a favor, meet my wife, Meloni.¡±


    A young woman with a slightly awkward face shrinks her neck.


    ¡°Hello.¡±


    ¡°Oh, nice to meet you. Do you speak English?¡±


    ¡°A little.¡±


    ¡°A little is fine, haha. Shall we go see the ce where I¡¯ll paint? Yona, do you have something like a chair in the taxi?¡±


    ¡°I have a portable camping chair.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s take it.¡±


    ¡°Okay.¡±


    * * *


    Yona¡¯s wife, Meloni, in fact, is not happy with the current situation.


    In a tight situation where every penny counts, they luckily met a long-distance traveler, and instead of money, he asked to paint a portrait.


    Of course, Meloni had thought about having a portrait, but in her situation, it was an unthinkable luxury.


    She fell passionately in love at a young age, had a child, and got married at twenty.


    Being a native Italian, Meloni was disowned and cut off from her family for loving an immigrant from Moro, and moreover, a ck man.


    She thought it would be fine as long as she was with the person she loved, but she soon realized that passionate love couldn''t stand against the harsh realities of life, not even taking a year to learn this.


    However, the hope that someday she would spend a happy middle age with her husband, who works hard from dawn tote at night, keeps her going.


    Meloni, holding the chair her husband brought out, watches Jeong-hoon looking for a ce to paint near the cathedral, then nudges her husband.


    "Honey."


    "Yeah?"


    "Is that man a good painter?"


    "I don''t know."


    "Are you crazy? How much was the taxi fare?"


    "About 80 euros?"


    "My goodness! That''s our ten days'' living expense! Are you out of your mind?"


    Her husband smiles and hugs her.


    "It''s okay, we''ll eat less, sleep less, and work more. I''m happy I can give you this small gift."


    "......"


    Feeling both frustrated and angry, but also sensing her husband''s love, Meloni closes her mouth and sighs.


    "Anyway."


    "Huh? It looks like he''s painting over there, let''s go."


    Her husband hurries her towards the grass where Jeong-hoon, sitting on a chair, is waving at them.


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 Chapter 129 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 129 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Reluctantly following her husband to the chair on the grass, Meloni takes a pose with an awkward, embarrassed face.


    Jeong-hoon, who is speaking English, is heardughing. Her husband trantes for her.


    "He says to think of it like a pic with your husband? It''s okay to talk to me as long as you don''t turn your head."


    Meloni whispers, ncing at Jeong-hoon.


    "Does he speak Italian?"


    "No, not at all."


    Relieved that he won''t understand their conversation, Meloni rolls her eyes and says.


    "Honey, I''d rather we spent the money on something good for our baby. I''ll let it go this time, but never do this again. A portrait is too much for our situation."


    ¡°Haha, okay. Let¡¯s just do it this once, when will we get such an opportunity again?¡±


    ¡°Is there even any guarantee that his portrait will have any value? Is it really worth spending 80 euros?¡±


    80 euros is a little over 110,000 won in Korean currency.


    It might not be a big deal, but for people who live day by day, it''s a significant amount, and Meloni still hesitates.


    Seeing that the painter had already started sketching, she resigned herself to the situation and looked at her husband.


    Her husband is all smiles, as if everything is fine.


    They left their baby with the neighbors, but here it seems like there''s another baby, who only causes trouble.


    ¡°Sigh.¡±


    Meloni, sitting facing the cathedral with the parking lot in view, initially feels awkward but gradually bes more natural as she chats intermittently with her husband.


    Thinking of it as just getting some fresh air, she sitsfortably but starts to feel bored after about two hours.


    ¡°When will it end?¡±


    Her husband, standing behind the painter, checks the painting and says with a bright face, ¡°He¡¯s coloring now. Wow, but he¡¯s really good at painting. His skill is iparable to the old man in our neighborhood¡¯s small art studio. The painting seems alive.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°Yes, the cathedral behind you is also being beautifully painted. His hands move so fast. How can he paint like that in just two hours? Is he a famous painter?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t you feel foolish formissioning work without even checking if he¡¯s a famous painter?¡±


    ¡°Haha, what does it matter? As long as the result is good.¡±


    ¡°Really...¡±


    Meloni turns her gaze away, looking unimpressed.


    But then, her eyes sparkle with curiosity.


    She sees several vans in the parking lot direction, and peopleden with camera equipment hurrying towards the cathedral.


    Meloni murmurs, watching the reporters¡¯ stickers on the cars, ¡°What¡¯s happening at the cathedral? I¡¯ve never seen so many journalists rush in like that.¡±


    Yona, the taxi driver, who heard his wife, cranes his neck and looks into the distance, saying, ¡°Yeah, what¡¯s that? One, two¡­ more than ten. Are they all journalists?¡±


    ¡°Seems like it.¡±


    Reporters rush into the cathedral,peting with each other. Then, a tall man running with a female journalist nces this way and stops.


    He squints his eyes, trying to get a clear view of this side.


    The woman, having reached the cathedral first, curses and gestures with her hands.


    Then, the man turns to her, shouts something, and points in this direction.


    The woman also stares intently this way, then suddenly, aware of her surroundings, dashes towards them like the wind.


    ¡°Those people, they seem to being this way.¡±


    ¡°Uh, what?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t tell me you¡¯ve caused some trouble?¡±


    ¡°What are you talking about? Even if I had caused some trouble, it wouldn¡¯t have attracted journalists.¡±


    The two people are running straight towards them. Meloni swallows hard, realizing their intention is focused on them.


    And finally, the two people approach within a distance of 10 meters.


    The woman yells out loudly.


    ¡°Ban! Is that Ban?¡±


    Jeong-hoon, who had been focusing on his painting, nces up.


    ¡°Sounds like they called my name, but I don¡¯t speak Italian.¡±


    The woman quickly pulls out a business card and speaks in English.


    ¡°I¡¯m Isabe, a journalist from Vogue Italy. Could we have a moment for an interview?¡±


    Meloni¡¯s face hardens.


    ¡°Vogue Italy?¡±


    A journalist from one of the world¡¯s most famous fashion magazines, including Italy, is requesting an interview. Meloni looks at her husband with a shocked expression, and he is just as surprised.


    It¡¯s unclear whether Jeong-hoon is too focused on his painting or just uninterested in the journalists, as he continues painting.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but I am in the middle of work. Could you please wait a bit?¡±


    Isabe, sweating, nces towards the cathedral and says.


    ¡°Of course, I can wait as long as needed, but could we perhaps move to a quieter and more secluded ce?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m nearly finished with the background work. It will take about ten minutes.¡±


    Jeong-hoon, having told the uninvited journalist to wait just ten minutes, has shown enough courtesy, but the journalist is fidgety like a puppy in need of a bathroom break, constantly ncing towards the cathedral.


    At that moment, journalists who had rushed into the cathedral spilled out and began running towards them, shouting.


    "Ban! I''m from World Magazine! Please, we''d like an interview!"


    "Ban! Interview with us first, please, we''re an art magazine!"


    "If you''re a painter, you should definitely start with an art magazine interview! Ban, over here!"


    Seeing more than ten journalists running towards thewn and shouting, Meloni, frozen, turns to her husband.


    "Honey... Who exactly have you brought here?"


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 Chapter 130 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 130 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    I''m pretending to be calm, but right now, I''m quite flustered.


    They came all the way here to the most remote part of southern Italy to cover me? And it''s not just one magazine but so many people? Not Korean journalists, but local Italian ones?


    But right now, I have to finish my painting.


    This isn''t a studio; it''s outdoors.


    The light changes outside. Even as I paint, the reflection of light on the cathedral and other backgrounds is subtly shifting.


    If it were me before I met M, I would have asked the model for understanding and postponed the painting since the background would remain the same anyway. But not now.


    The shouting of the journalists disrupts my concentration.


    "Van! It''s ICON Magazine. We flew here from Rome to meet you."


    "Quiet! There aren''t any magazines based outside Rome. Van! It''s Quid Magazine, the number one magazine in the art world. Let''s start with us.""That''s a lie! The number one art magazine in sales is Article Writer!"


    Thepeting journalists.


    I nce at them briefly. I could entertain each one, but why are they so fiercely arguing over who goes first?


    "Please wait, I''ll be done soon."


    Yona and Meloni, who have also attracted the journalists'' attention because of me, look extremely ufortable.


    I hurry to finish the painting and, after signing at the bottom right corner of the canvas, I hang the pen on its edge and pass it to Yona.


    "Don''t touch the painting; it''s still wet. Can you take it to your house and thene back here?"


    "Huh? Oh, okay."


    Yona first hands the painting to his wife and then whispers to me.


    "Will you be okay alone?"


    "They''re just journalists; it''ll take some time because of their number. Take your time."


    "Are you a very famous painter?"


    "No?"


    "Then why is this happening?"


    "I think it''s because I helped someone famous recently. Hurry back."


    "Okay, got it."


    The people, unable to take their eyes off the still-wet painting. A journalist cautiously approaches Meloni, who is carrying the painting.


    "Excuse me, did Van paint that?"


    "Yes? Yes¡­ he did."


    "May I take a photo?"


    "A photo?"


    It''s not just a painting; it''s a portrait. If it bes an article, it''s the same as revealing Meloni''s face.


    Yona steps in to dissuade the journalist.


    "I''m sorry, but that''s not possible."


    The journalist persists, not giving up.


    "The value of the painting changes if it''s spread in the media. If it''s a painting by Van, you could get a good price for it."


    "¡­¡­."


    The two fall silent at the mention of value. The journalist delivers the final blow.


    "It''s a portrait by the hottest painter in Italy right now. If it''s made public, you could get at least 7,500 euros for it. Are you sure you don''t want that?"


    Their eyes bulge at the mention of a price exceeding ten million won.


    I didn''t understand a word, but I can guess the situation.


    "Yona, are you nning to sell it?"


    I ask jokingly, leaning askew. He frantically waves his hands.


    "No! No, I definitely won''t sell it!"


    "Hurry and go."


    "Okay! Honey, let''s go!"


    Meloni, almost dragged to the taxi. From her conversation with her husband, it seems like she''s questioning if it''s right to receive something like this for an 80 euro taxi fare.


    It''s surprising to me that my portrait is priced so high, butpared to the painting I made for Mrs. Kang in Paju, it''s a drop in the bucket.


    As I pack up my art supplies, I say,


    "Well, then, who shall we start with?"


    The journalists eagerly raise their hands. I nce at them. They look like concubines seeking the king''s favor.


    I find it a bit amusing, but I can''t y with people''s hearts. They''re all earnestly doing their jobs.


    Then, Isabe, who first spoke to me, raises her hand and shouts.


    "I know Lea!"


    What?


    Lea? Is she talking about the little angel I know?


    My eyes widen in surprise, and the tall man with her shows me his camera screen.


    Indeed, there''s Lea''s face, smiling brightly in front of the mural at her house. It''s been a while since I left the vige, and I feel a deep longing.


    After staring at the camera for a while, I smile and speak.


    "You go first."


    "Oh! Thank you!"


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 Chapter 130 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 130 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    It''s the time of the evening sunset.


    I was held up by the journalists for two and a half hours. I''ve been visited by five different ces. Allocating 30 minutes each, it''s already thiste.


    Yona, who returned about an hour ago, is still waiting for me.


    After finishing the interviews and returning by taxi, Yona, who was smoking, quickly puts it out and opens the door for me.


    "What''s this? Why are you doing something you never do?"


    Yona scratches his head andughs.


    "Sorry, I didn¡¯t know you were such a famous painter."


    "Famous? It''s just a temporary buzz."


    "Still, not every temporarily buzzed artist gets interviewed by five magazines, Ban."Hmm, that''s true.


    Actually, I was also surprised during the interviews. I knew that the store in Mn was a hot topic, but it was my first time hearing that the mural in Roseto Valfortore vige was also making news.


    ording to Isabe, the number of tourists visiting the vige will increase after the magazine is published. That''s good, I hope it brings some vitality to the vige economy.


    As we get into the car, Yona asks,


    "Where should we go?"


    "To a hotel near the airport."


    "Great, this ride is on me!"


    "What are you talking about?"


    "Really, Meloni said she''d kill me if I took money from you. After hearing the journalist say your painting is worth 7,500 euros, she nearly fainted. She took the painting home like a treasure, you know?"


    "Is that so?"


    "Yeah, when I told her to hang it up, she said she was crazy. She said she''s going to wrap it in the finest silk and keep it."


    "Haha, it''s not that big of a deal."


    "I agreed with her too. Really, thank you, Ban."


    "Paintings gain meaning when they''re seen. Don''t just keep it, hang it up. That''s all I want."


    "Got it! I''ll tell my wife."


    A small episode with someone I met by chance on a trip.


    Isn''t this precisely the charm of traveling?


    I am very happy right now.


    More than being covered by five media outlets, the fact that myndlord brought happiness to someone.


    I''ve changed a lot too.


    There was a time when my wish was just to have an interview.


    After painting the theater ceiling, I''ve had some interview experience, so now it doesn¡¯t feel as thrilling.


    Is it a feeling of fullness from sess?


    Well, what does it matter.


    Arrogance is poison for an artist, but if it''s this kind of happy satiety, I can endure it.


    However, this incident, which started off lightly, turned into quite a big deal.


    * * *


    I traveled to various ces and finally arrived in Florence, heading to the Uffizi Gallery (Galleria degli Uffizi).


    Walking along the corridor between the two buildings of the Uffizi Pce, with the Arno River in view, I reminisced about the days when I dreamed of visiting Florence after hearing that Monica and Minyoung had studied together at the University of Florence.


    "Ban Jeong-hoon, you''ve made it. Coming all the way here. And that too with someone else''s money."


    Traveling with someone else''s money is the most fun.


    Food paid for by someone else tastes the best.


    The reason I came here is to see the works of Leonardo da Vinci, Michngelo, Sandro Botticelli, Caravaggio, and Rembrandt all in one ce.


    I don''t know if I''ll ever get to visit the Louvre in Paris in my life, but right now, this ce excites me more than Paris.


    I head to the ticket office with a beating heart.


    "Entrance fee is 24 euros, so in Korean won... about 35,000 won? Cheap, really cheap."


    It''s a fortune to see the works of such great masters at this price. No wonder Europeans say art is life.


    It would have been easier if I had booked in advance, but since I came without knowing anything, I had to wait a long time in the long ticket line.


    After about an hour of waiting, it was finally my turn.


    Standing in front of an expressionless staff member, separated by ss, I spoke in the simplest English possible.


    "Adult, One."


    The female staff member nodded, stamped the ticket, took my credit card, and while processing the payment, she stared at my face.


    I, who had seen Westerners usually smile when making eye contact, smiled and greeted her with my eyes.


    Then, the female employee''s gaze turned towards the table she was sitting at, then back at my face, repeating this a few times, before she suddenly spoke in a slightly elevated tone.


    "Van?"


    Huh? What? How does she know my name?


    "Ah? Yes, yes. My name is Van..."


    "Oh my! It''s an honor, Mr. Van."


    Huh? What''s so honorable?


    The female employee excitedly picks up a magazine from the table.


    "I saw your article!"


    Oh, what? I remember taking a photo with the cathedral in the background, but did they use it for the cover?


    I awkwardly smiled at my own photo on the cover of the magazine, which prominently disyed the magazine''s name and showed me sittingfortably on a stone wall with the cathedral in the background.


    ¡°Haha¡­¡­¡±


    Just a few interviews, and now people recognize me?


    Then, a man behind me came up to my side to check my face and suddenly shouted back.


    "Van! di questo ragazzo!"


    Immediately, people behind him started taking out their phones and began snapping photos wildly.


    Confused and standing awkwardly, I awkwardly shed a ''V'' sign as the man suddenly put his arm around me for a photo. What''s going on here?


    A crowd begins to gather.


    I noticed some people didn''t seem to know who I was, but they were getting swept up in the crowd mentality, pushing forward to see my face.


    As more people crowded around the ticket booth, I made eye contact with the female employee, silently pleading for help.


    Fortunately, the quick-witted employee called the security guards, and I, not daring to enter the museum, clutched my ticket and escaped to the back alley to catch my breath.


    ¡°What is this?¡±


    What''s going on?


    A few lines in a magazine and this happens? I''m not even a celebrity.


    Then, my phone rings from inside my pocket.


    Pulling out my phone, I see Monica''s name.


    ¡°Hey, Monica.¡±


    -Ban, where are you?


    ¡°I''m in Florence right now, and I just had the most bizarre experience. So¡­¡­.¡±


    I told her about the interviews and the recent incident.


    ¡°I heard that there are only a couple of weekly magazines, so it would take some time for the monthly ones toe out. Is the weekly magazine famous or something?¡±


    -Haha, Ban.


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    -You underestimated Italy, thend of art.


    What? I know it''s thend of art, but what does that have to do with this?


    I can hear Monica''s voice over the phone.


    -Italians have a great interest in art, and consequently, in artists. It seems you''ll have trouble moving around alone now. I''ll immediately arrange for a bodyguard through my contacts in Florence.


    Wow, a bodyguard?


    I''m not Irina, why would I need to walk around with a bodyguard?


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 Chapter 131 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 131 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    "This is absurd.


    In the end, I couldn''t even tour the museum.


    I don''t know when I''ll ever get toe here again in my life. What a waste.


    And what''s this? They said they were sending security, so I thought maybe two people, but six showed up. With these big guys drawing more attention, is this really okay?


    To put it bluntly, my trip was suspended for safety reasons. I''m now in Mn.


    Upon arriving at Mn Airport, I saw a few reporters. Those who tried to approach me, surrounded by bodyguards, were blocked by them.


    I could hear the bodyguards and reporters talking, but since it was in Italian, I couldn''t understand. It seemed to mean that without a prior appointment, interviews were impossible.


    After getting past the reporters to the parking lot, I saw Marco, whom I hadn''t seen in a while, standing in front of a car, waving his hand.


    "Ban!""Marco."


    "Hurry up, the boss is waiting."


    "What''s all this about?"


    "That''s my question. You really are something, aren''t you? You were even on TV yesterday."


    Huh? What''s that supposed to mean?


    After getting into the car, I asked Marco, who was getting into the driver''s seat.


    "What are you talking about?"


    "Yesterday, RAI Channel 5 covered the Mn store. They broadcasted that you painted the picture, and even the murals you painted in the vige were aired. It''s a huge topic of conversation, you!"


    "......"


    "I may not have an eye for art, but I could tell your paintings were something special. But I never thought you were someone who could stir up all of Italy. Sorry I didn''t recognize it, Ban."


    "What?"


    "Let''s go, the boss is waiting."


    "......"


    Marco turned the car towards the main store of Rosellini.


    The main store has a shop on the first floor, employees on the second, and Monica uses the third. It''s a building of about 200 pyeong.


    They use the entire building, but it''s still in the early stages, so it''s small. As the number of employees increases and thepany grows, they''ll probably build a headquarters.


    Arriving in front of the main store, as if to prove it''s the talk of the town on TV and SNS, many people are seen taking photos with their phones in front of the store.


    Parking the car a little away, I felt like a celebrity who hadmitted adultery and was escaping as I walked up the stairs next to the store with my head down.


    Entering Monica''s office on the third floor, she approached with a smile, seeing me after a long time.


    "Did you enjoy your trip, Ban?"


    I let out a hollowugh.


    "It was fun until it wasn''t, but I made it back anyway. But what''s all this about?"


    Monica shrugged her shoulders.


    "I didn''t release any articles, and I haven''t even started marketing. All of this is because of what you did. I''m not at fault."


    "......"


    "Imissioned you for the design of this store. It''s in the center of Mn, a ce open to many, so it was expected to be a topic of conversation. But I didn''t expect the murals in the vige of Roseto Valfortore to receive attention too."


    Monica handed me a magazine.


    "Want to check out the article?"


    The magazine Monica handed me.


    It''sbeled Domus on the cover, and the murals of the vige of Roseto Valfortore are featured on the cover.


    "This is new to me."


    "It''s not the magazine that interviewed you, but one that covered the store and the vige separately. It''s a prestigious magazine specializing in architectural art, quite famous in Italy."


    "Huh."


    I flipped through the magazine and found the article about the murals.


    It''s over five pages long. Most of it is photos of the murals, but there''s a familiar face. The vigers are smiling in front of the mural.


    Lea''s face isn''t visible, but these are people I''ve met while going around the vige or while painting the murals.


    Monica looks at the people and smiles.


    "They all look happy, don''t they?"


    "......"


    "Got a call yesterday. More and more travelers areing to the vige. Augusto''s restaurant is about to burst. Lea''s mother, Sophia, decided to work there."


    Oh, that''s good news.


    If both of Lea''s parents work, the family''s economic situation might improve.


    Lea will be alone, but since the restaurant is in the vige square, her mother can run to her whenever needed.


    "That''s great."


    "Check out the article, want coffee?"


    "That would be nice."


    Monica went to make coffee, and I was left alone to carefully check the article. But my face turned red with embarrassment the moment I saw the article title.


    <i>"Take off your hats, a real genius has appeared."</i>


    There''s a store in Mn that''s stirring up the citizens these days.


    It is the store of Monica Rosellini¡¯s personal brand ¡®Rosellini¡¯, a seasoned designer formerly the head designer for Alessandro Cucinelli.


    Located in the heart of the Quadrtero with the highest foot traffic and the priciest building rates in Mn, this store has been swamped with a surge of people recently.


    Is it because of the brand¡¯s poprity?


    No. Her brand hasn¡¯t evenunched yet.


    This store, which hasn''t even had itsunch, started to draw more and more visitors as numerous influencers on social media began talking about it.


    The reason for Rosellini¡¯s store¡¯s poprity lies in its exceedingly beautiful design.


    They have created a huge pond in the middle of Mn, adorned with beautiful water lilies. Those who see it enter this beautiful ce to look around and unanimously agree:


    "It feels like being in the midst of nature. Just being here brings peace of mind and happiness."


    People began to take notice.


    Who is this designer, emerging like aet in the modern art world, where beauty has been lost?


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 Chapter 131 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 131 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Surprisingly, he was Korean.


    He had also worked on a mural project over three weeks in Roseto Valfortore, a southern vige that faced the threat of disappearance due to a declining poption, offering resettlement funds until January 2022. The murals, depicting the beautiful changingndscapes of the vige, quickly spread through the fast-paced social media, bing a hot topic and attracting more and more visitors.


    The birth of such a powerful artist.


    I dare say that in the past hundred years, I have not seen the birth of such an artist.


    An artist who doesn''t paint iprehensible abstracts for the general public.


    A painter who, rather than seeking novelty, captures the beauty of the past.


    A rare find in the contemporary art scene.


    His name is Ban Jeong-hoon, a Korean.


    Valentina Bhali, Journalist [emailprotected]Thud.


    I couldn''t look anymore and closed the magazine.


    Every photo of the mural was apanied by words of praise, but if I looked any longer, I felt my face would burst. No matter how much it''s called thend of art, being gilded like this is overwhelming.


    Monica, who had quietly brought over coffee and was smiling broadly at my face, started the conversation.


    "Ban."


    "Huh, yes."


    "You remember our original contract to design two stores, right?"


    Of course, I remember.


    But due to issues with fairness and store contracts, we had decided to return to Korea and thene back after four months to start the design.


    "Yes, I remember."


    "The store contract was settled yesterday."


    "So we start right away?"


    "Can you do that?"


    "Well, that was the n from the start."


    "But Ban, can you do me one more favor?"


    "What is it?"


    Monica pushed the coffee cup towards me as she spoke.


    "You''ve done so well already. You created a store far more beautiful than I imagined, and even before theunch, my brand is receiving the most attention in Italy. People are already lining up wanting to attend theunch event. Can you believe it? They''re asking toe, not the other way around."


    Knowing about the fashion industry helps. Wasn''t it always like this?


    "If I was of help, then that''s great."


    Monica smiled and said,


    "I''m so grateful for the good job you''ve done."


    Huh? Grateful, but? Shouldn''t there be some incentive for this? What more does she want?


    With a deep smile, Monica said,


    "The problem is, you did too good of a job, Ban."


    "......"


    What does that mean?


    As I sat there puzzled, Monica continued,


    "If you agree to start working right away without returning to Korea, and if you ept one more condition of mine, I''ll give you a stake in the Rossellini brand."


    Huh? What''s this?


    "A stake?"


    "0.8%. How about it?"


    Wow. 0.8%.


    Back in my street artist days, I didn''t understand the significance of this small percentage.


    But after negotiating a sales revenue deal with MG Electronics for refrigerators, I understood how significant this figure was.


    Of course, the R/S was high at that time, but that was for the sales revenue of a single refrigerator. But now, Monica is talking about giving 0.8% of the entire brand''s revenue.


    I swallowed hard.


    Monica''s former brand, Alessandro Cucinelli, became a giant corporation in 2021 with a turnover of 712 million euros (approximately 950 billion Korean won).


    What if Monica''s brand even reaches half of that turnover?


    Of course, it''s turnover, not profit, so operational costs such as raw material costs must be deducted.


    But if the turnover reaches about 400 billion a year, the profit will be more than a third of that. So, about 0.8% of 130 billion. That means more than 10 billion won would fall into myp each year.


    I came here for a one-time store design contract, but to get such an opportunity, could anything be better?


    A significant portion of the Artist Company''s operating expenseses from MG Electronics. But electronic products will eventually be reced by new series, and sales of the previous series will inevitably decrease.


    If I can secure such a contract at this time, the Artist Company that I and Yeong-ju created will be a robustpany that can easily survive 10, 20 years.


    I tapped an imaginary calctor in my mind as I nced at Monica.


    Monica is someone who trusts mepletely and offers me many opportunities, but she is also a savvy person who would never do anything detrimental to her interests.


    Offering such a contract means she has quite a challenging request for me.


    "Let''s hear that condition first before I decide."


    Monica smiles as if it''s obvious.


    "Of course."


    Monica stands up and walks to the window.


    Unlike the rural vige, the city''s view outside the window ispletely blocked by buildings. Monica, looking out, says,


    "The downgrade brand of Rossellini is Aqua Rossellini. The store is located in Via Monte Napoleone."


    Aqua? Hmm, that¡¯s a nice name. But I feel like I''ve heard about this store location before.


    Monica winks and says,


    "It''s on the fashion street that stretches 500 meters connecting the subway stations I showed you on your first day in Mn. Right there."


    Ah, I remember. I was surprised to learn that the entire 500-meter stretch was filled with clothing stores.


    ¡°So, what do you need me to do?¡±


    Monica turns around, crosses her arms, and says,


    ¡°Live broadcast.¡±


    What? A live broadcast? What does she mean by that?


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 Chapter 132 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 132 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    <i>Bonus chapter thanks to @Chip from Ko-fi!</i>


    Wearing a work uniform and surrounded by art supplies, I looked around in astonishment.


    The store, with its windowspletely covered by stickers, is isted from the outside view. The electrical work is done, so the inside is bright, but it feels a bit suffocating.


    The venttion is well-arranged, so even without opening doors or windows, there''s no risk of suffocation from the paint fumes, making the working environment not too bad.


    The problem is the dozens of cameras filming me.


    Unmanned cameras with "RAI Channel 5" stickers are recording.


    "What kind of broadcast is this, who watches this?"


    Monica had proposed a live broadcast to me.


    I was embarrassed, but I agreed readily since they said the staff wouldn''t enter during the shoot because of the installed cameras.But I thought it was like an inte broadcast, not knowing it would be broadcast nationwide in Italy.


    Who would watch this? It''s not a broadcast that ends in an hour or two.


    It''s a project that requires at least a fortnight, and is it really possible that people would sit in front of the TV for more than ten hours a day, watching the tedious process of painting?


    Monica, who came up with this idea, and the broadcasting officials who approved it, clearly aren''t in their right minds.


    "Ha ha¡­"


    Sitting in the middle of the store, I looked at the notebook with measurements I had taken earlier.


    "Is this scene being broadcast right now?"


    Before entering, the producer had told me not to worry about the cameras and just do whatever I wanted, with just one request - not to swear.


    But honestly, I''m working alone; I wouldn''t swear if there''s no one to talk to or listen.


    Monica requested differentiation for this store.


    She left the details to me, just asking for a different feel from the main branch.


    I rested my chin on my hand, looking at the measurements.


    The store is rectangr.


    When you enter through the door from the outside, the wall in front is long, and the walls on the sides are short.


    The store is about 40 meters wide and 10 meters deep.


    One wall is entirely ss, so I have to fill three walls. Oh, including the ceiling, that makes four paintings.


    "What should I draw?"


    I haven''t decided yet.


    What should I draw?


    As I sat on the floor, pondering, a thought suddenly struck me.


    "I''m doing this broadcast for a 0.8% share, is it really okay to just show me pondering without saying anything? Who would watch this, really?"


    Is this how I feel because it''s before I start painting?


    No, even after I start, if it''s thetter part of the work maybe, but in the beginning, who would understand what I''m doing? I wouldn''t watch such a broadcast myself.


    "Should I say something, like talking to myself?"


    Suddenly, I remember a broadcast I used to watch since I was young on EBS.


    An American painter, Robert Norman Ross, known as Bob Ross in Korea, and his show "The Joy of Painting."


    I chuckled, recalling the image of the uncle and his famous line that crossed my mind.


    "That easy."


    As Iy on my bed, throwing pillows and screaming at the TV, watching the painting beingpleted without a sketch, and hearing him say that.


    <i>"Is it really easy? Are you kidding me!"</i>


    But that is indeed a happy memory of my childhood.


    And he was a good painter who gave me such memories.


    He passed away at the young age of 52. People around him, worried about business problems, hid his death, so this famous painter''s funeral was attended by only about 30 people.


    In the US, there are still children who don''t know about his death and send letters of well-being, which is truly regrettable.


    I quietly recalled the broadcast I watched as a child and nced at the nearest camera. The camera, angled 45 degrees upwards from the bottom of the wall where I would paint my first picture.


    I moved to the wall, sat down, and found an angle where the camera could capture my face well. Fortunately, the LCD screen was facing me, serving as a monitor.


    With a yful look in my eyes, I held the brush and said to the camera.


    "Hi, I''m Van, and for the next 2 weeks, I''ll be your host, as we experience The Joy of Painting."


    I couldn''t help but giggle internally.


    This was because I had just replicated the lines from the first episode of the show by Mr. Bob Ross when he first started broadcasting.


    I was speaking English on an Italian live broadcast, but how to handle that was up to the broadcastingpany. My job was to make the most interesting broadcast I could from this little room.


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 Chapter 132 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 132 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    "Mr. Producer, look at this."


    The producer, who had set up arge broadcasting truck right in front of the store for the long-duration broadcast, was entering the monitoring room made out of the truck''s cargo space with coffee and donuts when he was urgently called by an assistant director (AD).


    With a donut in his mouth, the producer sat at the monitoring seat and asked, ¡°What¡¯s up? Did he start painting already?¡±


    The AD, handing over his headphones, said, ¡°Van is saying something.¡±


    ¡°Is it like talking to himself? He''s not swearing, right?¡±


    ¡°No, he¡¯s speaking in English.¡±


    ¡°What''s he saying?¡±


    ¡°Just listen.¡±


    In the screen, Jeong-hoon was squeezing paint onto arge transparent palette that could be held vertically with a thumb hole.The producer, with headphones on, narrowed his eyebrows, focusing on the voice.


    [¡°Shall we start with a 2-inch brush? Just a little Prussian Blue, it''s a very strong color, so just a little. Lightly drag the tip and tap the brush to get the paint on. Then, mix in a bit of the Midnight ck right next to it.¡±]


    What is this? Does it feel like he''s teaching painting to someone?


    The producer closely observed Jeong-hoon on the monitoring screen. The man was intermittentlyughing, seemingly finding something very amusing as he continued talking to himself.


    The producer, taking off the headphones, looked at the AD.


    ¡°How long has he been doing this?¡±


    ¡°For about 5 minutes.¡±


    ¡°Did he just start talking like this out of nowhere? Before I went to get coffee, he was just sitting and pondering.¡±


    ¡°No, he started with something like a greeting. Take a look.¡±


    The AD reyed the recorded footage.


    The producer''s eyes lit up after confirming Jeong-hoon''s greeting.


    Rolling his eyes left and right as if thinking, he quickly said, ¡°Hire a simultaneous interpreter immediately. We need about three who can work 24 hours for the next two weeks.¡±


    ¡°Suddenly? Why?¡±


    ¡°Yes, hurry up! Before I find them, I''ll do the real-time subtitles myself. Find them before I die, alright?¡±


    ¡°Ahh, yes. I understand, but what is he nning to do?¡±


    The producer smiled slyly as he pulled the keyboard towards him for entering subtitles.


    ¡°He''s not just a painter, he has the makings of a star. This broadcast is definitely going to be a hit. I thought I was just obliging Monica''s request, but it turns out she''s the one helping me. What are you waiting for? Hurry up and find a trantor!¡±


    ¡°Yes, right away!¡±


    The producer quickly programmed the system for real-time subtitling and began tranting Jeong-hoon''s words into Italian for the live broadcast.


    Jeong-hoon was smiling and speaking in the video.


    [¡°When paintingndscapes, the upper part should be dark, getting lighter as it approaches the horizon. Now, shall we embark on a journey down an autumnal path to see a water lily pond? Wouldn¡¯t it be nice to walk along a pretty trail next to a river, under a sky with fluffy clouds?¡±]


    Jeong-hoon was continuously talking, almost non-stop. The producer¡¯s fingers moved faster and faster because of this.


    Without even a moment to take a bite of the donut he had bought earlier, the producer shook his aching fingers and muttered.


    ¡°Find those trantors quickly, AD. I can only do this for about two hours.¡±


    * * *


    Radiotelevisione Italiana (RAI).


    At first nce, it might seem like a government agency''s name, but RAI is actually Italy''s public broadcastingpany, targeting all regions of Italy.


    In a department responsible for broadcasting statistics in Rome, RAI''s headquarters, employees monitoring the broadcasts can be seen.


    As arge broadcastingpany operating 18 channels, RAI requires a systematic monitoring setup, evident by the over thirty monitors in use.


    A chief CP (Chief of Production) at the corner seat yawned enormously, though it didn¡¯t seem like it was out of boredom.


    ¡°His voice is incredibly smooth. It¡¯s like a whisper and pleasant to listen to.¡±


    He was watching the broadcast of Jeong-hoon painting.


    To Western eyes, Asians might not always appear attractive, but with the recent global hit of Asian TV content, Europeans have started to see the charm in Asians, and they no longer find Asians on TV strange.


    ¡°And besides, this person. He¡¯s quite handsome.¡±


    He may not have the shy looks of a world-famous Korean boy band, but he would certainly be considered handsome if seen on the street.


    To him, who had met many artists with gloomy or closed-off vibes, this kind of appearance was quite refreshing.


    ¡°He''s smart. He thought that a broadcast of just painting without talking would be boring.¡±


    The CP, who was monitoring personally after approving the request for a simultaneous interpreter, knew through the AD that this broadcast was not nned at the request of the producer.


    The painter was doing everything on his own.


    ¡°He''s a painter with enough qualities to be a star, haha.¡±


    Just then, one of the monitoring staff stood up and said,


    ¡°The ratings for Channel 5 are rapidly increasing. They¡¯ve gone up by 0.4% in 10 minutes.¡±


    The CP spun around in his chair and asked,


    ¡°What''s the current rating?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s at 1.7%.¡±


    An art-rted broadcast without advertising reaching a 1.7% rating was a small yet significant achievement.


    The CP stood up and pped his hands.


    ¡°Alright! Let''s cut this broadcast into a simplemercial and air it on all our channels under management, including on the radio. Our target rating is 8%, let''s move!¡±


    It''s rare for an art-rted broadcast to achieve a rating of 8%. But the one who gave the order was the responsible CP of RAI, whose judgment was almost always urate.


    Following the instructions of their superior, the broadcastingpany¡¯s monitoring staff busied themselves.


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 Chapter 133 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 133 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    "There''s an old Asian saying, ''????,'' which means ''the sky is high, and the horses are fat.'' It''s usually a phrase to describe autumn, but its original meaning was quite different."


    I painted the tall autumn sky with my brush, sometimes round, sometimes stretching it horizontally.


    "In ancient times, near northern China, there was a tribe called the Xiongnu. They were nomads who raided on horseback, especially in autumn, to prepare for the harsh winter. When the horses got fat and the sky high, the Chinese knew to prepare for raids. This phrase originated from there, but now it indicates theing of autumn. Let''s try to represent this high sky, shall we?"


    I wasn''t just scribbling on a small canvas; I was painting a vast mural.


    "My canvas now is a massive wall, 40 meters wide and 10 meters high. And it must look like one picture even from the front, so I have to fill the sides too."


    ''I always dreamed of painting on such arge wall when I was young.''


    Luckily, my hometown had many empty houses and factories.


    "Like Monica''s vige, many rural towns in Korea are facing extinction. I lived in such a vige with my dad. But I was too young then."


    I didn''t know how to fill such arge canvas systematically; I was too short,ckingdders and enough paint."Like Lea in Monica''s vige, I used to pick up chalky stones and doodle. That was my joy."


    ''Now I realize I''m living the life I dreamed of as a child.''


    I didn''t know then.


    That I''m living the life I dreamed of in my youth.


    I''ve long escaped a life worried about utilities and bills.


    "But was it all happiness? No. Life always brings new challenges."


    "Running apany, maintaining it, building a future brought its own trials. Sometimes, I miss my carefree days as a street artist."


    "There was so much to worry about."


    "I didn''t have these concerns back then."


    "It was easier when I only had to take care of myself."


    "Why do I have to struggle so much?"


    "Such a luxurious worry, I guess."


    "I even forgot I''m living my dream life."


    Lost in thought while painting, I smiled at the camera.


    "Speaking of the sky, my dad used to tell me a story. I''m not sure if the West has a simr saying, but in the East, we have ''Men are like the sky.'' I once asked my dad why men arepared to the sky after hearing it from a neighbor."


    Iughed, mixing colors on my palette.


    "Dad said, ''The sky creates weather. It can be cold or hot, bring rain, lightning, or snowstorms.'' I didn''t understand and just blinked in confusion."


    Taking a brush loaded with paint to the wall, I continued with a broad smile.


    "Dad said, ''Men are the sky of the family. How you act affects everyone in it. You can bring rain or make them shiver with cold. So, think about how you should be for your loved ones.''"


    The beautiful colors spread across the wall.


    "''Men are like the sky'' doesn''t mean women should treat their husbands as such. It means men should create a warm,fortable environment for their family. Of course, it''s an old saying. In today''s era of gender equality, there''s no strict rule that only men should be like the sky, right? So, I hope viewers watching this broadcast don''t interpret it in that way."


    I was just chattering away.


    Partly because I disliked the silence that enveloped this ce, where even the windows were covered, making it impossible to see outside, and partly to alleviate a bit of boredom.


    However, I had no idea what kind of ripple my words would create outside.


    * * *


    "CP-nim! The phrase ''????'' has risen to 7th ce in Italy''s Google search rankings. The Korean painter is now 3rd in the search rankings!"


    "We just broke through a viewer rating of 4.3%!"


    "30-second advertisement videos have been broadcast on 11 channels!"


    Real-time reports from monitoring agents pour in.


    It''s been a rare asion for the viewership of art-rted channels to approach 5%, and the real-time appearance of words on Google search rankings being ranked high indicates that it''s gradually bing a topic of discussion.


    The CP, receiving the reports, twirled his finger and spoke.


    "Every hour, during the mid-broadcast ad time, make sure to air channel ads, and what about the radio broadcast?"


    "I''ve ryed it to the radio PDs. The DJs n to mention the currently live program during the broadcast."


    "Good, push harder."


    "Yes!"


    The CP gives instructions, looks at the monitors again, rubs his chin, and mumbles.


    "It feels like watching an inte broadcast. What is this guy? He exins even unfamiliar idioms to Europeans, and he shares his life story. I thought it was just a broadcast of him drawing, but it''s more interesting than I thought."


    On the monitor, Jung-hoon is seen drawing. A beautiful path through a forest with autumn leaves. A magnificent picture that evokes the impulse to walk along a long river is beingpleted in his hands.


    "Moreover, his talent is extraordinary. In the contemporary art world,ndscape paintings can sometimes be dismissed as low-level art. But he is now giving meaning tondscape paintings. It''s not just about drawing andscape."


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 Chapter 133 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 133 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    The third floor of the Rosellini headquarters.


    Monica, sitting in front of the monitor, interlocks her fingers and stares intently at the screen, smiling.


    Ci''s voice is heard, bringing coffee.


    "The preparations for theunch event are going smoothly. The models for the fashion show have been confirmed, and we''ve prepared a total of 53 items to showcase."


    "Good, good. Oh, have you sent out the invitations to the guests?"


    "Yes, boss. All have been dispatched."


    "How many?"


    "500. We''ve also set aside 100 seats for journalists."


    "Well done."Monica listens to the report but keeps her eyes on the monitor, bursting intoughter at something she hears.


    "Ha-ha! Ban is really interesting. I can''t stop watching. Ci, do you know any Korean proverbs?"


    "No, I don''t."


    "Ban just told me one while drawing this plum tree next to the river, you see?"


    "Yes."


    "There''s a Korean saying that you shouldn''t even adjust your hat under this tree. Do you know what that means?"


    "Uh, does it mean not to do anything that might make you look like you''re stealing the fruit?"


    "Oh! You have a good sense. That''s right. Now, Ban is talking about Asian proverbs or idioms every time he draws something in his painting. He gives meaning to every tree and every flower he draws."


    "I see."


    "Isn''t it fun? I wonder how the broadcast will do? This is a show I managed to get through a PD I know well."


    Ci, holding out a tablet, said.


    "I''m checking in real time. The ratings have surpassed 5.3%, and rted search terms are ranking high on Google."


    Monica''s eyes widen at the mention of a 5% rating.


    "5%?"


    "It''s still rising."


    Monica''s expression suggests that this is higher than expected. Her eyes are glued to the tablet.


    Ci quietly watches her boss''s face and says.


    "I think I made the right choice epting your scout offer, Monica."


    Monica, surprised, looks up from the screen. She gazes quietly at her secretary, puts down the tablet, and asks.


    "Why do you think that suddenly? Do you feel optimistic about the brand''s future?"


    Like all business people, she needs encouragement and support from those around her to push through tough times.


    Monica was hoping for a specific answer from Ci, but the response she received was different.


    Ci, looking at Ban drawing in the PC monitor, said.


    "As you know, I didn''t like Ban at first. I liked him as a person, but when I saw the shop smeared with his bright blue paint, I was so angry I could feel the veins on my forehead."


    Monica smiles at the mention of Ban.


    "Have you changed your opinion now?"


    "Of course. It was clearly my prejudice, my mistake for not recognizing art."


    "Hehe. But why bring up Ban all of a sudden?"


    Ci nods towards Ban on the monitor and says.


    "We once had dinner together."


    "With whom? With Ban?"


    "Exactly. It was with Marco, the driver, and the three of us. I don''t know if Ban dislikes eating alone or if he just likes to take care of those around him, but he always wants to eat with people he works with."


    "Hm, we did have many meals together in Korea too. But what about the meal? What did you talk about?"


    Ci nods and says.


    "Ban said that. The first person to notice him, a street artist unnoticed by anyone, was you, Monica."


    "......"


    "Also, he mentioned that after finishing his contract with MG Electronics, it was you, Monica, who introduced him to others and gave him more opportunities."


    Monica, who had not thought about such things, falls silent in thought.


    ''No, even if it wasn''t me, Ban would have shone. Meeting him first was my luck, not his.''


    Monica was about to exin that she wasn''t the one who discovered Jung Hoon, but simply met him by chance and enjoyed this fortune, but she stops herself at Ci''s serious words.


    "There are many hidden geniuses around us. There are hundreds, thousands of geniuses in each era who go unrecognized and are buried. The ability to recognize such geniuses is not granted to just anyone. My choice to trust Monica, who has that eye, that innate ability to recognize art, makes me proud of myself."


    "Ci, that''s..."


    Monica, wanting to exin it was a misunderstanding, is about to speak when Ci shakes her head.


    "Ban himself admitted it. He said you were the person he was most grateful to, along with his family."


    "..."


    A deep sense of happiness wells up from within.


    There''s a sense of pride in contributing to the birth of a master who is now causing a stir throughout Italy. Of course, people may exaggerate more, but that can be exinedter.


    Monica smiles and nods.


    "Who the artist is doesn''t matter. Ban is gaining fame throughout Italy now, and as he bes famous, the value of our brand will rise. That''s what matters right now."


    Both of them simultaneously gaze at Jung-hoon on the monitor.


    "This part will be the water. Using the same brush that we used earlier to paint the sky with Prussian Blue and Midnight ck, let''s draw the basic shape of the water. Add some more paint to the brush and paint it a bit darker. We paint from the outside inward. We need to leave space in the middle. If everything goes well, it will feel like the light is flowing across the water. Light is really important. All the colors we see are just an illusion created by light."


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 Chapter 134 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 134 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Ten dayster.


    As soon as I leave the hotel, I am surrounded by bodyguards.


    Since I wore a mask and hat beforeing out of the hotel room, walking a bit wouldn¡¯t have been an issue, but Monica chose to increase the number of bodyguards, strengthening the security.


    During the ride from the hotel entrance to the store in Marco''s car, I had time to talk with only a few approved people. This time is very precious to me now.


    "Marco, did you have breakfast?"


    "Yes, Ban! I did, you had breakfast at the hotel, right?"


    "Yes, I did."


    "I''ll prepare Korean food for lunch. I''ll leave it secretly. You know there are no cameras in the break room, right?"


    "Yes, I know."The location of the live broadcast in the store is aplete secret. All windows are covered with ck stickers, and the front of the store is blocked by trucks.


    They even removed all writings of ''press vehicle'' to disguise it as a broadcasting truck. So, like when I painted the pond picture in the head office, there was no crowd gathering.


    Marco, meeting my eyes through the rearview mirror, said,


    "Ban."


    "Yes?"


    "Could you give me an autograph?"


    "Why an autograph all of a sudden?"


    "My mom is a fan of Ban. She watches the broadcasts."


    "Oh, really? People really watch this broadcast."


    "What do you mean by that?"


    "Haha, just wondering who would watch it."


    "Huh, Ban! Are you serious?"


    "About what?"


    "Haha."


    The store is very close to the hotel. As we arrived during our conversation, Marco parked the car and winked at me.


    "People do watch, so keep up the good work. It must be frustrating to be confined there."


    "Phew, it is frustrating. But I guess a few more days of hard work and I''ll be done."


    "Things might look a bit different once you''re out."


    "Huh? What do you mean?"


    "Haha, oh, therees the PD."


    Turning my head, I see the broadcasting PDing through the bodyguards, who are vigntly guarding the surroundings. The PD, smiling broadly, is carrying a few boxes.


    I greeted him as I got out of the car.


    "Good morning, PD."


    "Oh, Ban. Did you get a good rest?"


    "Yes, thanks to the bodyguards, I couldn¡¯t go out and had nothing to do but rest in the room, haha."


    "Haha, thank you for today''s work. Until what time do you n to work?"


    "Maybe until 10 pm?"


    "nning to paint until a simr time tonight?"


    "I want to finish it quickly. It''s suffocating to be confined."


    "Understood, and here."


    "What is this?"


    The PD handed me the boxes he was carrying.


    "Donuts, coffee, pizza, and a few drinks. It would be great if you could make sure the boxes are visible on camera."


    "What?"


    What is he talking about?


    Seeing my puzzled expression, the PDughed and said,


    "It''s all PPL. Thanks to Ban, the station''s advertising has been a huge sess."


    "What?"


    "Please give a taste review when you eat. Preferably a good one. Now, please go in."


    The PD gestures towards the inside. Only the staff entrance was open, and the entrance was guarded by bodyguards. If I go in there, I¡¯ll be confined for another 12 hours.


    But PPL meanspanies expose their brands in the broadcast, right?


    PPL in this kind of broadcast? Not even art supplies ads but food? That''s a strange system. Anyway, it''s good if they¡¯re giving it to eat.


    I shrugged my shoulders and took the boxes into the store.


    The store was still empty.


    The only change since the beginning was that the work on the front wall was all done. Now, if I color the pre-drawn sketches on both walls, this work will be finished.


    Having repeated this work for ten days, I familiarly stood in front of the nearby camera and said,


    "Hello, everyone. Marco''s mother! Are you watching the broadcast? You asked for an autograph, right? I was busy this morning but will surely do it this evening. Thank you for watching the broadcast. I''m surprised people actually watch such a boring show. You have a unique taste, haha."


    I showed the boxes to the camera angle and said,


    "I had breakfast at seven, and now I''m already hungry. Shall I eat something simple? Oh, do you know what a mukbang is? It¡¯s Korean for eating broadcast. It''s weird, right? Why would someone watch others eat? Honestly, I don¡¯t understand it either."


    I opened the donut box and showed the brand.


    "Lago Ciambelle? Am I pronouncing it correctly? Oh, there are cocoa donuts."


    I held up the most appetizing donut, weighing it in my hand and nodding.


    "It seems to be filled with a lot of cream; the donut is heavy. I''ll give it a try."


    As I took a big bite, cream burst out of the donut. I quickly covered my mouth to prevent spilling it,ughing.


    "Wow, that''s a lot of cream. Tasty, though. But honestly, I still don¡¯t understand why people watch this kind of broadcast. Doesn¡¯t watching someone else eat just make you hungry? If you''re on a diet, maybe switch the channel for a bit, because I might just nibble away at all of these. Haha."


    Delicious, but I really don''t get it.


    Why do people watch broadcasts of others eating? It just makes you want to eat, what''s the benefit?


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 Chapter 134 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 134 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Meanwhile, at the broadcasting station.


    "CP-nim, orders are flooding in for the donut brand we linked to the broadcast; we¡¯ve already sold 600 boxes!"


    "CP-nim! The brand is requesting that other vors besides cocoa donuts be eaten too! It seems cocoa donuts are selling particrly well!"


    Hearing the shouting monitoring staff, the CP chuckled to himself.


    "What''s with this guy? Pretends not to understand but enjoys eating so much. No wonder he seems so genuine. Even I feel like buying one now, what about the viewers? Hey! Do we have any of those donuts here?"


    One of the monitoring staff brought over a box of donuts and said,


    "The PPLpany distributed these to the broadcasting station this morning, have one."


    "Oh, nice. But how much of the sales profit are we getting?"


    "5%.""Heh, not bad. Alright, go back to work."


    CP, who had been swallowing saliva since earlier, quickly sent the staff away and opened the box to grab a coconut donut, pushing it into his mouth.


    "Mmm~ There''s really a lot of cream, haha!"


    Leisurely eating the donut, CP hears the shouts of the employees while monitoring.


    "Mr. CP! We''ve surpassed a thousand orders for the donuts!"


    "The viewership rate has surpassed 9%! It''s the highest ever!"


    "The number one search on Google is the donut brand!"


    CP''s ears flutter as if listening to pleasant music while eating the donut, his expression bing increasingly exhrated.


    * * *


    Four dayster, I climbed down thedder after touching up thest part of the ceiling mural and threw my brush into the bucket, shouting triumphantly.


    "Finished!!!"


    I jumped off thedder, clenched my fist, and yelled.


    "Finally, it''s over! I''m getting out of here!"


    I wasn''t exaggerating, I was truly excited.


    It was Monica''s request, but I entered by choice. Still, being trapped here for fifteen days was hellish. Now I can finally live breathing fresh air every day.


    "Everyone! I''m finally done, I''m leaving now. Once outside, will someone have tofu ready for me? Oh, don''t they have this custom in Italy? Do you know tofu? It''s made from soybeans. In Korea, there''s a custom of feeding tofu to someone who''s just been released from prison. In the old days, prisoners were given rice with beans, so feeding tofu meant ''no more bean rice for you''. It''s like saying ''let''s end it with this''. Interesting, right?"


    I cleaned up thedder, the paints and brushes on the floor, and even the vinylid down to protect the floor. Then I sat in the middle of the floor, looking at the painting and said,


    "Now I need to open the windows topletely dry the painting. In the afternoon, workers wille to coat the walls to protect the painting. But before that, let me exin the painting to you."


    I gazed at the autumn scenery in the painting.


    It''s my own work, but it''s truly beautiful. If this ce wasn''t a store but a real forest with such an autumn view, I''dy a towel on the ground, eat a sandwich, and fall asleep.


    Sitting on the floor, knees pulled up, I gently rocked my body and said,


    "What do you think? Isn''t it beautiful?"


    Holding a small camera, I shone it on the paintings and said,


    "In the center, there''s a flowing river, on the left are cypress trees, and on the right, low trees with fruit hanging in clusters. There''s a path leading to the mountains far along the river. I wanted to paint a ce where you''d want to walk with your loved one. How does it feel?"


    During the painting, I had given detailed exnations of the small trees, flowers, water, and distant mountains, adding a bit of nonsense, so I omitted the minor details.


    Anyone who had watched this broadcast for fifteen days would already know.


    I ced the camera where the whole painting was visible, sat beside it, and said,


    "You might not know, but this is the second storepleted by the new brand Rosellini. This brand operates on two tracks: a premium brand and this one, a contemporary brand store."


    Looking at the sky, clouds, distant mountains, and trees, I said,


    "To be honest, I didn''t know much about fashion. But the more I learned, the more I felt that the world of fashion was as vast and beautiful as nature itself. And it was all heading somewhere. Just like the path in this painting."


    Talking to myself in an empty ce, I mumbled these stories.


    "Fashion speaks. Not in the impotent form ofnguage, but in thousands of rich expressions. We create weapons with it to express ourselves. And these weapons be a means to show oneself to others. What could be at the end of this path, at the foot of these mountains?"


    I smiled mischievously and said,


    ¡°I hid a painting at the end of these mountains. During the painting, I made sure the camera missed it, so you haven¡¯t seen it properly. Are you curious about what I painted?¡±


    I looked at the camera and pretended to pull down my lower eyelid with my index finger.


    ¡°I''m not going to tell you, haha. If you''re curious,e and see for yourself.¡±


    Hmm, I wonder if this will help Monica''s store. But it''s worth a try.


    It would be nice if some of the few viewers watching this broadcast became curious and came to the store.


    I slowly got up from my ce, stretchednguidly, and smiled broadly.


    ¡°Okay! I''m leaving now! Mr. PD, please remove the stickers and ventte the ce!¡±


    Finally, the long fifteen-day task was over.


    As my cue was given, the ck stickers covering the store''s windows were removed, and the sound of the truck that had been blocking the front of the store moving away could be heard.


    And now, drenched in anticipation of going outside to bask in the sun and breathe fresh air, I cheerfully turned my head towards the sunlit window. As the stickers disappeared, revealing the outside, I froze in shock.


    "What... What is this?"


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 Chapter 135 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 135 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    "Aaaaaah!!"


    "Kyaaaah!!"


    "Van! Please look over here!"


    "I''ll take a picture, please look this way!"


    What is this?


    I''m currently frozen, looking outside from inside the store.


    Holding the bag I just organized, in a hesitant posture.


    A tremendous barrage of shes.


    Banners and cards written in Korean, English, and Italian.''I love you, Van.''


    ''Break a leg, Van!''


    ''ti amo, Van!''


    Crowds filling up in front of the shop window. An uncountable number of people are out there for me. I''m stunned, unable toprehend the situation.


    The producer, whoes into the store, ps and says.


    "Finally, it''s over. You''ve worked hard!"


    I gulp down saliva and nce at the screaming people.


    "What, what is all this?"


    The producer stands beside me and turns his back.


    "These are your fans. Now, why don¡¯t you go out and greet them?"


    "Fa, fans?"


    The producer smiles wryly and nods.


    "Your show ''Drawing with Van'' reached a momentary peak rating of 15%. The average rating is 8%. It''s been ranked at the top among art broadcasts in Italy, generating a lot of buzz."


    "......"


    How can I believe that so many people watched a show where I just quietly drew and muttered?


    With a dazed face, I alternately look at the crowd outside and the producer''s face and ask.


    "Is this some kind of hidden camera prank?"


    "Ha ha! No, it''s not. During yesterday''s broadcast, the location of the store was revealed with subtitles. Now, your fans are waiting. Please go out and greet them."


    The producer nudges my back.


    Pushed by him, I fumble for the doorknob to go outside, so surprised that I miss it several times.


    Finally, as I step outside, a tremendous cheer pours over me along with the fresh air.


    "Kyaaaah!!!"


    Due to the sudden noise, I grimace slightly and hunch my neck. The fans hold up cards they''ve written by hand above their heads.


    I could read the ones in Korean and English, most saying they love me, they are fans.


    ¡®Did these people reallye to see me?¡¯


    Thanks to the magazine interview, I already knew that my face had be well-known. But I''m not a celebrity, how could I possibly gain this much poprity?


    The producer whispers from behind.


    "Just raise your hand once."


    "......"


    I swallow hard and cautiously raise my hand.


    Then, a colossal cheer erupts, as if the street itself could crumble. Dumbfounded, I stare at the people with my hand awkwardly raised.


    Suddenly, journalists waiting in the front row of the crowd break the line and move inside.


    It was a situation that could have led to an ident if the security guards hadn''t intervened, with so many people pushing forward. The journalists shout.


    "Van! Please say a word!"


    "RAI Channel 5''s ratings have surpassed 15%! How do you feel?"


    "What did you paint at the end of the woond path?"


    "The viewers are curious, please tell us about the painting you hid at the end of the path!"


    I take a few steps back, overwhelmed by the pressing journalists.


    Then, about twenty bodyguards wearing sunsses rush in from the side of the broadcasting staff and surround me.


    What is this now? As I look at them, puzzled, Monica approachesst.


    Monica sends a beaming smile and ps.


    "You were amazing, Ban."


    "Monica. What exactly is happening here?"


    "It''s hard to exin here. Too noisy. Shall we go to the car?"


    "Ah, yes."


    Although I''m grateful that people like me, this sudden turn of events is too overwhelming. All I want now is to quickly leave this ce.


    Guided by the bodyguards to the car.


    I walked frantically among the people, waving cards and screaming like the most passionate fans of a boy band. It was a moment when I truly understood what it means to be out of one''s mind.


    Thanks to the bodyguards, I quickly reach the parking lot and spot Monica''s Maserati in the distance, rushing towards it.


    Monica''s driver, who was waiting in advance, opens the back door for me.


    Like a hero escaping from a building about to explode in thest scene of a movie, I dive into the car, quickly adjust myself, and press my face against the window to look outside.


    A scene that is hard to believe.


    I experienced something that K-pop stars might see.


    "Ha, what on earth."


    Monica, who got into the seat next to me a bitte, said to the driver.


    "To the hotel."


    As the car starts moving, I see the bodyguards forming a line, pushing the crowd back, clearing a path to the road. I ask from inside the car.


    "Can you exin now? Is it true that the ratings soared to 15%?"


    Monica ps softly and smiles.


    "You''ve made history in Italian solo broadcasting, Ban."


    "......"


    Wow, is this real?


    "But, who would watch that kind of broadcast."


    Monica said with a deep smile.


    "The exnations about various Asian cultures that Van did in front of the camera for a fortnight became interesting content for the viewers. Google search rankings were filled daily with words from Van''s stories."


    "Wow."


    "The broadcastingpany also made a tremendous profit."


    "Why the broadcastingpany?"


    "Did you know about the food that the PD gave you to eat? It was all product cement (PPL)."


    "Oh, I know that."


    ¡°The broadcasting station made a contract to share sales revenue, and many of the foods that Ban ate became mega-hits. It seems that the ratings were high, and with Ban eating the food deliciously and adding matching stories, the viewers responded well. The responsible CP even called to thank us.¡±


    ¡°Wow.¡±


    ¡°We had to use all our connections and beg favors to get this broadcast. After it ended, various broadcast officials came to thank us. This is all thanks to you. You did so well, Ban.¡±


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 Chapter 135 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 135 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    I swallowed hard.


    After being locked in a small room for fifteen days, I emerged to find the world had changed. Is this what they mean by an overnight star?


    Monica spoke while crossing her arms.


    ¡°As you know, from now on, Ban cannot act alone. This is a safety measure, so please understand. You will be assigned a 24-hour bodyguard. Of course, we only chose those who can speak English, so feel free to ask them anything.¡±


    ¡°¡­¡­.¡±


    Monica burst intoughter at my bewildered face and asked.


    ¡°But is that story about Ban''s father true?¡±


    ¡°Father?¡±


    ¡°The man who talks about the sky.¡±¡°Ah, right.¡±


    ¡°Oh, he was such a romantic. That story became the most talked-about. Now, Ban, you are the most desirable man among Italian women. Thanks to you, it seems that wives are nagging their husbands at home, haha.¡±


    ¡°¡­¡­.¡±


    Monica pped her hands lightly and continued.


    ¡°While watching the broadcast and checking the reactions, I always felt fortunate to have met you. You did a great job, Ban.¡±


    I remained silent, swallowing hard. I still couldn''t believe it. Am I dreaming? Will Marcoe to wake me up and say it''s time to work again?


    I pinched my cheek. Huh? It doesn''t hurt? Should I pinch harder?


    Monica burst intoughter again at my actions and pped my shoulder.


    ¡°Now that you''re famous, stop doing that, haha.¡±


    ¡°¡­This isn''t a dream, right?¡±


    ¡°It''s reality, Ban.¡±


    ¡°¡­¡­.¡±


    Have I really be famous?


    Not in Korea, but in Italy?


    Then I heard the vibration of my phone from my bag. I quickly took it out; it was Young-ju calling.


    ¡°Hey, Young-ju.¡±


    -You crazy guy. What on earth did you do?


    ¡°What?¡±


    -Didn''t I tell you to go and do something worthy of ourpany¡¯s portfolio? And you''ve turned Italy upside down?


    ¡°How do you know?¡±


    -Idiot, there are over fifty articles about you here today. Don''t you know that Koreans are crazy about stories of Asians being recognized in the West?


    ¡°Wow, even in Korea?¡±


    -Yes, it¡¯s not broadcasted yet, but with such attention, news ising out here too. The foreign websites with trantion services are stered with your story. You are even on TV news here. They just broadcasted you leaving the store live.


    ¡°Wow.¡±


    -It¡¯s three in the afternoon here. Calls for business proposals are flooding thepany. You, this guy, did too much. We only have four people including me; how can we handle all this?


    It sounded like a reprimand, but his voice was very cheerful. Although heined, he seemed happy with the situation benefiting thepany.


    ¡°Should we hire more people?¡±


    -Obviously.


    ¡°How many?¡±


    -We¡¯d need a hundred to handle all the business proposals, but expanding too quickly is a shortcut to failure. Let¡¯s start with ten, what do you think?


    Ten people. Will I be the boss of apany with fifteen employees? Can I do that?


    ¡°Isn¡¯t ten too many?¡±


    -You kid, what did you hear just now? Even with a hundred, we can¡¯t handle all the work. Let''s start with ten and try our best to handle the workload.


    ¡°Okay, I¡¯lle back quickly, so let¡¯s do interviews when I get there.¡±


    -Stop talking nonsense. Do you not know the saying ¡®strike while the iron is hot¡¯? Don¡¯te back. The hiring of employees is my responsibility. You just be more famous ande back, got it? I¡¯m hanging up.


    The call ended abruptly.


    But Young-ju¡¯sst voice was full of vitality.


    I just stared at my phone, dumbfounded. As I waited for the call to end, Monica¡¯s voice reached me.


    ¡°Ban.¡±


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°Can I ask you one question?¡±


    ¡°Ah, yes.¡±


    After putting my phone in my bag and looking at her, Monica asks with a smile.


    "What painting did you hide? People are going crazy wanting to know. Did you do that on purpose? To make peoplee to the store to see it themselves?"


    "Ah, that."


    What''s this? You''re the CEO of apany.


    If you were curious, you could have seen it when you came to pick me up.


    Maybe it''s because I''m moving away from the people in the car, or maybe it''s Youngju''s voice, but I feel a bit more settled now.


    "The Pond of ck Lotus."


    Monica''s eyes widen as soon as she hears my words. She rolls her eyes, then ps her hands, visibly moved.


    "Van!"


    Monica rushes into the car and hugs me.


    "Whoa."


    "Van! This is so touching!"


    "......"


    Ah, heartwarming.


    To think that I would get to embrace such a beauty in my life.


    I gently push away the moved Monica, who''s almost in tears, and scratch my head.


    "No, it''s because Aqua Rossellini is moving towards a premium line with the ck Label. I just wanted to say that your ck Label is the ultimate destination of fashion."


    Monica smiles broadly, tears sparkling in her eyes.


    "You''re right, Van! I''ll work hard to make the meaning behind your painting a reality!"


    Ha, sure. Please do.


    I''m a major shareholder with 0.8% of the stock, after all.


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 Chapter 136 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 136 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Waking up to superstardom.


    This phrase, which sounds like a clickbait title from a web novel, had be my reality.


    Two days after the work was done.


    I couldn''t step outside the hotel. Truthfully, I had nowhere to go, and moving around with a bunch of bodyguards felt burdensome.


    I felt too guilty to step out, knowing that dozens of people would have to move with me.


    There I was, sitting on the hotel bed, watching TV.


    It''s Italian broadcasting, so I don''t understand a word, but the images alone were enough toprehend.


    RAI channel had set up a special broadcast about me.


    They edited together everything I had said over the past fortnight, or sped up the camera angles to show the entire process of my painting in an hour ¨C a highlights show.The news channels were simr. But there, not only my name but also Monica''s name was frequently mentioned.


    Especially the news focusing on theunching event happening tomorrow. With this level of buzz, theunch should go smoothly.


    Peeking out to the terrace, I saw journalists sprawled below the hotel.


    Worried about being spotted and dealing with the hassle, I quickly drew the curtains and sat back on the bed, tousling my hair in frustration.


    ¡°Wow, this is crazy. After being trapped in a store for a fortnight, now I''m confined to a hotel room.¡±


    Just then, someone knocked on my hotel room door.


    Knock, knock.


    "Marco?"


    The only people who woulde to my room are Marco and the head of the security team. Iboriously moved my buttocks, which had been on the bed for too long, and opened the door.


    And I froze.


    "Irina?"


    Is this an illusion?


    There stood Irina, in front of my hotel room.


    Why on earth is this world-renowned pianist here?


    Her usually icy, princess-like demeanor was oddly graced with a bright smile.


    "Ban, long time no see?"


    "Irina? Is it really you?"


    As I rubbed my eyes in disbelief, she burst intoughter.


    "Yes, it''s me. I was invited to Monica''sunch event."


    Ah, this person. She''s close to Monica.


    I quickly stepped aside from the door and said,


    "Come in."


    "Thank you."


    It''s a suite, so the room has a living area.


    I seated her on the sofa in the living room and returned after making coffee.


    ¡°Where did youe from? Pnd?¡±


    ¡°No, I came from a performance in Austria.¡±


    ¡°Wow, I¡¯ve always wanted to visit there.¡±


    ¡°Let''s go, it''s not far from here.¡±


    Oh? That¡¯s right.


    This is Europe, after all. Maybe I really should visit?


    Once the event is over, there¡¯s no need to stay longer. Perhaps I should take a detour and travel on my way back? I doubt many people in Austria would recognize me yet, so it seems like a good idea.


    ¡°By the way, has news about me reached Austria too?¡±


    Irina smiles and nods.


    ¡°It¡¯s all over Europe.¡±


    ¡°Wow, there goes my trip.¡±


    ¡°Haha, why not take a tour around the rural areas instead of the city centers? The real Europe is in its rural viges.¡±


    Oh, that¡¯s a good idea.


    It''s a bit disappointing not to visit Vienna in Austria. But asking for bodyguards outside of Italy would be a nuisance, so I should find a quiet ce to travel.


    While I¡¯m pondering, my eyes rolling with ns, Irina speaks.


    ¡°Ban.¡±


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°Do you remember Professor Jerzy Stuhr?¡±


    Jerzy? Oh, the professor with a name like a girl group.


    ¡°The professor from the Warsaw Conservatory?¡±


    ¡°Yes, the professor seems keen on bringing you to the school.¡±


    ¡°He still hasn¡¯t given up on wanting to use my paintings as teaching materials?¡±


    ¡°No, the Conservatory also teaches art. It''s not a major subject, though. They seem to want to invite you as a guest lecturer.¡±


    ¡°Haha, please politely decline for me. I¡¯m not cut out for teaching others.¡±


    Irina grins.


    ¡°Ban, you¡¯re really unique.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    Irina examines my face and says,


    ¡°A personal invitation from the Warsaw Conservatory, and you decline it outright. How many people on Earth would do that?¡±


    ¡°¡­¡­.¡±


    Is that so?


    Irina continues,


    ¡°Do you know how many people dream of a professorship at the Warsaw Conservatory? This could be a milestone in your career, yet you tly refuse.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not my path.¡±


    Irina¡¯s smile deepens.


    ¡°Exactly. That¡¯s what makes you unique. You don¡¯t deviate to any other crossroads you encounter on your path. You seem like someone who values the path you¡¯re on more than wealth or fame.¡±


    I chuckled and said,


    "It''s not something grand like that. In Korea, there''s a saying, ''A stork trying to follow a heron splits its legs.'' It''s just that I don''t want to end up in a situation where I''m neither here nor there, trying too hard to be something I''m not. You can think of it as me being cowardly if you like."


    ¡°Haha! Splitting its legs? Haha, Korea really has some interesting sayings. Like on the broadcasts too.¡±


    ¡°You watched the broadcasts, Irina?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Monica sent me a link to watch them online. I made sure to watch whenever I had time. It was your broadcast, after all.¡±


    I scratched my cheek with my index finger, smiling awkwardly.


    ¡°I¡¯m embarrassed.¡±


    ¡°Not at all. You¡¯ve been a benefactor to me.¡±


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 Chapter 136 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 136 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    ¡°¡­¡­.¡±


    I felt my face would burst from embarrassment, but I knew why Irina said such things.


    After her performance in Korea, Irina received tremendous praise from the critics. The critics from other countries where she performed afterwards did not hold back in their high praises for her ying.


    Since she would sometimes call me, her voice bright with gratitude, I knew well the meaning behind her words now.


    ¡°It''s all because you performed well, Irina.¡±


    Irina smiled broadly and stood up.


    ¡°Then, I¡¯ll see you at theunch event tomorrow, Ban.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re leaving already?¡±


    ¡°I have another appointment.¡±¡°Performing here too?¡±


    ¡°No, I have a dinner date with the Prime Minister of Italy.¡±


    Wow, a world-ss pianist even dines with the Prime Minister. Truly impressive.


    ¡°Oh, I see. You should go, then.¡±


    ¡°See you tomorrow, Ban.¡±


    After Irina left, silence returned to the hotel room.


    I went to the room with the bed,y down, and sighed while looking at the ceiling.


    ¡°It''s nice to be famous, but it feels too suffocating.¡±


    I rolled around on the bed, mumbling to myself.


    ¡°Is this the life of a star?¡±


    Giggling, chuckling.


    I spent a long timeughing alone in bed, reciting what sounded like lines from a teenage melodrama.


    * * *


    Boom, boom, bang, bang.


    The heart-stirring sounds of bass and drums.


    Models walking on the stage under the dazzling lights.


    Nearly 600 key figures and journalists from the fashion industry.


    Actually being in a ce I¡¯ve only seen on TV feels surreal.


    Moreover, Irina is sitting next to me. Here I am at an Italian fashion show, sitting side by side with a world-renowned pianist. Is this even real?


    Many of the journalists are taking pictures of the fashion show, me, and Irina sitting next to me.


    With continuous shes going off, it''s impossible to even pick my nose. It''s ufortably maddening.


    ¡°Is this the life you always live, Irina?¡±


    She turns from watching the show at my question.


    ¡°Hmm?¡±


    ¡°Those people there.¡±


    She sees the journalists I¡¯m gesturing to and smiles.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it. It might be unavoidable at first, but you¡¯ll get used to it eventually.¡±


    ¡°Phew, it¡¯s stressful knowing someone is staring holes into me like that.¡±


    Irina grins and says,


    ¡°As ufortable as you get, the value of your paintings will rise.¡±


    ¡°¡­¡­.¡±


    Well, that''s good, I guess.


    Irina nods at me and asks,


    ¡°Did you see the article yesterday?¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t read Italian newspapers.¡±


    ¡°Ah, right.¡±


    ¡°What was in the article?¡±


    ¡°Ban, have you ever painted a portrait for someone in southern Palermo?¡±


    I remember the honest face of the taxi driver who had driven me and nod.


    ¡°Yes, I drew a portrait of his wife instead of paying the taxi fare on my way to the cathedral.¡±


    ¡°So it was true.¡±


    ¡°Why do you ask?¡±


    Irina smiles slyly and turns her gaze back to the fashion show.


    ¡°It seems a tycoon from the south wants to buy that painting and has been looking for that man.¡±


    ¡°The portrait? What¡¯s the point if it goes to someone else?¡±


    ¡°Haha, all the masterpieces we are looking at were painted for others, after all.¡±


    ¡°Ah, well, that''s true. But the person is still very much alive.¡±


    ¡°Haha, right. Apparently, he absolutely refused to sell it. I heard he was a poor man.¡±


    ¡°Yes, he was a friend who was not well off.¡±


    ¡°There was an interview where he said he wouldn¡¯t sell it even for double the price the tycoon offered.¡±


    ¡°Haha, that guy is something else.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s smart.¡±


    ¡°The guy?¡±


    Irina turns back to me and says,


    ¡°He knows that if he holds on to it, its value will keep rising.¡±


    ¡°¡­¡­.¡±


    So, the conclusion is more gilding on my face. Ha, it''s hard to keep hearing this.


    Well, anyway, I appreciate that he values my painting. But I wonder how much that tycoon offered for the painting? It would be awkward to ask, wouldn¡¯t it? I¡¯ll have to find out secretlyter.


    Then, Irina taps me on the shoulder.


    "Ban, look over there."


    ¡°What?¡±


    The models strutting on the stage.


    I notice the stage''s LCD screen, continuously filled with provocative images, suddenly changes. Simultaneously, a wave of astonishment ripples through the crowd.


    ¡®That''s my painting.¡¯


    Painted in the store.


    Two of my paintings are being disyed on therge screen, creating a truly magnificent scene.


    A journalist suddenly widens his eyes, staring at the center of the screen, and shouts,


    "The one at the end of the forest path! Isn¡¯t that the ck lotus pond painted in the main store?"


    Murmurs rise among the people. Irina, also intrigued, stares at the paintings for a while and thenughs.


    ¡°Does this mean that at the end of a contemporary brand, there''s a luxury brand? That¡¯s impressive.¡±


    ¡°No, it¡¯s not that. I just wanted to highlight that while beauty can be appreciated up close, there¡¯s an even greater beauty waiting in the distance.¡±


    ¡°Haha, but people will wear the Aqua brand while eagerly awaiting the day they can don the ck Label, just like in that painting.¡±


    ¡°¡­¡­.¡±


    Is that how it''s interpreted?


    I¡¯m not sure. That''s different from my intention, but all art takes on entirely different meanings once it leaves the artist¡¯s hands, open to everyone''s interpretation.


    As the crowd¡¯s attention and interest focus on the paintings for a few seconds,


    All the models that had appeared so far flood the stage at once.


    More than thirty models make a round of the stage and then position themselves in front of the screen, starting to apud towards the entrance.


    Then, the audience stands up, joining in with a standing ovation.


    I also stand up and join the apuse, noticing Monica appearing with a bright, excited smile.


    ¡°Wow, she looks even more beautiful today.¡±


    A standing ovation from 600 people, including journalists.


    Among them, the models, the audience, and Monica, who is sending apuse in our direction.


    I silently wish for her business to prosper.


    Just like the portrait I painted for Monica when I first met her.


    I hope for a future where she smiles as brightly as in that painting.


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 Chapter 137 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 137 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    <i>Bonus chapter thanks to @Sany from Ko-fi!</i>


    "Essence of ¡®Quiet Luxury¡¯ in elegance and grace - A visit to Rossellini."


    Monica Rossellini, former chief designer at Alessandro Cucinelli, held a fashion show to celebrate theunch of her fashion brand ''Rossellini''.


    The event, held in the afternoon at the gship store in the heart of Quadrtero, was attended by celebrities including the world-renowned pianist Irina Sebanova and the Korean painter Ban Junghoon, who recently became a hot topic with the TV program "Drawing with Ban"


    Additionally, figures from politics, business, influencers, and top Italian actors and models lined up to enter, making this event a major talking point, concluding sessfully amidst much attention.


    ''Rossellini'' operates on two tracks - the contemporary brand ''Aqua Rossellini'' and the luxury brand represented by the ''ck Label of Rossellini''.


    Ban Junghoon, who designed the brand''s store, revealed a hidden painting in the ''Aqua Rossellini'' store during the program.


    It was the ck Lotus.


    The painting of an autumn path leading to a pond with the ck Lotus, representing ''Rossellini ck Label'', was exceptionally beautiful, and the meaning behind it was profound.This painting, hinting at the ck Lotus being the ultimate destination of fashion, drew much attention from consumers, and the brand''s poprity is soaring.


    CEO Monica announced in an interview that starting with two stores in Mn, they n to expand to Rome, Florence, Naples, Genoa, Turin, and Venice. Additionally, as part of the reconstruction project of her hometown Roseto Valfortore, she decided to ce all manufacturing factories in the south, prioritizing local employment.


    The vige was at risk of disappearing, with the poption within 50 km dropping below 900, but after the factory''s establishment, it increased to 1,800. Observing this, the city hall decided to invest in the vige''s reconstruction.


    Roseto Valfortore became a famous travel destination overnight due to the mural by Korean painter Ban Junghoon. Even now, many people pass through the vige during their travels to the south.


    Though the vige has only one restaurant-cum-cafe, the number of visitors stopping by to take photos in front of Ban Junghoon¡¯s mural is on the rise.


    Meanwhile, world-renowned pianist Irina Sebanova, who attended the event, did not hold back in praising the new brand by Monica and the Korean painter Ban.


    She even offered Ban a professorship at the Warsaw Conservatory of Music and Art, being a fan who finds inspiration for her performances in his paintings.


    Gianfranca [email protected]


    * * *


    Articles are pouring in.


    An overwhelming number of articles are being produced.


    Among these, only about 10% are from Monica''s side.


    Typically, such brand-rted articles are paid for bypanies as marketing expenses, but perhaps due to the event''s enormous poprity, articles are being published spontaneously.


    I am sitting on the nter in front of Monica''s store, wearing a hat, sunsses, and a mask.


    This is the ''Aqua Rossellini'' store, and perhaps due to the hidden painting or its more essible pricing, there''s an enormous crowd.


    Usually, at luxury stores, there''s a limit on the number of people who can enter at once, leading to queues outside. But this is rare for regr brands. Yet, there''s a long line wrapping around the building outside this store.


    It wasn¡¯t like this from the start, but as more people gathered, the store manager began to organize a line.


    There are more people taking photos in front of the painting and leaving than those buying clothes, but with so many visitors, even a small percentage buying clothes quickly sells out the stock.


    By 3 PM, all the stocked items were sold out, and the store manager put up a ''Sold Out'' sign.


    But that doesn¡¯t mean they''re not epting more people. The staff are handing out catalogs and informing visitors about online orders, looking tired but not unhappy.


    This is because Monica made a contract to share a portion of the sales revenue with the store staff.


    I smiled, checking the time while sitting on the nter.


    ''It opened at 10 AM and closed by 3 PM. It¡¯s doing well.''


    It¡¯s not just because I received shares that I''m watching with interest. Of course, that''s part of it, but I''m also overjoyed to see so many interested in the store design I participated in.


    At that moment, a woman in arge hat, sunsses, and a blue dress sits next to me on the nter.


    I was about to move away to avoid revealing my identity, but then she spoke to me.


    "How does it feel, Ban?"


    Startled, I turned my head to look at her.


    "Irina?"


    Irina smiled softly and tapped the flowerbed.


    "If you''re not too busy, why don''t you sit a bit longer?"


    "If I knew it was you, I wouldn''t have gotten up. Did youe alone, by any chance?"


    "Of course not."


    Irina turned her head.


    At the end of her gaze, bodyguards, strategically positioned to avoid attracting attention, were discreetly ncing in our direction.


    Irina said, "It''s dangerous to walk around alone, even if you cover your face, Ban."


    "Haha."


    I silently pointed with my chin to the opposite side.


    And there, I see guards with a gaze simr to those protecting Irina, lingering around the cafe, clothing store, and bakery, watching over me.


    Irina, whose face is hardly visible due to the mask, seems to be smiling judging by her facial muscles and nods her head.


    ¡°You did well.¡±


    ¡°I couldn¡¯t go out alone even if I wanted to.¡±


    ¡°Do you feel confined?¡±


    ¡°A bit.¡±


    ¡°Others are desperate to be famous.¡±


    I wanted to be famous too.


    But not like this, rather as a renowned painter.


    Now, I''m gaining celebrity-like poprity by appearing on TV shows, which seems to repel me.


    ¡°Well, I guess I''m a bit unique.¡±


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 Chapter 137 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 137 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    ¡°Have you eaten?¡±


    ¡°No, I was about to. Would you like to join me?¡±


    ¡°Sure.¡±


    ¡°Let''s go, there''s a Korean restaurant nearby.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡±


    Irina''s brow rxes. She must miss the Korean food we had often in Korea. Extending my hand to her, I said,


    ¡°Yes, there''s a restaurant that serves royal court cuisine. I found it during my few months here, and the taste is quite good.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s hurry.¡±


    Irina, seemingly eager, gets up and starts walking ahead.Moving unnoticed through the crowded streets of Mn''s fashion district, we enter the restaurant and request a VIP room.


    Initially, the owner gave us a look like ''Who are you to ask for a VIP room?'' but was shocked and promptly provided it upon seeing Irina and me removing our sunsses.


    After entering the secluded room and freeing ourselves from the stifling hats, sunsses, and masks, we enjoyed our meal in freedom.


    ¡°When will you return?¡±


    ¡°Well, I should leave soon. But I thought of a ce I want to visit before leaving.¡±


    ¡°It would be nice if it was Pnd, but it''s not a country of interest for a painter, is it?¡±


    ¡°Haha, sorry. I¡¯ll definitely visit Pnd next time.¡±


    ¡°Where are you going?¡±


    ¡°To France.¡±


    ¡°To Paris? For the museums?¡±


    ¡°No, I¡¯ve seen that my news made headlines in France too. Walking around Paris without bodyguards seems risky, so I n to explore a rural vige near Paris.¡±


    Irina ps the table with her hand and says,


    ¡°You¡¯re going to Auvers-sur-Oise?¡±


    Indeed, Irina, with her extensive artistic knowledge, guessed my destination upon hearing I was going to the outskirts of Paris.


    ¡°Yes, I''ve always wanted to go there.¡±


    Irina nods and says,


    ¡°It will be heartbreaking when you go.¡±


    ¡°Why, have you been there?¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    So she has been there. Naturally, a ce not unknown to those interested in art.


    Irina asks a few more questions about the travel itinerary and then inquires about the brand.


    ¡°I heard you acquired shares in it.¡±


    ¡°Ah, that. Monica gifted me 0.8% shares as a live broadcast condition.¡±


    ¡°In thepany¡¯s name?¡±


    ¡°It was supposed to be in my name, but I took it in thepany¡¯s name. It¡¯s less hassle with taxes.¡±


    ¡°Haha, Ban. Didn¡¯t you say you lived in poverty?¡±


    ¡°I did.¡±


    ¡°Interesting. People who grew up poor usually crave money.¡±


    ¡°All I need is a warm home for my family and enough money not to starve.¡±


    ¡°Haha, you¡¯re too famous now to talk about simplicity.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s true.¡±


    ¡°Haha.¡±


    Irina watches the food of the sinseollo menu, still hot, with curious eyes and says,


    ¡°There are so many types of Korean food. What Ban and I ate in Korea wasn''t even 10% of all the dishes. There are still many I haven¡¯t tried. When will you eat with me again?¡±


    ¡°Whenever youe to Korea, let me know. I¡¯ll treat you to a full course.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°Really.¡±


    ¡°You promise?¡±


    ¡°I promise.¡±


    Haha. I''ve really made it.


    A world-renowned pianist, asking me to confirm a promise to have a meal together.


    After the meal, Irina sips sujeonggwa with the sweets of yugwa and yakgwa and exims,


    ¡°This is really delicious.¡±


    ¡°There are many more dessert types. I¡¯ll make sure you get to try them.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a promise too?¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    Irina rests her chin on her hand and looks at me quietly.


    ¡°Ban.¡±


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°How old are you now?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m thirty.¡±


    ¡°No thoughts of marriage yet?¡±


    ¡°Haha, none at all. No one in my life.¡±


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you have anyone?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no time to meet women.¡±


    ¡°What about Monica?¡±


    ¡°Wow, Monica is not a romantic interest, but more of a partner.¡±


    ¡°And Director Seo?¡±


    "She''s a friend. We''ve been friends for too long to have any feelings. Honestly, I even know all the faces of the boyfriends she''s had over the years, so it¡¯s impossible to develop any special feelings now."


    "Hmm, is that so?"


    "Yes."


    "What about me?"


    "¡­¡­."


    Irina bursts intoughter.


    "You look so funny when you''re flustered, Ban. It¡¯s just a joke, don¡¯t take it seriously."


    "Phew, you scared me."


    "Haha."


    Irina sips her sujeonggwa, her voice tinged withughter.


    "Maybe you won''t be able to get married."


    Is that some kind of curse?


    "Why do you think that?"


    Irina looks at me intensely, a deep smile on her face.


    "I feel a scent simr to mineing from you."


    "Scent?"


    Irina, resting her chin in her hand, gazes at me and says, "A person who knows only one thing. A person who looks only at one thing. A person who has no interest in anything but one. You give off a scent simr to mine."


    I shrugged my shoulders.


    "So, does that mean you, Irina, will also never marry in your lifetime?"


    "Haha! Seems like it, right? Haha."


    "Haha."


    It was hard to tell if she was joking or serious.


    But I had a vague feeling that her words might not be entirely wrong.


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 Chapter 138 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 138 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Inside the car heading to Mn Airport, two weekster.


    With a face full of disappointment, Monica grips my hand tightly and says,


    "Call me often, okay?"


    "Ha ha, Monica. It''s not like we''re saying goodbye forever, why are you like this?"


    "Still, thinking that I won''t see you for a long time makes me sad."


    "Ha ha, you''re something else, Monica."


    Thinking about it, it''s already been four years since I first met Monica. A connection that started in Korea and continued even in Italy.


    Come to think of it, my rtionship with this person is not an ordinary one.


    With worried eyes, Monica asks,"Are you sure you don''t need a bodyguard?"


    "I''m fine."


    "It''s close to France here. I can send thepany''s bodyguards on a business trip."


    "Ah, I can''t trouble you for a personal trip."


    "You absolutely must not show your face in crowded ces, Ban. It might be better than Italy, but you never know."


    "Who would recognize me in a rural vige?"


    "The countryside should be okay, but you have to wear a mask when you''re at the airport. You got it?"


    "Got it, ha ha."


    After a lengthy nagging like an older sister, Monica hands me a thick envelope.


    "Here."


    "What''s this?"


    "Stock certificates. Made out to Artist Company as you requested. Dividends will be deposited to thepany during the stock option exercise period."


    "Ah, thanks."


    "And I sent a gift to Korea for you."


    "A gift?"


    "You did such a great job, Ban. I got your consent for the live broadcast, but I didn''t expect you to be this famous. You were stuck in Italy for too long because of it. I''m sorry and grateful, so I sent a gift."


    "You know my home address?"


    "I sent it to thepany."


    "Ah, what did you send?"


    "See for yourself when you get there."


    Monica winks.


    Hmm, she''s generous, so it must be something good, right?


    Well, I''ll know when I see it.


    Arriving at the airport, I cover my face and get out of the car, then offer Monica a handshake.


    "Thank you, you''ve always been a helpful presence in my life. I wish you prosperity in your business. So smile brightly like Monica in the painting. I believe you will."


    Instead of a handshake, Monica throws herself into a hug.


    "I''m so thankful, Ban."


    Monica hugs me and kisses my cheek.


    "Ci vediamo, Van."


    I''m momentarily taken aback. I knew Italians lightly kiss on the cheek as a greeting, but it''s usually just a gesture, not an actual kiss.


    "Ha ha..."


    Feeling embarrassed, I quickly grab my luggage, wave my hand, and head to the boarding gate.


    After boarding and about to enter the real departure hall, I look back on a whim and see Monica still standing at the airport entrance.


    ''She must be busy.''


    It must be difficult for Monica, who would need ten bodies to handle everything after aunch, to make time for this, but I appreciate hering to see me off.


    Seeing Monica tear up, I give the brightest smile I can and wave my hand widely.


    Monica waves back, and then, unable to hold back her tears, turns her head away. I feel a lump in my throat and quickly disappear into the boarding gate.


    ''Civediamo (See you again), Monica.''


    * * *


    Paris Charles de Gaulle Airport.


    Wearing sunsses, I drag my suitcase toward the taxi stand.


    Compared to Southern Italy, where it was rare to see Asians, here, with a higher proportion of Asian pedestrians, no one pays attention to me.


    ''I was so surprised when the flight attendant recognized me on the ne.''


    Monica had booked me a first-ss ticket.


    Just to be safe, she chose a French airline over an Italian one. When a French flight attendant recognized me and greeted me, I realized that even the French knew who I was and thought I should be more careful. But once I got off, no one paid me any attention.


    Even when I cautiously took off my sunsses, the same was true.


    I hesitated to take off my hat but removed my mask.


    As I walked to the taxi stand, I met the eyes of dozens of people, but no one showed any interest.


    ''That''s right!''


    This is it. Ah, who knew people''s indifference could be so joyful.


    I put my mask and sunsses in my bag, pressed my hat down, hopped into a taxi, and headed to my destination.


    The taxi driver didn''t speak any English, allowing me to watch the scenery outside the window in peace.


    My destination is Auvers-sur-Oise.


    Where is that, you ask?


    People involved in the art industry might know, but it''s likely an unfamiliar destination for the general public. The reason being, it''s a rural vige with almost no historicalndmarks or attractions. But why am I going there?


    "It''s where Vincent van Gogh spent hisst 70 days and ultimately passed away."


    I''m on my way to see the final footsteps of the artist I respect the most in my life.


    When speaking of Van Gogh, his brother Theo cannot be omitted.


    Their graves are also in this vige.


    About 27 kilometers north of Paris.


    Like in my country, just a short distance from the capital in Europe, one can find a countryside setting.


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 Chapter 138 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 138 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    After about an hour''s drive, I arrived in the vige.


    I got off at the station and took out my phone.


    "The name of thest inn he stayed at... Ah, it''s Auberge Ravoux."


    I turned on Google Maps and started walking.


    I passed by the old train to Auschwitz, now painted yellow, spaces disying old books including ancient texts, and even the statue of Van Gogh near the town hall.


    Van Gogh, with his painting equipment, looked lean.


    Seeing his statue made me feel the weight and pain of his life.


    After a long look at the statue, I turned back towards the inn.


    Although it''s called a hotel, I had already checked online that it no longer operates as a hotel, so there wouldn''t be any inconvenience.Currently, the first floor of Auberge Ravoux operates as a restaurant, and the room where Van Gogh stayed on the third floor is open to the public. I wonder what the room where he spent hisst 70 days looked like.


    I remember watching a documentary about the famous writer Hemingway, who often stayed at a hotel for his writing.


    I was surprised to see that the room where such a renowned writer worked was quite small and modest.


    Even a famous writer had worked in such a small room. I wondered what Van Gogh''s room was like.


    Arriving at my destination, following Google Maps, I looked up at the modest three-story building with a slightly absurd feeling.


    "Is this supposed to be amodation?"


    Outside the first floor, there''s wine left by the owner, hoping for Van Gogh''s return, ced on an empty table.


    I heard the owner of the inn waits for Van Gogh, pouring new wine every day.


    But, well, the building changed owners over thirty times, so what rtion does it have with Van Gogh''s time? It''s just an expression of respect.


    The inn, interestingly, has its entrance not on the road side but around the back. Entering the first floor, I saw a quiet restaurant.


    It''s off-season for travelers, being the end of autumn.


    The staff asked me in fluent English, "Wee, how many are you?"


    "Just me."


    "There are no other guests right now. You can sit wherever you like."


    Warm orange lighting.


    A small restaurant filled with the scent of old furniture tickles my nose.


    I looked around the restaurant, imagining Van Gogh here in 1890, and felt overwhelmed with emotion.


    "Maybe¡­"


    The employee, anticipating my question, points to a two-seater table farthest from the window and tucked in the corner.


    "That''s where Van Gogh used to sit. But you can''t sit there. It''s always reserved for him."


    "Oh."


    Disappointed that I can''t sit there, I still understand their sentiment. I also feel grateful to those who show such extreme respect for an artist I admire.


    "Thank you."


    "I''ll be back to take your order shortly."


    I sat down at the table right next to the one where Van Gogh used to sit.


    Farthest from the window, in the deepest corner.


    What was he thinking while sitting there? Why did he choose such a secluded spot instead of a warm and pleasant seat closer to the window?


    I was staring nkly at the seat he used to upy when the employee returned to take my order, pulling me out of my thoughts.


    "Oh, I got distracted and didn''t look at the menu. Do you have any rmendations?"


    "The mushroom cream soup and the duck dish are delicious."


    "Alright, I''ll have those, please."


    "Would you like some wine?"


    "Could I have just a ss?"


    "Of course. Red wine goes well with duck. Our house wine is quite good."


    "Yes, that sounds good."


    "Alright. While your meal is being prepared, would you like to take a look around the third floor?"


    "The third floor?"


    "Yes, the room where Van Gogh stayed is open to the public."


    "Oh, that would be great. Thank you."


    "Please use the stairs over there."


    "Thank you."


    I followed the employee''s directions and climbed the stairs.


    The building, over a century old, had an ancient feel to it. The walls of the stairs were cracked and the safety bars, painted over several times, looked very worn.


    But the thought that these were the stairs Van Gogh climbed filled me with excitement.


    With each step, I thought of him.


    With each step, I remembered him.


    With each step, I paid tribute to him.


    When I finally reached the third floor, my excitement peaked.


    "Van Gogh painted 70 pictures in 70 days in this room."


    It''s an astonishing feat. For a painter who works in oils, creating one painting a day is not easy.


    But Van Gogh''s greatness doesn''t end there.


    "The painter who left so many masterpieces behind only painted for 10 years."


    That''s a fact.


    Van Gogh started painting at 27 and died at 37.


    Unlike other painters who grew up as artists, his life was different.


    Just 10 years. He spent those 10 years as if they were 100, before leaving the world.


    The tragic artist who sold only one painting in his lifetime.


    What would the ce where he burned hisst spark of life look like?


    With a heart full of anticipation, I followed the signs down the hallway and hesitated at the door to Van Gogh''s room.


    The door was open.


    Seeing the room fully exposed, I remembered Irina''s words.


    "It will break your heart to go there."


    At that moment, I understood.


    Why she had said that in passing.


    The room where Van Gogh spent thest 70 days of his impoverished life.


    The room was tiny, hardly two square meters.


    It was a miserably shabby room,pletely at odds with the name of the century''s master, Van Gogh.


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 Chapter 139 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 139 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    "I know loneliness. I lived in the desert for three years. Thanks to that, I know its taste well. There, thendscape of minerals and the erosion of youth don''t scare me. Instead, it seems like the whole world far from oneself is aging. Trees bear fruit, the earth pushes up wheat, and women were already beautiful."


    - From "Terre des Hommes" by Antoine de Saint-Exup¨¦ry


    We all know it.


    That it''s okay to be satisfied even if others don''t recognize it.


    But we also know this.


    How lonely and difficult that path is.


    After spending two years in Arles in the South of France, he was discharged from the mental hospital in Saint-R¨¦my and spent hisst 70 days in a small and lonely room.


    In this tiny room of barely two square meters, he was there.


    It''s unclear if he was aware of thest spark of life, but ultimately, he immersed himself in painting as if he had foreseen it, leaving behind 70 pieces.His most famous work is "Wheatfield with Crows," but other pieces like the Notre-Dame de l''Assomption in Auvers and the portrait of Dr. Gachet also came from here.


    His room''s ceiling was nted. It was an attic. A small window tilted towards the sky, a room where stars could be seen.


    Always yearning for light, Van Gogh transformed the small, dark attic into a room with a great view. He created a window that opened towards himself through that small aperture.


    Marks on the floor suggest where a bed and furniture might have been, but now, only a wooden chair remains.


    The wall where the bed might have been is protected with reinforced ss, and an indecipherable sign in French hangs on the wall.


    I stood for a long time in front of this incredibly humble and small room.


    Suddenly, Don McLean''s "Vincent" made tomemorate himes to mind.


    "Now I think I understand


    What you were trying to tell me


    And how much you worried about your state of mind


    And how hard you tried to set your spirit free


    They will not listen, they do not know how¡»


    In fact, I can only sing the first part by heart.


    ¡°Starry, starry night, Paint your palette blue and gray¡­¡­¡±


    It''s a wonderful song. Just being able to recite a verse or so correctly, it''s a song that allows me to express my mourning for Van Gogh.


    I feel grateful to the musician who created such a song.


    I spent quite some time gazing at that ce before discovering an audio-visual room and entering another small room.


    There, with soft music ying, were the paintings Van Gogh had created in this ce, disyed on a small TV screen.


    Watching the paintings with the music, I could feel his loneliness in his struggle with himself and the world, bringing a lump to my throat.


    I had spent quite a long time at the inn.


    After viewing the room and the audio-visual materials, I had a meal and then slowly walked, looking up at the small inn.


    "Where did he say this was?"


    The restaurant owner said it would be difficult to walk to the ces where the "Wheatfield with Crows" was painted, the cathedral, and his grave.


    It''s not a neighborhood with many taxis, so the easy way to go would be to rent a bicycle.


    When I arrived at the bike rental shop, there were two staff members. Although they didn''t speak any English, I pointed at the menu to rent a bicycle for six hours, paid, and got on the bike.


    The cool autumn breeze brushed my cheeks as I cycled.


    I felt both exhrated to my core and saddened in reminiscence of Van Gogh''sst days here as I cycled through the wind towards the wheatfield.


    In truth, the wheatfield was a bit disappointing.


    It was just a wheatfield with three paths and a single sign, a rather unremarkablendscape where the paths even ended halfway.


    No one knows whether it was like this in the past or if it has changed over time.


    Compared to the time spent at the inn, I spent a very short time touring the wheatfield and the cathedral.


    The cathedral in Van Gogh''s paintings felt as if it was nting towards the floor, not straight, but the real cathedral was not much different from others. Perhaps it was just a small and pretty cathedral?


    I continued pedaling my bicycle to the cemetery and got off at the entrance.


    In the cemetery used by the entire vige, there were numerous graves. Some graves hadrge tombstones and beautiful flowers adorning the surroundings, with fancy sculptures, much like Chopin''s grave''s grandeur.


    I first checked the more extravagant graves among the many.


    However, after about 30 minutes, I still couldn''t find the graves of Vincent and Theo van Gogh.


    Eventually, I asked an old man who was cleaning for directions.


    ¡°Excuse me.¡±


    What if he doesn''t understand English?


    The old man just stared at me quietly.


    ¡°Do you know where Vincent van Gogh''s grave is?¡±


    The old man just looked at me silently. Does he not understand English? Then he spoke.


    ¡°Vang Bong Go?¡±


    That''s the French pronunciation. I quickly nodded, and the old man pointed near the edge of the grey stone wall surrounding the cemetery.


    ¡°Oh, thank you.¡±


    I headed towards the direction the old man pointed and realized why I couldn''t find the grave for over 30 minutes.


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 Chapter 139 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 139 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    ¡°So modest.¡±


    The grave without a cross.


    While other graves are covered with t, wide stones in the European burial style, with stone crosses and tombstones on top, Vincent and Theo''s grave only had a small stone marker, and the grave itself was like a flowerbed with grass and flowers.


    I even passed this area earlier.


    Naturally assuming it was just a flowerbed, I had walked past it, but there it was ¨C the grave with both their names engraved.


    ICE REPOSE


    Vincent Van GOGH


    1853~1890


    ICE REPOSE means ''here lies''.A humble grave without even a simple epitaph. Standing in front of the grave of the impoverished van Gogh and his brother, who died from illness just six months after him, I was lost for words.


    Van Gogh, who sold only one painting in his lifetime.


    And that too, for merely about two months'' worth of living expenses.


    A lonely painter who couldn''t even afford paint without his brother''s help during his 10 years as an artist.


    In fact, van Gogh only gained fame after both brothers died, when Theo''s wife, Johanna, published the letters they had written to each other and worked hard to organize exhibitions of van Gogh''s work.


    ¡°I suppose it would have been easy to resent a rtive who only seemed to burn through money.¡±


    What wife nowadays would continue to provide living expenses for her husband''s brother for ten years while also giving continuous support?


    The reverse is also true. You see a lot of stories online about husbands who are bent over backwards financially supporting their wife''s family, considering divorce out of frustration.


    But in those times, Theo''s wife loved van Gogh''s paintings and supported him despite the hardships, always encouraging him that his style was improving even when his paintings didn''t sell.


    Perhaps the van Gogh we know might have been forever forgotten and unknown if it weren''t for her.


    I sped my hands and silently paid my respects for a moment.


    Van Gogh, who once said that dying might be a way to get closer to the stars, to heaven.


    I hoped that he had reached the stars he so longed for.


    * * *


    Incheon Airport.


    I took a deep breath of the familiar scent and the longing scenery as I passed through the arrival hall, still not having left the airport.


    "Ah, this is it. A Korean should live in Korea."


    Honestly, I gained a lot in Italy, but it was too hard.


    I did go to Paris to see the Eiffel Tower, but I was so afraid of being recognized that I wore my hat low and nced around before hastily boarding a ne back to Korea.


    Now that I thought I could wander around more freely, my suppressed free will slowly emerged, on the verge of exploding.


    I grinned as I walked towards the automatic doors of the arrival hall.


    "I should go home and have doenjang jjigae and samgyeopsal with mom and brother."


    There''s a pretty decent meat restaurant not far from home, so that would be the ce to go. I''ve earned a decent amount of money, so I''m nning to treat them properly.


    The same goes for Youngju and the others at thepany.


    Having passed through the arrival hall, I had taken off my hat, sunsses, and mask.


    It feels sofortable to show my face like this after a long time.


    "Korea is the best, after all."


    I was ready to go home and breathe the refreshing air.


    I was light-footed as I stood in front of the automatic doors of the arrival hall. The moment the doors opened, I looked forward to see the Koreannd I missed, but I had to step back and cover my eyes due to the sudden burst of a blinding barrage of light.


    Click, click, click, rustle.


    "It''s Ban Jeong-hoon!"


    "He''s finally back!"


    "Mr. Ban Jeong-hoon! This is Shi Daily, can we have an interview?"


    "We understand you returned from France via Italy! What kind of work did you do in France?"


    The crowd''s mor was heard.


    I couldn''t see anything because of the shes.


    Was it because of my longing for freedom? Without realizing it, I covered my eyes and cursed.


    "Damn it."


    * * *


    On the highway from Incheon Airport to Paju.


    Sitting in the passenger seat of Youngju''s car, I looked out the window with a tired face.


    Youngju was happy to see me, but I was held up by reporters at the airport for two hours.


    Sympathizing with my plight, an airport official set up a ce for a group press conference, which ended in two hours, or else I would have been held up for ten.


    Youngju handed me an iced coffee, saying, "You''ve worked hard, drink this."


    "Ah, thanks."


    "Our boss, now a real celebrity, huh? Even reporters were waiting at the airport."


    "......"


    I hadn''t expected to experience this in Korea.


    I was looking forward to walking freely on the streets without a hat, sunsses, or mask. But my little dream was shattered.


    Youngju, driving, nced at me and cautiously asked, "Did something happen in Paris?"


    "No."


    "Then why are you upset?"


    "......"


    I sighed, reclined the passenger seat, andy down.


    ¡°Just, I liked it better when nobody knew me.¡±


    Am I about to get scolded?


    used of being ungrateful, of forgetting where I came from.


    I prepared to ignore Youngju¡¯s words, using my arm as a pillow. But Youngju, focused on driving, remained silent.


    Feeling a bit embarrassed, I turned to Youngju and asked, ¡°What''s up? Not going to scold me? I thought for sure you¡¯d give me an earful.¡±


    Youngju nced at me, then looked ahead and patted my shoulder, ¡°No, you¡¯ve been through a lot. Take a few days off at home. You look really tired.¡±


    Warm constion.


    Although she might not understand how I feel right now, my friend Youngjuforts me with few words. I appreciate her understanding, but I am really exhausted.


    I nodded in acknowledgment, theny back in the passenger seat and quietly closed my eyes.


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 Chapter 140 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 140 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    "Artist Ban Jeong-hoon, your makeup is smudging a bit. Pleasee to the makeup room for a touch-up."


    "Mr. Ban Jeong-hoon. Here is today''s shooting script. Please familiarize yourself with it and let us know if there are any questions you''re ufortable with."


    "Ah, Mr. Ban. I''m a fan."


    "Excuse me, but could you take a picture with me? My wife is a fan."


    A stylish suit.


    Hair done professionally for the first time ever.


    Makeup that makes me look so good in the mirror, it''s hard to believe it''s me.


    Busy broadcast staff moving around under the dazzling lights.


    And a waiting seat with my name on it.I am now in a position I couldn''t have dreamed of just a few years ago.


    Three weeks ago in Korea.


    After spending two days with my family at home, I immediately returned to the office.


    And responded to the numerous love calls from broadcastingpanies, all in the name of raising mypany''s fame even more.


    In the past three weeks, I''ve been on five variety shows and three art-specialized broadcasts, and had interviews with over ten newspapers and six magazines.


    After today''s recording, I have a scheduled interview with a fashion magazine.


    Why an interview with a fashion magazine, you ask?


    Isn''t it obvious? They want to ask about Monica''s new brand, which is currently attracting global attention.


    It''s part of my job. After all, I''m a shareholder of Monica''s brand.


    Waking up at six in the morning, getting makeup and hairstyling in Sangam-dong, and starting the shoot at ten.


    One shoot ends at two in the afternoon, and another starts at four. The magazine meeting is set for eight in the evening, so I won''t be home until the early hours.


    "Bro, you haven''t eaten yet, right? Here''s some kimbap."


    "Uh... thanks."


    A big, tanned guy.


    This guy is one of the employees Youngju hired while I was away. What was his name?


    I''m sure I heard it when he greeted me, but I forgot because ten new employees greeted me all at once.


    Youngju said to have this big guy tag along as a sort of road manager for a while.


    He drives and takes care of small things, and he''s quite good at his job.


    Kimbap given by an employee whose name I can''t remember.


    It''s a hearty kimbap with bulgogi in it, but it tastes as nd as dirt.


    ''Ha, how do celebrities live like this?''


    Sometimes, when I watch variety shows about people living alone, I see the pitiful sight of them workingte into the night, returning home with tired faces, having a drink of soju, and then copsing to sleep.


    That''s exactly my life now. I thought I''d never live like that.


    Of course, back then, I envied such lifestyles.


    Living a morous life and then feeling lonely and deste when alone at home, but I envied their homes with beautiful views of the Han River and their expensive, pretty furniture that normal people couldn''t afford.


    If I could lead such a life, I thought it''d be okay to be busy.


    But not anymore.


    All the notions I had, thinking it was natural for them to live like that because it''s their job, have shattered. I''m so drained now.


    Does my work end when dawn breaks?


    If that were the case, I wouldn''t evenin.


    The guy acting as the manager flips through his notebook and says,


    "Mr. Ban, I''ll pick you up at 5:30 tomorrow morning. There''s a program starting at eight, and it''s a live morning broadcast. It''s just a 10-minute appearance, so you cane 30 minutes early to familiarize yourself with the script."


    "Uh... But if it starts at eight, why pick me up at 5:30?"


    "You have a CBC radio broadcast at 11 a.m. It''s a visible radio show, so you need makeup. Since you need makeup for the live broadcast anyway, let''s stop by Apgujeong early in the morning to get it done all at once."


    "Uh..."


    "After the radio, you have a special lecture at your alma mater. It starts at two, so there''s no time for lunch. I''ll buy something and put it in the car during the radio broadcast, so you''ll have to eat it on the way. And then..."


    Ha, I wish I could at least eat properly.


    For the past three weeks, I''ve been eating in the car. Kimbap, tteokbokki, sundae... I got so tired of it that I asked for jjamppong one day, but I spilled it all in the car while moving quickly for a schedule, so I never order anything with soup.


    But there''s nothing I can do about it.


    I want to drop everything and disappear, but thinking about my family and colleagues who are counting on me, I have to row when the wateres in.


    "How long are the schedules booked?"


    "Well, they''re booked up to a month from now. There was a call from a filmpany yesterday, but that seems like a future matter."


    "Why did the filmpany call?"


    "They want you to take charge of the art direction of a film, on the condition that you appear in marketing-rted events."


    "Ah."


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 Chapter 140 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 140 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    They''re not approaching me for my skills.


    If someone wanted to apply my skills to a film, I''d dly do it.


    I''ve always wanted to try my hand at film art direction.


    But they just want to use me for marketing.


    To attach the title ''featuring a famous painter'' to attract more audience.


    Of course, it''s amercial film, so it''s natural to pursue profit, but I don''t like those conditions.


    "If they call again, say no to the marketing part. If they don''t like it, let''s refuse."


    "Uh? This could bring in quite a lot of revenue. They said you could have full control of the art team and even usepany staff."


    "Oh, is that so?"Ah, another dilemma.


    It''s not just about my personal career, but thepany''s as well.


    "Then, I can''t help it. Say we''ll do it."


    "Okay, Sir. I¡¯ll go get the additional script from the assistant director. The writer mentioned there was an addendum."


    ¡°Ah, but aren''t you tired doing this?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a job I¡¯m paid for, after all.¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t join thepany to be a manager.¡±


    ¡°Haha, Director Seo Youngju gives me an extra allowance while I¡¯m doing this job. It¡¯s equivalent to an overseas business trip allowance, so I earn more than double my sry, hehe.¡±


    ¡°Is that so¡­¡±


    The guy looks thrilled. Well, at least he¡¯s getting paid well for his work. Youngju wouldn¡¯t miss something like this, especially since she¡¯s the one whoins about ckpanies.


    ¡°Go ahead, then.¡±


    After he leaves, a stream of famous MCs and celebrity guests from TV showse to greet me. I¡¯m not their senior or anything, yet they¡¯re all so polite.


    They probably think of me as an artist, not a celebrity. Maybe they¡¯re hoping for some benefits, seeing as I¡¯m gaining fame these days.


    Hah, even the people whoe to greet me out of kindness seem off-putting.


    It must be the fatigue from my excessive schedule.


    I close my eyes for a moment to rest, then start reading the additional script he brought me.


    Today¡¯s shooting involves sitting with the MC and guests, watching a VCR, and chatting. It''s a program concept about a male celebrity, who used to be an idol, being recognized in the art world and holding an exhibition.


    Yeah, it¡¯s fine to hear my opinion about art.


    The problem is that their interest isn¡¯t there.


    The program starts, and after exchanging greetings, they start asking me questions.


    ¡°Mr. Artist! Do you really drive a Ferrari Roma?¡±


    ¡°Ah, yes.¡±


    ¡°I heard that the CEO of Rosellini gifted it to you. Is that true?¡±


    ¡°Ah, yes¡­¡±


    Monica had once sent a gift from Italy. It was a brand-new, bright red Ferrari Roma.


    I was so surprised to see this incredible car in the parking lot when I went to the office.


    Of course, I can¡¯t drive it now. Imute in my manager¡¯s car, and I¡¯ve only driven the Ferrari once with Young-Ju on the second day I got it. Since then, it¡¯s just been parked in front of my house, covered in dust.


    Aedian-turned-celebrity makes a fuss.


    ¡°Wow, a Ferrari Roma! Riding in one is my dream. I once asked a rentalpany, and they asked for two million won per day, so I gave up. What does it feel like to drive something like that?¡±


    A female idol group member asks with sped hands.


    ¡°I heard you¡¯re close with the famous pianist Irina. What kind of clothes does she usually buy? Whose dress was she wearing at thest fashion showunch? Do you dine together and talk personally?¡±


    The MC speaks next.


    ¡°There was news in the Italian media about a painting you did in Palermo. A tycoon offered to buy it for 500 million won but failed. What¡¯s it like living as a famous painter?¡±


    I¡¯ve only driven the Ferrari Roma once.


    How would I know what brand Irina wears?


    Living as a famous artist sucks.


    I suppress the urge to swear that wells up in my throat.


    Saying the wrong thing here could ruin not just me but ourpany as well.


    I awkwardly smile and say,


    ¡°I¡¯ve actually only driven the Ferrari once, too busy. Irina probably wears clothes gifted by Monica, and while it¡¯s nice to see my paintings priced high, I don¡¯t want to focus too much on money.¡±


    A polite and humble answer.


    Far from what I honestly want to say, but it¡¯s the correct response.


    The panelists and MC find my answer uninteresting, but since I¡¯m not a professional entertainer, they understand and move on to the next topic.


    The VCR starts, and I watch an entertainer, supposedly doing contemporary art, smearing paint without any discernible meaning or form, and my spirit starts to drift away.


    ¡®When will this end?¡¯


    * * *


    At a restaurant in Paju.


    ¡°Hey, why are you drinking so fast? Take it slow.¡±


    I push away the soju ss and pour soju into the beer ss, about to drink again when Youngju stops me.


    It¡¯s been 8 weeks. Today, for the first time in 8 weeks, I finished work at 9 pm.


    Suddenlying back at a time when people are around, I felt awkward going home. So, I stopped by the office, met Youngju, who was working overtime, and asked her out for a drink.


    My kind friend, busy with her own work, didn¡¯t refuse my request and now listens to myints.


    I shake off Young-Ju¡¯s hand and down the shot, wiping my mouth with my sleeve, muttering,


    ¡°Just leave it, I need to drink to survive.¡±


    "¡­Are you having a tough time?"


    "Somewhat."


    Even with a close friend, it feels wrong to just unloadints. What did Young-ju do to deserve this?


    I didn¡¯t invite her just because I didn''t want to drink alone or to ask her to listen to my stories.


    After eating a spoonful of lung stew as a side dish, I ask.


    "Did you hire more employees?"


    Young-ju nods and takes a sip of soju.


    "Yeah, twenty more."


    "So, how many in total now?"


    "Including you, thirty-five."


    "Wow, we''ve grown."


    "Yeah, but even with the new guys, we''re struggling to cover the flood of work. Our schedule is packed till the end of next year."


    "Really?"


    "It''s all thanks to our great CEO. Seeing how well things are rolling, I feel like following you was the right choice."


    "¡­¡­."


    Yes, that''s right.


    If only I live like this, thirty-four others can live abundantly and happily without me.


    Young-ju watches me silently drink again and asks cautiously.


    "Is it very hard?"


    "¡­¡­."


    I finish the remaining soju and give a bitter smile.


    "No, I''m fine."


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 Chapter 141 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 141 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Six months had passed.


    Monica''s brand, Rossellini, had grown so much that it was now featured in Korean department stores.


    Interestingly, the Aqua line was more popr than the ck Label.


    In a recent call, Monica mentioned that it would take at least ten years to firmly establish a ce in the luxury market.


    This was because there were many well-entrenched brands.


    Irina was touring the world.


    She was currently in Australia and nned to visit Japan''s Tokyo Dome beforeing to Korea.


    She mentioned that she had declined an invitation from China as she did not particrly like Chinese people.


    When she asked if Koreans also disliked Chinese people, I exined that due to historical reasons, Korea, China, and Japan all haveplicated rtionships.Mypany, Artist Company, led by Youngju, had also grown significantly.


    The more famous I became, the more work I had, and now I was even handling requests from Southeast Asia, Japan, and China.


    The number of employees had increased, and mypany, now with 60 employees, was considered a respectable medium-sized business.


    And me? I still feel like I''m walking naked in the streets.


    People scrutinize me as if looking through a microscope.


    Initially, people researched the brand and price of the high-end suits I wore, but it became a joke when it was revealed that I only rotated between three suits.


    Even now, my manager, a guy named Seongcheol, was seriously watching a video site.


    "Boss, there are manyments about you constantly touching your left hair during the recording. Some suggest changing your hairstyle if it bothers you," he said.


    The so-called fans focus on every move I make and leavements on trivial things. What do they think of me? Do they see me as a celebrity?


    Iughed bitterly.


    ''Yeah, right now, I''m living like a celebrity, not an artist.''


    For over eight months, I hadn''t painted a single piece.


    Thepany handled the iing work under Youngju''s leadership, and most importantly, I had no time.


    Do I even have one day off a month? When that dayes, I can''t even step out of bed because I''m so tired.


    Around five to five-thirty in the morning, Seongcheoles into my bedroom, turns on the lights, and pulls off the nket.


    "Boss! It''s time to go for your schedule!"


    Half-asleep, as I try to wash up, Seongcheol dresses me, saying, "Let''s wash up at the salon, we''re busy today."


    If I try to catch some more sleep in the car, he nags, "Sir, if you lean your head, it will ruin the styling. If you want to sleep, keep your head up."


    He must be tired too.


    Even though I say I rest during the shoot, he''s been waking up early anding homete for over eight months. So I can''t even get angry.


    I asked him seriously, "Aren''t you tired?"


    "If you, the boss, work so hard, how can I, a mere employee,in?"


    "Youngju said he''s looking for a new manager. Maybe alternating shifts will help."


    "Yes, I met someone yesterday who came for an interview. They seemed quite suitable."


    "Good, it''s important that they''re a good fit for you."


    "..."


    Why should they be a good fit for me?


    We don''t even have time for a drink together.


    I haven''t had a chance to share a drink with Seongcheol in the eight months we''ve worked together; it''ll be even less likely with the new person.


    I was about to habitually touch my forehead hair but stopped, remembering what Seongcheol just said, and sighed.


    "I can''t even touch my hair as I please, haha¡­"


    A self-deprecatingugh.


    Seongcheol quietly excuses himself.


    "I''ll go arrange a meeting with the director for next week''s shooting schedule, sir."


    "..."


    Next week''s schedule.


    I''m currently a regr panelist on three programs.


    That means I have at least three fixed schedules a week.


    ''Ha, I thought I''d do this for a bit and then the fame would die down.''


    Why do they seek someone as uninteresting as me? I don''t understand. If the broadcasting staff is looking for me, it means the audience wants me.


    But I don''t understand why they want me. What''s so attractive that they want to keep seeing me?


    Sitting alone in the broadcasting waiting room.


    This waiting time is very precious to me now. It''s the only time I can be alone.


    But even that doesn''tst long.


    There''s a knock on the waiting room door, and without waiting for my response, a staff member bursts in and says,


    "Painter Ban Jeonghoon! Pleasee to the makeup room¡±


    I sighed and closed my eyes.


    "Yes......"


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 Chapter 141 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 141 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    And then, that day, an incident urred.


    The recording started, and the MC, who was just suffering from a hangover, suddenly greeted everyone energetically.


    I pped mechanically, smiled mechanically, and automatically answered someone''s questions.


    Among today''s panelists was a singer, or rather, a rapper I had seen painting on a VCRst time.


    His hair and eyebrows were dyed a bright yellow.


    Wearing a fashion so extravagant, I couldn''t understand it at all.


    If Monica saw him, she''d probably sigh at his overly extravagant style, seated with a smug expression. This rapper, now thirty years old, had disbanded his previous group to pursue a solo career.


    He also works as a producer, which suggests significant musical talent, but perhaps due to early sess, he seems to be deeply afflicted with the celebrity and artist syndrome.


    His name is Yonghan.He presumably has a surname, but he uses only his first name as his stage name.


    The video the panelists and I are watching today shows Yonghan at a joint exhibition at the Tate Modern Gallery in Ennd.


    He speaks English quite well, and in the video, he''s seen interacting and discussing works with other artists at the exhibition.


    When the gallery is empty, and music ys, Yonghan, alone in the center, pretends to y a piano in the air.


    The MC and panelistsugh and ask, "Why is he doing that?"


    Yonghan responds with a smile, "I just had a sudden inspiration."


    "Ah, you do music too, right?"


    "No, not musical inspiration, artistic inspiration."


    "Why y air piano for artistic inspiration?"


    Yonghan nces at me and says, "That''s just how artists are."


    The panelists and MC all look at me, their faces asking if that''s true. I hold my face in my hands and swallow my words.


    The VCR resumes.


    Now, it''s a street in London, Ennd.


    Yonghan leans his head against the curb of a crosswalk, legs crossed, reading a book.


    Laughter erupts again from the MC and panelists.


    "What''s he doing now?"


    Yonghan replies, "I think you have to be different to do art. When you do things others don''t, it feels like catharsis."


    Huh? I don''t get it, but I shouldn''t dismiss others'' thoughts. If that''s how he finds inspiration...


    The MC asks me, "Do you also seek inspiration through different actions, Mr. Ban?"


    "......"


    I don''t respond, unsure how to respect his view.


    The problem starts now.


    After the gallery exhibition, a video shows Yonghan in his hotel room, drinking whiskey and listening to music. The VCR ends, and the MCments on a painting in the room.


    "That''s a Millet painting, right? ssic British, having such art in hotel rooms. Of course, it''s a fake. Right? That''s Millet''s ''The Angelus,'' isn''t it?"


    Yonghan stares nkly at the MC and asks, "Who''s Millet?"


    "You''re an artist and don''t know Millet?"


    "Do I need to?"


    The MC, a bit flustered, looks at the panelists.


    "Well, it''s not like you have to know."


    Yonghan shrugs, "I don''t understand learning anything from past painters. Their art is 100, 200 years old. In an art world that''s hard to survive in, thinking you can learn from the past seems outdated to me. That''s why I''m not interested in past artists."


    Some panelists nod in agreement. Are they really buying this nonsense?


    Yonghan looks at me, "You think the same, right, Mr. Ban? I know without asking."


    "......"


    I hold back, ring at Yonghan. He seems sure of my agreement.


    I speak slowly, looking directly at him. "Is a writer reading books and an actor watching movies also clinging to the past?"


    Yonghan looks a bit shaken, then tries to differentiate, "But that''s just watching. Copying is just..."


    I cut him off. "Writers write. Writing doesn''t need hand skills, it''s the keyboard. They don''t copy others'' writings for practice. And actors? They emte seniors'' acting to learn emotional depth, making it their own, right?"


    "¡­Well, that''s different."


    I look askance at Yonghan, "So, music from past singers also feels outdated to you? The stereotype that geniuses are lonely and uniquees from entertainers and artists like you, who act this way. Keep such thoughts in your head, don''t bother others."


    "¡­¡­"


    "And those painters you dismissed. If you lived in their time, they wouldn''t even know your name."


    Yonghan is speechless.


    I wanted to explode in anger, but I held back, ending the conversation somewhat politely.


    I thought I had ended it quite gentlemanly. However, public opinion flowed differently than I thought.


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 Chapter 142 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 142 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    The public opinion wasn''t initially aggressive towards me. At first, these articles appeared:


    "Omniscient Single Life, Chilly Recording Ends. Why?"


    "Staff Leaks Unedited Video!"


    "Artist Syndrome Strikes Yong-Han? Criticism of an Arrogant Artist"


    "Gentleman Ban Jung-Hoon''s Anger, But Why?"


    "The Rift Between Yong-Han and Ban Jung-Hoon, Where''s the Truth?"


    I saw the leaked video. It wasn''t edited; it was just as recorded.


    I thought I had expressed my thoughts in a softened manner, so I wasn''t too concerned.


    Sung-Cheol was worried, but I reassured him it was fine since public opinion wasn''t on Yong-Han''s side.Honestly, whether I was affected by ''artist syndrome'' or not, I thought it was a trivial matter.


    But that bastard insulted my teachers. Later, I thought I should have cursed him out more strongly.


    However, public opinion, a frightening monster, suddenly changed its face.


    On my one rest day per month, Iy in bed until two in the afternoon.


    Our house is in a quiet area a bit away from Paju city center. In the morning, only the sounds of birds and insects gently ring in this peaceful ce. But not that day.


    I heard voices through the second-floor window.


    I couldn''t make out exactly what they were saying. Sometimes I heard mom''s voice, so it seemed she was talking with the neighbors.


    In a half-asleep state, not sure if it was a dream or reality, I suddenly felt the voices getting louder and got up with a disheveled face.


    After rubbing my eyes for a while, I opened the window with a tired face.


    I couldn''t see outside the gate due to the surrounding walls, but I could hear clearer voices.


    "My brother didn''t do anything wrong! Your son is better, huh?"


    "No, it''s okay to share your thoughts, but to humiliate someone on air. What''s with your son?"


    What''s this about?


    I heard my mom''s voice as I woke up.


    "I''m sorry, I''ll talk to my son properly when hees. Please go back, you''re disturbing the neighbors. I''ll apologize on his behalf."


    "This is not something an apology can fix! My brother can''t even appear on broadcasts now because of your son!"


    Damn it.


    I felt a vein in my head about to burst.


    Like a spring, I jumped up, ran out the door in my messy hair, shorts, and slippers, and shouted.


    "What are you doing?"


    In front of the house, a group ofte-teen and twenty-something women had surrounded my mom. Mom was bowing her head among them, guilty of nothing.


    As I appeared, the teen female fans took out their phones to record. Seeing my mom, I lost it and smacked a phone out of a woman''s hand.


    "What are you doing, recording without permission? Put it away."


    "Ah! Did you just hit me? Hey, did you get that?"


    The phone dropped. Hmm, maybe I did something wrong.


    I picked up the phone, returned it, and said.


    "Even so, you should ask for permission to record. If there''s any damage to the phone, let me know. I''llpensate. Mom, why are you standing there? It''s not like you''vemitted a crime. Let''s go inside."


    Mom hesitated and looked around at the people. Then she earnestly spoke to one woman.


    "My son might have done it unknowingly. I''ll apologize instead, let it go, okay?"


    I felt a vein in my temple about to burst again.


    I pulled mom roughly and yelled.


    "What are you talking about! Go inside."


    I pushed mom inside and then faced the still ring women.


    "What do you want?"


    A mid-twenties woman with sses stepped forward, hands on her hips.


    "We''re Yong-Han''s fan club. Do you know how much trouble you''ve caused him?"


    Hah, what is this? Not wanting to deal with it, I waved them off and said.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know how you found my house, but if you keep causing a scene, I¡¯ll call the police. Leave now.¡±


    I mmed the door shut roughly. But Yong-Han''s fans didn¡¯t leave and lingered in front of the house. When I went outte at night, seeing no one around, I found red spray paint graffiti on the gate.


    ¡®Artist''s disease is your chronic illness, idiot.¡¯


    My teeth clenched in anger, but I grabbed a sponge and scrubbed the gate clean. I barely restrained myself from immediately calling the police.


    Then the phone rang. I thought it was a telemarketing call and almost didn¡¯t answer, but it was a mobile number, and they called three times in a row, so I answered while cleaning the gate.


    "Hello?"


    -Hello, is this the artist Ban Jeong-hoon?


    "Yes, who is this?"


    -This is Yong-Han.


    "......"


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 Chapter 142 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 142 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Damn it. Are you aware of what your fans have done? I nearly burst out with insults, but after a few deep breaths, I calmed down and replied with as muchposure as I could muster.


    "Yes, what is it?"


    -I called to apologize for what happened that day.


    I was annoyed. Yeah, it''s nice that you called to apologize. That¡¯s not something to be scolded for. But do you even know what I''m dealing with right now?


    "It''s fine, you don¡¯t need to apologize to me."


    -Aren¡¯t you going to ept my apology?


    What kind of person is this? Do you think I have to ept your apology just because you offer it? I bit my lip and said,


    "Look here."


    -Yes, I''m listening."Today, your fans came to my house, yelled at my mother, and even vandalized the gate. I''m cleaning up the graffiti your fans left. Do you think this is a situation where I can pleasantly ept an apology?"


    -So you''re not epting my apology?


    "I¡¯ve epted it! You''ve made it, so that''s enough, right? I''m hanging up now. Oh! And manage your fans properly!"


    I hung up the phone and turned it off. Just thinking about it made my blood boil.


    After cleaning up the graffiti, I came back home and unfairly snapped at my mother.


    Why should my mother apologize to those people? What did she do wrong?


    "Mom! Why are you groveling to those kids? Why are you apologizing when your son hasn¡¯t done anything wrong!"


    "No, Jeong-hoon, Mom is..."


    My mother felt sorry, and my brother didn''te out of his room, noticing the mood.


    Everyone in the house is watching me. I''m sorry. But right now, I''m too angry.


    Skipping dinner, I was scratching my head in my room when the doorbell rang.


    ¡°These damn people.¡±


    If it¡¯s another visit from fans, I''m ready to curse them out. I opened the door furiously, dragging my slippers.


    ¡°What now......¡±


    It was Seongcheol outside.


    ¡°Why are you here? There''s no schedule today.¡±


    ¡°Boss, what have you done?¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°Look at the news... It''s flooding in.¡±


    ¡°What news?¡±


    ¡°Just look at this. I tried calling, but your phone was off. I had toe show you.¡±


    He shows me headlines on his phone.


    "Jeonghoon Ban, Assaulting Fans?"


    "Put Away the Phone! Video of Jeonghoon Ban Throwing a Fan''s Phone"


    "Yonghan''s team tried to apologize, but no response"


    "Yonghan tells Ban Jeonghoon to manage his fans better"


    "Yonghan''s fans furious, demand immediate withdrawal from all programs"


    "Fixed program PDs consider Ban Jeonghoon''s departure"


    Ha, I assaulted someone? Refused to apologize?


    Is moving away a hand holding a phone an assault? How dare they not ept my apology?


    I finally exploded.


    ¡°Screw it, I''m done.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    I handed back the phone.


    ¡°Call the PDs, cancel all schedules.¡±


    ¡°But Boss.¡±


    ¡°Just do it.¡±


    ¡°They already called, saying to take it easy for a while¡­¡±


    ¡°Good. So I don''t have to go tomorrow?¡±


    ¡°That''s the n for now. But Boss, if you don¡¯t exin¡­¡±


    ¡°Forget it, I don¡¯t n to. Come to the office from tomorrow.¡±


    ¡°¡­¡±


    ¡°I appreciate your hard work, and sorry for being sensitive today. I¡¯ll buy you a drinkter. Now go.¡±


    ¡°Okay¡­¡±


    I turned and went back inside, copsing on the bed and staring at the ceiling.


    ¡°What have I been wasting these eight months for?¡±


    Thinking about Seongcheol''s visit, I turned on my phone.


    Over fifty missed calls, mostly from Seongcheol, some from Youngju.


    I called Youngju.


    ¡°Hey, Youngju. Sorry, my phone was off.¡±


    -Are you okay?


    ¡°Hmm, sort of.¡±


    -Yonghan was on the radio today.


    ¡°What? What did he say?¡±


    -He said he tried to apologize to you but you refused and got angry about managing fans. There¡¯s news saying he¡¯s furious because you assaulted his fans.


    ¡°That crazy bastard.¡±


    -What happened?


    I exined everything. Youngju got even angrier than me.


    -What the hell? Who dares to mess with your mom? These damn people! Stay put. I¡¯ll handle this!


    Somehow, her anger calmed me down.


    Emotions reversed.


    Now Youngju was angry, and I was calm.


    Youngju, possessed by a swearing grandma, kept cursing for over 20 minutes.


    -That son of a¡­ thinks he¡¯s something. I¡¯ll see how he acts when they beg you toe back.


    ¡°Might as well rest. How¡¯s work on your end? Any impact?¡±


    -Just two cancetions from entertainmentpanies. We¡¯re fine with our overseas orders for the next decade. Don¡¯t worry.


    ¡°Good to hear.¡±


    -What about your home address being exposed?


    ¡°Not sure what to do. Seeing Mom bowing her head today made me furious. If it happens again, I might lose it.¡±


    -I¡¯ll send some bodyguards over. How about going somewhere quiet to cool off?


    Hmm, bodyguards?


    A year ago, I would have been ufortable, but after Italy, it seems a good idea.


    ¡°Okay, I¡¯ll take your offer. If anything happens to Mom or my brother, I¡¯ll go crazy.¡±


    -Got it. I¡¯ll arrange it for tomorrow. Where will you be?


    ¡°I¡¯ll think about it and let you know.¡±


    -Take this time to rest. You¡¯ve held up well for eight months.


    ¡°Yeah, let¡¯s take a period of reflection.¡±


    -Reflection my foot. You need to have done something wrong to reflect. Just think of it as taking a break.


    ¡°Got it, I¡¯ll call you back.¡±


    -You have to let me know where you''re going, okay?


    "Yes."


    After ending the call, I threw my phone onto the bed andy back down, wiping my face with my hands.


    "Yeah, I''m too exhausted. Let''s rest, Jeong-hoon."


    I closed my eyes, trying to sleep.


    But sleep doesn''te easily.


    The image of my mom apologizing to Yong han''s fans and to me keeps haunting me. And my brother, too afraid to leave his room.


    I think they didn¡¯t eat dinner because of me.


    Quietly getting up, I sighed and muttered to myself.


    ¡°Apologies should be mended with beef, tonight''s dinner will be beef, yeah.¡±


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 Chapter 143 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 143 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    <i>Bonus chapter thanks to @alckrn from Ko-fi!</i>


    I stopped by my regr butcher shop to buy the highest grade Korean beef, which I then grilled in the garden at home.


    I brought out my mother and brother, who were feeling upset in their rooms.


    "Alright, today I''ll be in charge of grilling the meat, so mom and brother, just sit back and enjoy."


    "No, let me do the grilling. You must be really tired these days."


    "Why do you say that? Don''t you know why your son is doing this?"


    "¡­¡­"


    Why is it so hard to say I''m sorry? But it must be done. The closer people are to you, the more you shouldn''t hold back words of gratitude and apology.


    "I''m sorry, mom. I shouldn''t have lost my temper.""It''s okay, I''m fine."


    "What do you mean fine? Apologizing to strangers and being scolded by your own child. Mom, you''ve done nothing wrong. It''s all my fault. I''ve been stressed, so please understand."


    "Okay. I''m fine, so go ahead and eat."


    "See, I''m grilling. Sit down, sit. Brother, you eat a lot too. This is two plus grade Korean beef."


    My brother sat expressionless.


    But I know. When he''s like this, it''s because he''s feeling awkward.


    With the tongs, I picked up arge piece of meat, cut it with scissors, dipped it in sesame oil with salt, and fed it to my brother.


    "How is it? Melting in your mouth, right?"


    At first startled when something suddenly entered his mouth, my brother soon started chewing, lured by the savory scent of the beef, and then he burst into a grin.


    "Delicious."


    "Right? I specially requested it from the butcher. Eat a lot, there''s plenty of meat."


    "Okay."


    "Brother, how''s your work these days?"


    It''s better to naturally talk about family matters. As we start talking in earnest, mom, who had been insisting on grilling the meat, takes her seat.


    Seeing my brother fumbling on the table, mom hands him lettuce and pulls a te of cooked meat in front of him. He wraps the meat in lettuce and eats, his face expressing happiness.


    "People are so nice, and it''s afortable environment because simr people are gathered. Thepany takes great care of us."


    Of course, thepany is probably doing it to enhance their brand image through the employment of disabled people. But it''s better not to mention such things to my brother.


    "Is that so? How are your colleagues?"


    "Everyone''s nice. There''s an asional gloomy person, but we''re getting along."


    "Any women?"


    "Women? Of course."


    "Someone you like?"


    "Still on about that?"


    "Haha, okay. Eat. Mom, you too."


    After making sure my brother has eaten, mom wraps meat in lettuce and feeds me.


    Chewing the wrap in front of the fire, I feel a sense of relief. Indeed, my family is the best.


    "Mom, hurry up and eat."


    "Okay."


    After making sure her grown-up children are fed, mom finally takes a bite. How could I have been angry and yelled at such a mother? I must be a fool and an ingrate.


    I looked up at the night sky.


    Although it''s better than Seoul, stars are still hardly visible here. Just the ck sky with the light of satellites and a big moon.


    But the sky viewed while grilling meat in my home garden with my family is still very beautiful.


    ''Right, let''s control my mind.''


    What good does it do to get angry?


    What good does it do to get heated?


    That''s how the world is.


    But unfortunately, the world does not flow smoothly just by controlling my emotions.


    * * *


    In front of the TV in the second-floor living room.


    I sat alone on the sofa, staring nkly at the TV.


    It''s been four days since I''ve left the house. Why?


    Every day, fans of Yonghan and reporters have beening after my home address got leaked.


    Fanse in the morning, camp in front of the door, and wait until Ie out, leaving only at night. The reporters are even worse.


    They park their cars around the house and sleep there.


    Two of them pair up, one keeping watch. What are they even doing, acting like detectives?


    And now, the TV I''m watching.


    Yonghan appears on a talk show on the screen.


    The MC cautiously asks him a question.


    ¡°There was some trouble with cartoonist Ban Jeong-hoon recently. Have you made up?¡±


    Yonghan licks his lips, bites them, clearly a victim''s face, then pretends to think for a moment before speaking in a dying voice.


    ¡°I tried to apologize, even called him.¡±


    "I saw in the article. Painter Ban Jeong-hoon did not ept the apology request."


    Yonghan scratches his head and says,


    "I wanted to apologize for making an irritatingment, but he was very angry. He shouted, and I was so startled that... he hung up the phone unterally, so I couldn''t properly apologize."


    "He shouted and hung up unterally?"


    "Well... It''s hard to say this, but I was a bit like that too. I even called first, but he reacted like that."


    "Of course. It doesn''t seem like you did anything terribly wrong, so I don''t understand why he reacted so sensitively."


    As the MC sympathizes with him, Yonghan rather tries to stop him.


    "No, we shouldn''t go in that direction. I think I was arrogant. Painter Ban Jeong-hoon is a well-respected figure in Europe, and I think I was too arrogant in front of him, which might have upset him. I apologize again here."


    "But wasn''t it too much to assault the fans?"


    Yonghan sighs and says,


    "Yes, that was a bit too much. It''s okay for him to do that to me, but hearing that he did that to the fans makes me feel bad too."


    "I hope it all gets resolved well."


    "Yes, let''s talk about something else now."


    "Shall we?"


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 Chapter 143 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 143 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    I looked at the screen with a dumbfounded expression.


    Celebritiesughing and chatting, moving on to other entertaining stories. What would the viewers of this program think?


    "I must be the crazy one."


    Yesterday, Yeongju called me.


    Yonghan, affiliated with a major agency, is strategically ying the media.


    There''s no lie in his words. But cunningly, he''s branded himself as the victim, and me, an unapologetic, mean aggressor.


    Even now, look at him pretending to restrain the MC, packaging himself as a good-natured person.


    He doesn''t even seem that smart, so it''s probably thepany instructing him to act this way as part of a nned strategy.


    I picked up the remote control, turned off the TV, and sprawled on the sofa."How pitiful to be without an agency."


    Hmm, is that not it?


    I do have an agency, though not an entertainment one.


    Seongcheol told me he''s no longer getting calls from broadcasters.


    Funny. Yonghan is actively participating, no, even more aggressively than usual, and they don''t even give me a chance to exin. Is this the power of being in an agency?


    Then, the walkie-talkie given by the head of security hired by Yeongju rings.


    -Mr. President.


    A title I''m not yet used to, but the head of security naturally calls me that. I quickly responded.


    "Yes, Head of Security."


    -Ten minutes ago, two fans were caught climbing over your house''s wall. One of them fell and got injured in the process.


    What now?


    "Are they hurt?"


    -It seems like a minor ankle injury. Nothing serious.


    "Did they go to the hospital?"


    -Yes, we just took them to a nearby hospital in our vehicle.


    "Okay, they''re not seriously injured?"


    -Right, but the problem is the journalists took photos.


    "Ah, that''s troublesome. Was there any fault on our side?"


    -No, we just asked them toe down, but they slipped and fell.


    "Alright, I understand. Thanks for your hard work."


    -I''ll report back if there''s anything else.


    "Okay."


    I threw the walkie-talkie on the sofa and washed my face.


    "What kind of news article wille out now?"


    Iy back on the sofa and checked my phone. No news yet. Instead, there''s an interview by a university professor about the incident with Yonghan and me.


    I shook my head and scrolled past the article.


    At first, I did look for such articles. Surely a conscientious art professor would realize how arrogant Yonghan''s statements were.


    However, the professors who were interviewed, likely paid by Yonghan''s agency, avoided mentioning Yonghan''s statements and only critiqued mine for suppressing young artists.


    After seeing that, I realized there was no point in reading such articles.


    asionally, real journalists or professors not swayed by money criticized Yonghan rather than defending me, but those articles disappeared from search results in less than an hour.


    Of course, this must also be his agency''s doing.


    "Professional media y. Truly scary."


    Soon, breaking news starts to appear. Sensational headlines force me to click on the articles.


    ¡¶Yonghan''s Fan Club, Protest at Ban Jeonghoon''s House Leads to Falling ident¡·


    ¡¶Injury Caused by Excessive Force of Security Guard¡·


    ¡¶No Violence Can Be Excused! Fan Club President''s Rage!¡·


    ¡¶Why Did She Fall from the Wall?¡·


    ¡¶Ban Jeonghoon Causes 5 Weeks Injury to Yonghan''s Fan¡·


    I let out a hollowugh.


    "Haha."


    Iughed for a while as I washed my face, and when I took my hands off, my face was harder than ever.


    "Now I understand why many avoid the media."


    Sports stars. Artists.


    Many of them avoid the media. Entertainers, who live off public attention, can''t avoid it, but those whose main upation is different certainly can.


    Now, I finally understand the feelings of those I couldn''tprehend before.


    More journalists will likely flock here now.


    With a hardened face, I packed my luggage.


    My presence here would only bring more harm to my family.


    I will deliberately leave this house in view of the journalists. Once they know I''m not here, maybe these damned media ys will stop.


    After packing and changing clothes, I picked up the walkie-talkie.


    "Head of Security."


    After a moment of static, the voice of the head of securityes through.


    -Yes, Mr. President.


    "I''m going out. Can you lend me a car?"


    -Yes, we can provide a vehicle. But there are journalists outside, are you sure?


    "Yes, I''m deliberately going out to show them. It seems more peaceful at home without me."


    -Where are you going?


    I looked out the window for a moment, then spoke into the walkie-talkie.


    "To the airport."


    - We¡¯ll prepare.


    After setting down the walkie-talkie, I go downstairs. Mom, foldingundry, is startled by my luggage and asks,


    ¡°Where are you going? It''s chaos outside.¡±


    ¡°Mom, I¡¯m going to Jeju Ind for a month.¡±


    ¡°Jeju Ind? All of a sudden?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Youngju arranged a ce for me to cool off.¡±


    ¡°Really? Youngju did?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Youngju can be trusted. Alright, call me when you arrive. Eat well. Got it?¡±


    "Yes, did brother go to work okay?"


    "Yes, there were some kids trying to harm him too, but they couldn''t touch your brother because the journalists were taking photos."


    Of course, if they harassed a visually impaired person, the media would turn against them.


    My brother usually works from home, but he goes to the office about once a month for training. Of course, he is apanied by a professional caregiver for the disabled.


    I deliberately showed a calm smile and said,


    "I¡¯ll be back, Mom."


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 Chapter 144 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 144 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    <i>Bonus chapter thanks to @CombatWars from Ko-fi!</i>


    Seongsanpo Port in Jeju Ind.


    Ah, South Korea is indeed small.


    I had hoped it would be better when Inded at Jeju Airport, but even there, people recognized me and hastily moved away, whispering. Some even secretly took photos and posted them on social media.


    Nowhere to hide, really.


    Fortunately, the amodation Youngju booked for me to cool off wasn''t in Jeju Ind but in Udo.


    Being an ind off Jeju itself, I expected fewer people there.


    I wore a hat, sunsses, and a mask in the taxi heading to Seongsanpo Port, to stay unrecognized.


    I didn''t want any hassle if my exact destination was revealed. With the idea of enjoying my painting, I boarded the ferry with a big bag full of various art supplies.On the ferry to the ind, it felt better to stand on the deck, facing the sea breeze, than being inside. Watching the vast ocean and sky and the floating flocks of seagulls eased my mind.


    Upon arrival, I rented an electric scooter to find the amodation.


    Thoughtful Youngju rented me a small, contactless check-in house, a single home surrounded by Jeju''s unique stone walls.


    Under the t stone in the yard, as Youngju instructed, I found a note. Thendlord had left the door lock code, rules, and a guide there.


    After entering the unique house structure, it was about 20 pyeong in size with two rooms, a living room, aundry room, and abined shower and toilet. That was it.


    "Wow, nice."


    Perfect for living alone. What I liked the most was that this house didn''t have a TV. After being harassed by the media for weeks, I''ve grown to dislike TVs.


    After checking the spring quality of the bed and walking around the garden, I realized the garden wasn''t much. Just some grass and big rocks in about 50 pyeong.


    But it had something you don''t see in the city.


    "Wow! An outdoor open-air bath!"


    It was a very small bath, barely enough for two people, with pink petals floating in clear, warm water.


    Built right against the stone wall and invisible from the outside, the bath was designed to allow sitting and looking up at the sky.


    "Youngju must have really paid attention to detail."


    I should definitely try it tonight. It''s going to feel great.


    After exploring the house and organizing my clothes in the closet, I set up my art supplies in front of the living room window overlooking the garden.


    Then I found myself with nothing to do.


    If someone were with me, we could have a conversation. But I''m alone.


    The chirping of small birds, the distant sound of waves. Such a peaceful time.


    I sat on the sofa, listening to these sounds.


    But soon, my mind drifted back to my current situation, and I frowned.


    "Ah, damn it."


    I''m not usually one to swear. But I''ve cursed several times today already.


    Not wanting to mope and feel worse, I texted my mom, brother, and Youngju that I had arrived safely and then dressed up again.


    "It''s the first day, so of course, I should have some fish with soju."


    Since delivery services aren''t avable here, I have to go out and buy it.


    I had noticed a few sashimi restaurants while riding the electric scooter.


    Thest ferry leaves at 4:30 PM from Cheonjin Port and 6:00 PM from Haumokdong Port.


    It''s 5:30 PM now, so most tourists should have left. It should be fine to roam around, but I''ll keep my face covered.


    I rode the electric scooter, enjoying the breeze, to the sashimi restaurant.


    Noticing me, a man in a running shirt, probably the owner, eyed me suspiciously.


    "You don''t look like you''re from here. A guest?"


    "Oh, yes. I came for a month-long stay in one of the stone wall houses."


    "Huh? Half the houses here have stone walls. How can I know which one? And why are you covering your face so much?"


    I hesitated, not sure how to respond, when ady came out of the restaurant and pped the man''s back.


    "You! Why ask such questions!"


    "Ouch! But he looks suspicious."


    Thedy nced at me and whispered, though I could hear, "Maybe a celebrity on a secret trip, don''t keep asking."


    Hearing her, the man''s suspicious look changed.


    "Oh? Ah, right. What would you like to eat?"


    Let''s just skip the exnations.


    "I''d like to take some sashimi to go. What''s good?"


    "Rockfish, of course."


    Rockfish? Isn''t thatmon even in Seoul?


    "Is rockfish famous here?"


    "Of course, it''s wild rockfish. You can''t get this in Seoul."


    Looking at the menu inside the restaurant, the wild rockfish was priced higher than the tfish I usually eat in Seoul, probably because it''s a tourist spot.


    I''m not as poor as I used to be. Let''s spend some money since I''m on a trip.


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 Chapter 144 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 144 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    "Please give me a small portion. Is there no supermarket here?"


    "What do you need?"


    "I was thinking of buying some soju."


    "Oh, you can take ours. I''ll give it to you at the supermarket price. We also have good local rice wine here. Not interested in that?"


    Oh right, the local rice wine is a specialty here.


    "Then give me two bottles of soju and one bottle of rice wine, please."


    "Alright, just a moment."


    The man takes a wriggling rockfish from the aquarium and heads to the kitchen with a knife. It''s a bit grotesque, but since it''s the one that was just pping around, it''s definitely fresh.


    After a while, he hands me arge ck stic bag filled with alcohol, sliced fish, some vegetables, and sauces."If you''re here for a month-long stay, I''ll be seeing you often. Come by frequently, I''ll give you a good deal."


    "Yes, thank you."


    "But are you someone who appears on TV?"


    "......"


    Well, I do appear on TV. But what am I? Not a celebrity.


    Then, I see the woman from the kitchen charging out with a knife. The man quickly pushes me from behind and shouts.


    "I didn''t ask anything! Go, go, eat up. It''s freshly sliced, so you have to eat it right away!"


    The man''s yful banter with his stern wife is amusing.


    Back on my scooter, I return home andy out the sashimi on the yard''s tform in the dimly lit house, starting with a ss of makgeolli.


    "Wow, this is good."


    Oh, so this is why makgeolli is a local specialty.


    But to be honest, maybe because I''m used to themercial makgeolli I usually drink, I find the ones sold in convenience stores in Seoul more to my taste.


    Next, I try the rockfish sashimi.


    "Wow!"


    This is the real deal.


    Just like the man said, there''s nothing like this in Seoul. Is this the rockfish I know? It''s as if someone sprinkled sugar on the sashimi. I never knew rockfish could be this sweet.


    After satisfyingly eating a few pieces and finishing a bottle of soju, I open a new one. Slowly feeling tipsy, I sit cross-legged on the tform, gazing at the sky.


    Countless stars twinkle above me, a sight unseen from my house in Paju.


    "Wow."


    An exmation escapes me at the breathtaking view.


    When was thest time I had a moment like this?


    It seems it was during my time in Roseto Valfortore, Italy.


    That was already a year ago.


    As I sip soju and nibble on sashimi, I feel happy in this moment. But the happiness doesn''tst long.


    ''Do people really think like a dragon?''


    In the modern art world, the phrase "learning from the past to understand the new" sounds like an old man''s rant.


    If it''s not new, it''s outdated, and iprehensible paintings are recognized. And pretending to understand them is what makes one an intellectual.


    Everyone says that''s the right way. Then am I wrong?


    Is the art of the masters I met in my dreams right then but wrong now?


    If they were in my time, would they paint differently?


    I don''t know.


    The truth is, I''m not angry at Yong-han for his entric artist antics.


    What do I care how he lives? But to say there''s nothing to learn from the artists I love, that''s what I can''t understand. Do contemporary artists really think that way?


    "No, that''s just his stubborn opinion."


    It''s frightening to think that all artists might share that view. I don''t know the truth, but I hope there aren''t many artists who think like that.


    Drunk, I lie back on the tform, using my arm as a pillow to look at the stars.


    The numerous stars seem as if they''ll pour down any moment. I feel like I see the swirling night sky that Van Gogh might have seen in hisst days in Paris.


    Is it just because I''m drunk?


    "How long do I have to stay hidden?"


    A sudden fear grips me.


    Even when I first appeared in the media, I thought this fame would be short-lived.


    I deluded myself into thinking that if I just endure a little, I would gain what I needed and naturally fade away.


    But reality was different. What if it''s the same this time?


    If this life of evading people''s eyes continues, how am I supposed to live?


    Continuing to hide and live like this? I hate the thought. It''s dreadful.


    Should I go abroad? Youngju is already managing thepany; maybe that''s a better option.


    As I gaze at the night sky alone, drunk, my thoughts deepen and extend.


    If many people think that only contemporary art is true art, and past art is just old, what would they think of my paintings?


    I mainly paint portraits andndscapes. Would some view my works as undeveloped, stuck in the past?


    Yonghan alone might well think so.


    It''s not my business what such fools think, but if there are many like him, maybe I am the one who is wrong.


    People who think they are right and everyone else is wrong are dangerous, and I don''t want to be one of them.


    The fans who criticized my mother.


    The person who fell off the wall and then told the media that we hurt them.


    Journalists eagerly looking for sensational news.


    Their faces sh across the sky above.


    Iy there, gazing at the sky, and murmured to myself.


    "What a night to grow tired of people."


    Did Henri feel like this when he was in the mental hospital?


    It feels disgusting to experience it firsthand.


    Oh well, forget it.


    I''ll take this chance to rest fully and do whatever I want, keeping away from people as much as possible. I don''t know how long I can live like this, isted from everyone, but what I need right now is rest.


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 Chapter 145 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 145 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    A carefree vacation without worrying about money is truly wonderful.


    I ate what I wanted and did what I liked.


    But strangely, I couldn''t bring myself to touch the canvas and brushes.


    It''s quite an interesting situation.


    When I was buried in work, I hated not having time to paint. Now that I have the time, I find myself not reaching for them.


    But that''s okay.


    What I need right now is to do nothing for a while.


    "La."


    I filled the open-air bath with warm water around noon and took a bath.Bathing outside in broad daylight was a refreshing experience. I felt so good that a hum naturally came out.


    "What should I eat for lunch today?"


    Most of my meals were takeout.


    There are foods avable for delivery, but those are things I can eat in Seoul, so I prefer to visit local restaurants and get takeout.


    "Should I get some octopus?"


    I thought about buying aged octopus sashimi for lunch and having octopus ramen with soju in the evening.


    I had seen octopus on the menu at a vige of female divers I found while riding a scooter.


    After bathing, I put on fresh clothes that were crisply dried by the sea breeze and bright sunlight.


    Before riding my electric scooter, I covered my face with sunsses and a mask and headed to the vige of female divers, cutting through the wind.


    I hung my helmet on the scooter and pressed a brimmed hat firmly on my head, then cautiously looked around.


    There are quite a few tourists here. Moreover, it¡¯s lunchtime, so there are many visitors from out of town. I need to be careful.


    About thirty tourists were in the divers'' vige. They all nced at me once because of my suspiciously covered face, but it didn¡¯t seem like they recognized me.


    "Lady, how do you sell the rock octopus?"


    A grandmother diver cleaning sea squirts in a rubber basin answered me.


    "Ah, 20,000 won."


    "Please pack it for me."


    "Do you want vegetables?"


    "Yes, please include sesame oil and vinegar sauce."


    "Okay, I''m a bit backed up with orders, so please sit there and wait a bit."


    "Alright."


    She pointed to a table.


    It wasn¡¯t for customers, but a small table near the door, probably where she rested when there were no customers.


    I crossed my legs and enjoyed the view outside the door.


    The vige being close to the sea, watching the outside was quite enjoyable.


    The distant sound of waves, the cries of seagulls, and a wide view. I thought living by the sea might be nice when I get older.


    Despite the sea having taken my father.


    I still like the sea.


    ''I''m resting well, thanks to Youngju.''


    Even though it''s a vacation to escape a bad situation, it feels likepensation for the hard times.


    Then, I heard the gossip of four women at a nearby table.


    "Did you watch TV yesterday? Lee Jae-hyun from Super Mix, they say he¡¯s dating Su-jin from Red Candy. Looks like they¡¯re openly acknowledging their rtionship?"


    "Really?"


    "Yeah, I thought there was something fishy about them from thest variety show. They always stuck together even when they didn¡¯t need to, so I had a feeling something was up."


    "You always had a knack for this. Didn''t you correctly predict that baseball announcer scandal a few years ago?"


    "You''re like a shaman, a shaman."


    I chuckled at their conversation.


    Do they really find it fun to gossip about celebrities even on a trip to Jeju Ind?


    Then, one of the women''sments made me frown.


    "Hey, have you heard about Ban Jeong-hoon?"


    "What, something about Yong-han?"


    "Not that, there was an article a few days ago."


    "What about?"


    "That guy, you know, the CEO of the luxury brand in Italy."


    "Monica?"


    "Yeah."


    "Wait, you don''t know Monica''s name? She''s so hot right now. I went to the department store in Apgujeong the day before yesterday and bought this dress."


    "The one you''re wearing now?"


    "Yeah, pretty, isn''t it?"


    "Wow, no wonder. How much is that cardigan?"


    "750,000 won."


    "Huh? Cheaper than I thought?"


    "It''s from the Aqua line. ckbel cardigans go over 500."


    "Ah, when can I ever wear something like that?"


    "But what about Monica? What was the article about?"


    "They say she''s got something going on with Ban Jeong-hoon?"


    "Really?"


    "Yeah, the article just mentioned that there''s a scandal between them, but thements below are insane."


    "What are they saying?"


    "What do you think? They''re saying they''re involved, so that''s why she got the store design contract."


    "So, it''s not Ban Jeong-hoon''s talent but the result of wooing a woman?"


    "They say so?"


    "Wow, that''s quite impressive in its own way. Isn''t that a skill too?"


    "Right, it doesn''t matter what means you use as long as you seed. Maybe that''s why amateur painters can be overlooked?"


    "Just be famous! Even if you crap, people will apud you!"


    "Like Andy Warhol!"


    "Giggle."


    I clenched my fist as I listened to the women''s conversation.


    ''That''s not something Andy Warhol said, you ignorant people.''


    And what? Me and Monica have something going on? Ha, are the attacks on me still not over?


    ''Should I go on air and rify?''


    If I leave it as it is, irreversible stories might intensify even more fiercely.


    I wanted to say something to the women gossiping about others, but revealing my presence here would be more troublesome, so I just clenched my fist and lowered my head.


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 Chapter 145 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 145 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Then I heard the women''s voices again.


    "So, Ban Jeong-hoon, should we also suspect his connections with Irina?"


    "The pianist?"


    "Yes, didn''t you see Irina sitting next to Ban Jeong-hoon at a fashion show, talking intimately?"


    "I saw that. Could Irina also be involved with Ban Jeong-hoon?"


    "Ha, a man of charm? An acquaintance of mine said, you know the W Tree Group?"


    ¡°Hmm, a hotel chain? Ban Jeong-hun painted a ceiling mural in their theater, right?¡±


    ¡°That''s not all. The hotel even hosted an exhibition and bought all of Ban Jeong-hun''s paintings.¡±


    ¡°Really? I heard it''s almost like they''re his sponsor.¡±¡°Yeah, but I heard that the person who discovered Ban Jeong-hun was the youngest daughter of the W Tree Group.¡±


    ¡°No way, so did Ban Jeong-hun charm her too?¡±


    ¡°It''s not confirmed, but there are people quietly suspecting it.¡±


    ¡°Wow, that''s huge. He looks like an actor, handsome indeed. Did all those impressive women fall for him? Does he have some hidden charm we don''t know about?¡±


    ¡°Haha! Maybe his skills in bed?¡±


    ¡°Oh my! There¡¯s nothing you won¡¯t say!¡±


    I felt like throwing up.


    How can they say such things? I want to ask them what kind of mindset they have.


    But listening to their conversation, it seems it''s not just their own thoughts. Are there so many people with twisted minds in the world, or is it a rational suspicion that anyone could have?


    It''s unfair and infuriating.


    I clenched my teeth, barely holding back my anger, when the octopus was served.


    After paying, I roughly stuffed the packaged food into the scooter''s storagepartment, put on my helmet, and called Seongcheol on my phone.


    -Yes, boss.


    ¡°Hey, it''s me. Can you arrange an interview?¡±


    -¡­¡­


    ¡°I think we need to rify some things.¡±


    -If you say so, the journalists wille. But the public opinion is really bad right now. They won¡¯t listen to any rifications from you. They¡¯ll just twist your words and write sensational articles. Are you sure about this?


    ¡°¡­¡­.¡±


    -Youngju, the director, instructed everyone involved in broadcasting not to make any excuses, but if you want, I¡¯ll discuss it with him and arrange the schedule.


    ¡°Hah, never mind. If Youngju thinks the same, then silence is the answer. Thanks for considering, though. You do your work.¡±


    -Yes, boss. If you need anything, just call me anytime.


    I hung up the phone and pressed the helmet firmly on my head before returning to my amodation.


    On the way back, I couldn¡¯t feel the cool sea breeze or the refreshing smells anymore.


    The stench of garbage was overpowering, and the sound of the waves seemed like barking dogs.


    Sitting in the yard of the amodation, I ate the octopus.


    What I couldn¡¯t have before now tasted like over-chewed, vorless gum.


    Eventually, I threw away the chopsticks in frustration.


    ¡°Damn it, really!¡±


    After throwing the remaining octopus into the fridge, Iy on the bed and waited until it got dark. Until the guests from outside had left.


    And finally, when it was dark, I covered my face and started walking again. Staying inside was too suffocating.


    My phone rang in my pocket.


    But I didn¡¯t want to answer it. Whoever it was, I felt like it would just be spreading trouble to them. But the phone kept ringing.


    The vibration rang about five times. I sighed, stood in the middle of the walking path, and took out the phone.


    ¡°It¡¯s Youngju.¡±


    I caught my breath.


    Youngju is a precious friend.


    I don¡¯t want tosh out at a friend.


    She is someone who gives me a break and takes care of my work for me.


    ¡°Hey, Youngju. How are you?¡±


    I answered the phone with as bright a voice as I could.


    - Boss, are you enjoying your vacation?


    "Yeah, thanks to you."


    - What did you eat today?


    "Octopus."


    - Oh! I''m so jealous.


    "Come down here if you''re jealous."


    - Really?


    "Yeah, there''s a lot of octopus here. And it''s not too expensive."


    - Really, should Ie down?


    "Huh? Can you?"


    - If I leave on Friday night, I''ll be there for the weekend. Today''s Tuesday, after all.


    "......"


    Now that she says she''lle, it feels a bit awkward. Just me here alone. Spending the weekend in one lodging with Youngju?


    I feel slightly burdened.


    - What''s up? You tell me toe and now you''re hesitant when I say I will?


    "No, it''s not like that. Come, I''ll prepare a feast."


    - Really? Can I reallye?


    Not just ''can'', I''d be really thankful if you did. To be honest, I''ve been feeling pretty lonely.


    "Yeah, definitelye."


    - Okay! I''ll wait for Friday!


    "Ha ha, okay. See you then."


    After hanging up, I looked up at the stars. I feel a bit better. Maybe friends are the cure-all for me. No, more precisely, it''s Youngju.


    Today, I''ve felt a disgust towards humanity. More precisely, towards their mouths. Thoughtless words they spit out. Things they would have a fit over if it was about them, they casually chew and spit out.


    I felt a contradictory emotion, not wanting to meet anyone but wishing someone was beside me.


    And just before.


    I realized I need to be around people. I enjoy talking with and sharing meals with my precious ones.


    I took a deep breath and forced a smile. I wanted to smile, even if forced.


    "Before Youngju arrives, I should tidy up the house. Maybe buy some flowers?"


    It feels like a breath of fresh air.


    I''m d I took the call. If I hadn''t talked with Youngju, I would have spent this long night heavily intoxicated.


    Feeling a bit lighter, I left the walking path and headed back to the vige.


    Thinking about how to decorate the lodging, I slowly stopped in my tracks.


    A small building appeared on the side of the forest path.


    A building I hadn''t noticed on my way up. I looked at the building pensively and smiled faintly.


    "You''ve followed me here."


    Among the trees in the forest, the sign above the unfamiliar building glows.


    Lucid Dream Art Gallery


    Today''s Exhibition: Vincent van Gogh, Light, Color, and Spirit


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 Chapter 146 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 146 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    <i>Bonus chapter thanks to @everyone from Ko-fi!</i>


    My heart pounds.


    It¡¯s no longer surprising that the art gallery has followed me this far.


    It had even followed me to Italy before, so this is nothing new.


    But the name written on today¡¯s exhibition makes me excited.


    ¡®Finally.¡¯


    I can meet Van Gogh.


    If I''m lucky, I might even get a chance to talk to him.


    I calmed my breathing and slowly headed towards the museum.The building in the middle of the forest required me to push through the bushes as there was no path leading to it.


    After familiarly buying a ticket, I went down the basement stairs, hearing faint music.


    ¡°Wagner.¡±


    The musician loved by Van Gogh and Paul Cezanne, Wagner¡¯s music fills the air.


    Standing in front of the heavy door, I listened to the music for a moment and then pushed the door with my body. Air trapped underground burst out, creating a slight breeze.


    I threw off my hat and mask and entered into my own world.


    In this ce, grand ssical music and glittering paintings are projected magnificently.


    ¡®Starry Night Over the Rh?ne.¡¯


    When we discuss Van Gogh, Starry Night is a painting that alwayses up.


    There are two pieces in the star series, one being Starry Night, and the one being projected now is Starry Night Over the Rh?ne.


    This painting is particrly beautiful with its gas lights reflected on the river.


    I quietly walked and sat on the central rock sofa, unable to take my eyes off the painting.


    ¡®The sky painted with stars at night, the sky reflected in the gas lighting is turquoise, the water is royal blue, thend is purple, and the vige is painted in blue and purple. Careful pallor. The contrast with the brutal gold. A remarkable painting.¡¯


    The main difference from the other painting, Starry Night, is the lesser use of spiral expressions. The sky drawn in round spirals in that painting seemed to suck you in, but this one gives a more peaceful feeling.


    The painting that adorned the wall gradually disappears, and the next one appears, ovepping. It¡¯s Starry Night, the one I just recalled. An exhibition showing the Star series consecutively.


    This painting is one of Van Gogh''s most famous works, always listed at the top when naming his most notable pieces.


    It¡¯s one of the most symbolic pieces of art in existence, and its swirling night sky filled with expressionist spirals still elicits strong emotional reactions today.


    The reason this painting is famous is that it was painted inside a mental hospital.


    Van Gogh, after cutting off his ear and admitting himself to a mental hospital, referred to this painting, which he painted in a state of mental turmoil, as a ¡®failed painting.¡¯


    However, this painting, which he called a failure, has be the most symbolic in remembering him.


    A beep sounds in my head. Someone very powerful seems to be pressing down hard on my eyelids.


    Now, I enter a dream.


    * * *


    I feel the cool autumn breeze.


    It¡¯s not a strong wind, but it¡¯s refreshing.


    Quietly opening my eyes, I find myself on a hill overlooking a small vige built in French architectural style and a wide expanse of farnd.


    ¡®Where could this be?¡¯


    I like Van Gogh.


    I have liked him since I was young.


    So, I know almost everything about him.


    Is it because I visited recently?


    It feels like the Provence region in southern France.


    Looking around, my eyes catch a hand-written sign.


    ¡®Bienvenue ¨¤ Arles.¡¯


    As soon as I see the sign, my eyes light up. This museum shows me a moment in the life of the artist currently being exhibited. And from this sign, I deduce the current era and location.


    ¡°It¡¯s Arles in 1888.¡±


    This is where Van Gogh cut off his own ear.


    ¡®Where is Van Gogh? At a hotel? Or in the Yellow House?¡¯


    Van Gogh stayed at a hotel here until he ran out of money. He then rented a very small house at a cheap price and set up a gallery for painters, although it was all financed by his brother.


    I slowly walked down the farm path.


    On the opposite side, a postman with a bushy brown beard, carrying arge bag and holding someone¡¯s letter,es into view.


    I saw him.


    But he doesn¡¯t see me.


    I¡¯m the only one visible in this vast farm, so if he doesn¡¯t see me, it means I¡¯m invisible.


    He passes by me.


    I stared at him intently. After he passed by me, I suddenly raised my hand and shouted.


    ¡°Hey, Vincent!¡±


    I was startled and quickly turned my head.


    Startled, I turned my head quickly.


    In the direction where the postman was waving, stood a thin man with orange hair, carrying a paint supply bag.


    ¡®It''s Van Gogh!¡¯


    Unbelievable, I''m actually seeing Van Gogh.


    Is this a dream or reality? Ah, it must be a dream.


    His eyes are intense. He looks sharp and extremely sensitive, but he''s waving back at the postman with a gentle face, suggesting they maintain a good rtionship.


    The postman, holding a letter, says to him, ¡°Another letter from your brother.¡±


    Van Gogh rushes over with joy to receive the letter.


    ¡°Ah, saved atst. Now I can finally buy chrome yellow paint. I was getting restless running out of paint.¡±


    It seems his brother has sent him money.


    The postman nces at the canvas on Van Gogh''s back and asks, ¡°Have you been working until now?¡±


    ¡°Speaking of others. Aren¡¯t you working right now too?¡±


    ¡°Well, I went for a drink this afternoon and ended up taking a nap, so it''s different.¡±


    ¡°In this situation, a drink? Aren¡¯t you about to have your third child? What kind of provider does that?¡±


    ¡°That''s true, I should head home early today.¡±


    "Yes, go ahead. Thank you for delivering the letter."


    The postman waves his hand and heads to deliver at the next house.


    From their conversation, it seems they are quite familiar with each other.


    Even Van Gogh, with his difficult personality, had someone he was close to. No wonder, the postman who brings him money and letters from his brother every week must be a cherished person to Van Gogh.


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 Chapter 146 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 146 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Van Gogh walks towards me, taking out the letter to read.


    He mutters to himself as he reads. Unable to read French, I have no choice but to stick close and listen attentively to his voice.


    "Brother, I''ve received the letters and paintings you sent with much gratitude. Some of the paintings are truly outstanding. They''re so vivid and fresh from the first impression. They look likendscapes freshly plowed from the fields. There''s a tremendous energy in your paintings. I''m confident that one day this power will be recognized. As for my news, I''ve been busy preparing for ude M''s exhibition. Mpleted tenndscape paintings while staying in Antibesst spring. They are vibrant and full of life. With a firm handshake, your brother, Theo."


    The famous letter from Theo.


    The letters exchanged between the two brothers were even published as a book by Theo''s wife.


    Van Gogh neatly folds the letter, puts it back in the envelope, and takes out the enclosed money.


    "Phew, I can pay the overdue rent now."


    Van Gogh murmurs to himself as he counts his fingers.


    "The overdue rent and food bills amount to about 90 francs... Just enough to pay everything off and buy some paint."I watch Van Gogh and suddenly recall my own past.


    I was the same. During my days as a street artist, I would count the day''s earnings, calcte the rent and utilities, and after setting aside money to send to my mother, I''d spend almost all of it on paints and art supplies.


    I followed him at a brisk pace, crossing farnds and entering the vige, arriving at a small, unimpressive hotel.


    At the counter, which resembled a modern motel''s, Van Gogh confidently approaches the half-bearded owner, waving the money.


    "The rent has arrived."


    "Oh, finally your brother sent the money, huh? Let''s see, the total overdue rent and food billse to 90 francs."


    "Here it is. Now don''t bother me for a while. I''m going up."


    "Ah, wait a minute."


    "What now?"


    "You owe another 67 francs for the wine."


    "What are you talking about? That seems wrong. Isn''t the wine I hadst time 40 francs? Why is it 67 francs?"


    The hotel owner crosses his arms and res at him.


    "Didn''t youin about our house wine being bad and ask for a better one? Good wine costs more."


    Van Gogh looks troubled, seemingly remembering.


    "Ah, but if I pay that, I won''t have any money left for paint. I can''t paint without chrome yellow."


    "Well, you shouldn''t haveined about the wine in the first ce."


    "Just for that one time!"


    "Anyway, you drank it, so you have to pay."


    "This is tant robbery! You never told me the wine I ordered was more expensive than the one I used to have!"


    "Calm down. If you keep this up, I''ll have no choice but to ask you to vacate the room."


    "Fine! I should''ve left this dump earlier. Give me the key to my room so I can pack my things."


    "Heh, and you think that solves everything? You can''t get your belongings back until you''ve paid the full amount."


    Van Gogh bursts out in anger.


    "I''m being cheated because I''m a foreigner? I''m not a tourist here for a leisurely vacation in the hotel restaurant. I''m a hardworking painter, living off my work! If I knew I''d be exploited like this, I would''ve called the police already!"


    Van Gogh turns around abruptly.


    He leaves without paying for the wine and is unable to retrieve his belongings.


    Van Gogh kicks the hotel door as he leaves. Where will he sleep tonight, and how will he get his belongings back?


    And where is the enraged Van Gogh going now? Straight to the police station?


    I follow him quietly, only to chuckle as I see him enter a store, still fuming.


    ¡°He came to buy paint amidst all this.¡±


    A born artist. He came to buy paint with the remaining money his brother sent him, even in his rage.


    Upon entering the paint shop, Van Gogh immediately shouts.


    ¡°Give me a tube of chrome yellow paint.¡±


    The female clerk searches among the paints and then, with an apologetic face, says, ¡°We''re out of chrome yellow.¡±


    ¡°Good heavens!¡±


    ¡°We still have plenty of red.¡±


    ¡°Crazy! Chrome yellow and red aren''t the same! What a bolt from the blue! Damn it! Damn it!!¡±


    Van Gogh rages, clutching his head.


    But he doesn¡¯t resort to throwing or breaking things. After cursing in Dutch, he storms out of the shop.


    Van Gogh kicks the ground and a pir in his anger. He never uses his fists, no matter how mad he gets. Hands are crucial for an artist.


    I smile at his antics.


    ¡®Don¡¯t worry. You only have to pay 12 francs, not 67.¡¯


    I know that, as per the decision of the French judicial magistrate, Van Gogh will only have to pay 12 francs to get his belongings back.


    Life is a tragedy up close but aedy from afar. That''s exactly how I feel watching Van Gogh.


    ¡®If someone were watching my life, would these tragedies I''m experiencing now seem like aedy to them?¡¯


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 Chapter 147: The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 147: The Mysterious Art Museum


    "I am painting three sunflowers. Thinking of Gauguin staying with me, I wanted to decorate the studio. Just with big sunflowers. To carry out this n, I think I need about twelve paintings. When all these paintings are gathered, blue and yellow will harmonize beautifully."


    Van Gogh''s Yellow House, painted in September 1888.


    I was deeply moved seeing the artists'' studio Van Gogh created in Arles, France. It¡¯s no longer visible to people. It was destroyed during World War II.


    Van Gogh,ing out of the hotel, rented this house for 13 francs a week.


    Thendlord initially asked for 17 francs, but Van Gogh managed to negotiate it down to 13 francs.


    Escaping the cramped hotel room, he seemed very happy in his small house, though it was undecorated due tock of money.


    He still went out to paint every morning and returned at dusk, but he seemed extremely happy with the time spent in his house.


    And every night, he would write letters.


    One to his brother Theo, and another to Paul Gauguin, who he hoped would join him in turning the studio into amunal one for artists.I sat in a small chair in the studio, watching Van Gogh write letters, his arms crossed.


    When writing to his brother, his face showed sorrow and longing; to Gauguin, it was filled with excitement and anticipation.


    I observed him for several days.


    Yesterday, while painting trees in the forest alone, he was approached by two men.


    They introduced themselves.


    ¡°Nice painting, I am Dodge Macknight, an American artist, and this is Eugene Boch, an artist from Pnd.¡±


    Ah, I thought they were just passersby. Eugene Boch was close enough to Van Gogh to be immortalized in a portrait.


    Van Gogh, learning they were artists, greeted them warmly.


    "Vincent."


    "Where are you from?"


    "From the Nethends."


    "Oh, a beautiful country, the Nethends."


    "Thank you."


    Eugene asked, "Your painting is almostplete. What time did you start?"


    "I came out at 7 in the morning."


    "Since 7 a.m.? That''s impressive."


    "Nothing different from other days. I always do this."


    Van Gogh resumed painting. Watching his brushwork, Dodgemented.


    "You paint very quickly."


    "I have to. It needs to be finished before the sun sets."


    "But your style is quite unique. What is this method?"


    "I just mix various styles. More than the method, I prefer to capture the soul of the subject, using exaggerated colors. I like delicate paintings, filled with joy and ecstasy. Oh, by the way, I¡¯m nning to create amunal studio for artists in the vige. If you are interested,e along."


    "Amunal studio? Who else is there?"


    "Paul Gauguin wille."


    "What?"


    Unlike the then-unknown Van Gogh, Gauguin was somewhat famous. Eugene quickly asked, "Can we meet him now?"


    "He hasn''t arrived yet."


    "Excuse me?"


    "It''s just me for now. But he wille soon."


    "¡­¡­."


    The two exchanged looks, signaling that they found Van Gogh a bit odd.


    Van Gogh, unfazed, continued, "I n to establish an association for artists. The goal is to provide an environment where artists can focus on their work without worrying about livelihood. How do you sustain yourselves?"


    "We have some inherited wealth."


    "Lucky you. Most artists I know are penniless. Gauguin, too, despite his genius and artistic prowess, lives worse than a homeless dog. That¡¯s why we must unite. In the art world, only dealers make money."


    "Hmm, that''s true. Recently a Millet painting sold for 800,000 francs."


    "What? 800,000 francs?"


    "A huge sum, isn''t it?"


    "But suchrge sums are usually made after the artist''s death. Living artists'' works are barely noticed. Isn¡¯t that unfair? Everyone thinks so."


    "That''s true. Even someone as boring as Millet bes famous after death."


    At this, Van Gogh''s expression changed. He red at Dodge.


    "Millet is boring?"


    "Don''t you think? His paintings of women gleaning, The Angelus, peasants threshing or sowing seeds are all useless and not beautiful."


    "Millet is boring?"


    Repeating the question, sensing something off, the two fell silent.


    Van Gogh quietly red at Dodge, then packed his paint supplies and stood up.


    "You¡¯ll always be a second-rate artist. Daring to call Millet boring, I''ll see what kind of paintings you make. Now get lost."


    "What?"


    "Get lost! Disappear from my sight!"


    Dodji seemed upset and was about to retort. However, his friend Eugen pushed him away and awkwardlyughed.


    ¡°My friend made a mistake. I apologize. If there''s another chance, we''ll meet again. Now, let''s go.¡±


    Van Gogh red at the retreating figures. Just as they disappeared from his sight, he yelled out.


    ¡°The true power of art lies in addressing the ordinary with sublimity! How dare you belittle Millet, who was born a peasant, died a peasant, and never left hisnd? Ah, you foolish ones! Spit!¡±


    As I watched Van Gogh writing a letter, I remembered the incident from yesterday and couldn¡¯t help but smirk.


    ¡°No wonder he has no friends.¡±


    Suddenly, I recalled what Yonghan said to a kid during a broadcast. Did I appear like that? As dogmatic, stubborn, and dismissive of others¡¯ opinions?


    Van Gogh yesterday was not having a conversation; he was merely speaking his mind.


    He admired Millet. In the early days of his painting career, he practiced by copying Millet''s works.


    Of course, the copies he made were entirely different from Millet''s originals. Even the peasants in ''The Potato Eaters'' were depicted differently from Millet''s style.


    At first nce, the painting seems quite dark, but what Van Gogh really wanted to depict was a harmonious peasant family.


    His unique style made the smiling woman in the painting look bizarre, even frightening, but this was how Van Gogh admired and followed the peasants in Millet''s works.


    Just like how I mockingly thought of my teachers, he was now excited over the disrespectful remarks about Millet.


    Lost in thought, I watched Van Gogh writing a letter for a long time.


    Then,te at night, someone knocked on the door of the Yellow House.


    Knock, knock.


    Van Gogh, who was writing a letter, raised his head.


    ¡°Who is it?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s me, Joseph.¡±


    Van Gogh quickly stood up. I knew who it was just by the name.


    It was the bearded postman I had met yesterday for the first time. I knew his name because of Van Gogh''s portrait of Joseph Roulin, indicating a close friendship between them.


    Van Gogh swung the door open and asked.


    ¡°Did Gauguin reply?¡±


    ¡°Ha, yes. The awaited reply hase.¡±


    Joseph handed over the letter. Van Gogh tore it open right there, read it, and burst into cheers, hugging Joseph.


    ¡°Yippee!! Finally!! Joseph! Gauguin ising here! To work with me!¡±


    ¡°Oh, is that so? Congrattions. Come draw my portrait when you have time. I¡¯ll buy you a bottle of absinthe.¡±


    ¡°Sure! I¡¯ll do that. Thanks for delivering the letter, Joseph!¡±


    ¡°No problem, it¡¯s my job. Well, I¡¯ll be going now.¡±


    Joseph left, and Van Gogh excitedly ran around the house.


    ¡°I''ll put a bed here for him, and a small chest of drawers would be good here. Ah! And I should move this chair over there.¡±


    He was so busy, as if Gauguin would arrive the next day. He must have been eagerly waiting.


    Van Gogh walked around the house, moving furniture, and then suddenly stopped to look at his home.


    ¡°Too shabby. Not fitting for an artists¡¯ studio.¡±


    Indeed, it was a very in house.


    Van Gogh looked out the window at the closed flower shop.


    ¡°Flowers would be too expensive to decorate with.¡±


    At that time, flowers in Paris were not expensive, and they still aren¡¯t. But flowers wilt quickly. He couldn¡¯t afford to rece them regrly.


    Van Gogh crossed his arms and stared at the flower shop for a while, then his face lit up like a lightbulb.


    ¡°That¡¯s it! Flowers that don¡¯t need recing because they never wilt!¡±


    And thus, the moment we''ve been anticipating.


    One of Van Gogh''s most famous paintings, the Sunflowers, was born.


    The Sunflowers we know were painted by Van Gogh intending to decorate his home in anticipation of Gauguin''s arrival in Arles.


    Despite thete hour, Van Gogh took out a new canvas and started painting the sunflowers, muttering to himself.


    ¡°Twelve pieces should be enough to decorate the whole house splendidly.¡±


    Van Gogh aimed to paint twelve sunflowers, but I knew he could onlyplete about three. Gauguin arrived sooner than expected.


    I looked at Van Gogh with a sense of pity.


    ''He waited so eagerly.''


    In truth, Gauguin¡¯s visit to Van Gogh was not to work in a joint studio but a brief stop, partially financed by Theo, Vincent¡¯s brother.


    Gauguin would have a major conflict with Van Gogh during his stay and leave soon after. This event led to Van Gogh having a breakdown, cutting off his own ear, and eventually being admitted to a mental hospital.


    Perhaps Van Gogh struggled so much because he was fighting loneliness?


    If he had a true friend to share his heart with, maybe he would have lived a little longer.


    I crossed my arms, lost in thought.


    ¡®Perhaps the worst thing in life is not feeling lonely alone, but feeling lonely even when with others. Maybe that¡¯s exactly how Van Gogh felt.¡¯


    True loneliness doesn¡¯te from being without people.


    Ites from being unable to share the things important to you with anyone.


    Van Gogh, in his life and its ending, proved this very point.


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 Chapter 148 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 148 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    <i>Bonus chapter thanks to @everyone from Ko-fi!</i>


    Suddenly, it was the weekend.


    I went to the port to meet Youngju, timing it with the ferry schedule.


    The ferry from Jeju Ind was quiterge, carrying many tourists.


    Finding Youngju among them wasn''t easy, but I spotted her from afar amidst a crowd.


    ¡°Youngju!¡±


    I waved frantically.


    Youngju, peering at me with a covered face, realized it was me and ran over.


    ¡°Hey, you! Why are you out here! I told you to stay home! What if someone sees?¡±¡°Haha, I have to greet a friend, right?¡±


    ¡°Are you crazy? It¡¯s so crowded here, you madman. Let''s go quickly.¡±


    ¡°We''re all covered up, why so sensitive?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s better to be safe, hurry up. Where¡¯s your car?¡±


    ¡°Car? What luxury! We''re taking a scooter. It''s a two-seater, so we can both ride. I rented helmets.¡±


    ¡°......¡±


    Youngju looked at her luggage with a dumbfounded face.


    ¡°How am I supposed to ride a scooter with all this?¡±


    ¡°Wow, what a load of stuff. Are you here for a month-long stay?¡±


    ¡°Girls always have a lot of luggage!¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re a girl?¡±


    ¡°Want to die?¡±


    ¡°Haha, alright. Let''s rent another scooter then.¡±


    ¡°No taxis?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, never seen one.¡±


    ¡°Damn it.¡±


    Eventually, we loaded the luggage onto the scooter and walked slowly together.


    Youngju seemed annoyed at theck of taxis, but her mood quickly lifted as she admired the beautiful ind, stepping briskly and saying,


    ¡°The air is so fresh! I¡¯d love to live in a ce like this someday.¡±


    ¡°Right?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, fishing here, eating sashimi, swimming in the shallow sea... it would be wonderful. Have you tried it?¡±


    ¡°I haven''t tried fishing or swimming, but it seems like a nice ce to live. Quiet.¡±


    I pushed the scooter ahead, watching Youngju, who turned to me with a twirling motion.


    The breaking waves, the sun scattering its light with the waves.


    And beneath that, Youngju in a bucket hat and blue dress. Such a beautiful sight.


    ¡®What am I thinking.¡¯


    Youngju is my friend.


    Friends can fight and see each other again, but lovers may end up never seeing each other again. I want Youngju always by my side.


    I popped the thought bubbles in my head and said,


    ¡°Being here alone makes me feel like Van Gogh.¡±


    Youngju paused and looked at me.


    ¡°Van Gogh?¡±


    ¡°Ah, don¡¯t think anything weird. I don''t mean it in an extreme way. It¡¯s like feeling like Van Gogh who traveled alone, painting.¡±


    Youngju nodded, relieved.


    ¡°Do you paint?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t use to.¡±


    ¡°So, you paint now?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°Was there a reason?¡±


    You.


    Because you said you''de.


    And the art gallery.


    Waiting for a friend in the gallery, painting pictures to decorate my house, I admired that image of Van Gogh.


    But I hid my true feelings and smiled.


    ¡°Nah, just because.¡±


    ¡°What kind of paintings?¡±


    ¡°Flowers.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t paint flowers, do you?¡±


    This kid knows too much about me.


    ¡°What, forgot about the painting that made me famous in Italy?¡±


    ¡°Ah, water lilies.¡±


    I looked up at the sky while pushing the scooter.


    ¡°I don¡¯t suffer from the past anymore. I¡¯ve forgotten all about it. The pains of love, that is. And once I forgot, I started to see new beauties.¡±


    ¡°New beauties?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, like realizing how beautiful flowers can be.¡±


    I thought it was a pretty cool thing to say.


    But Youngju¡¯s face crumpled up looking at me.


    ¡°That¡¯s cheesy.¡±


    ¡°Ha-ha.¡±


    ¡°If you start sending me pictures of flowers every morning like some old man, I¡¯ll kill you.¡±


    ¡°Ha-ha, are you dumb?¡±


    ¡°And don¡¯t send pictures of the sunrise.¡±


    ¡°I sleep like a log at dawn, unaware of the world.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t send sunsets either. In fact, if you send me videos of natural scenery or anything like that, you¡¯re dead.¡±


    ¡°Ha-ha, do you think I¡¯m a grandfather?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s better, hee-hee.¡±


    Anyway, Youngju seemed pleased with my positive thoughts and turned to look at the ind again. Having such a friend is a blessing.


    On the way to our amodation, we stopped by a sashimi restaurant.


    It was run by a couple we visited on our first night here. I parked the scooter and said,


    ¡°The rockfish here is killer, have you ever tried wild rockfish?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Wow, you have? Are you from a rich family or something?¡±


    ¡°What? I¡¯ve only had it once. Is it good here?¡±


    ¡°Yes, it''s fantastic. Let¡¯s get it to-go.¡±


    ¡°Okay.¡±


    The uncle, wearing only a running shirt, emerges with a knife in hand. Seeing me, he waves the knife cheerfully.


    ¡°Hey, you''re back?¡±


    Uncle, is waving a knife a greeting in any country? It¡¯s scary.


    ¡°Hello, do you have rockfish? Wild ones?¡±


    ¡°Of course. Want some?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Hold on. Who¡¯s this with you?¡±


    The uncle wipes his hands, steps outside, and looks at Youngju. Then he turns to me with a smirk.


    ¡°Look at this young man. He has such a pretty girlfriend. No wonder a young guy like you came alone, waiting for your girlfriend?¡±


    What''s he talking about? We¡¯re just friends.


    I hurried to rify, but Youngju, ever so charming, hooks her arm in the uncle''s and says,


    ¡°Right, uncle? I¡¯m pretty, aren¡¯t I?¡±


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 Chapter 148 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 148 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    ¡°Right, uncle? I¡¯m pretty, aren¡¯t I?¡±


    ¡°Uh? Oh, very pretty.¡±


    ¡°Hehe, then you''ll give us a lot of fish?¡±


    ¡°Of course! Pretty people don¡¯t get fat no matter how much they eat.¡±


    ¡°Hehe, then please give us a lot?¡±


    "Alright, wait just a bit. I¡¯ll slice it up quickly for you."


    What''s this atmosphere?


    Where did thedy who was scolding the uncle go? If she were here, she would have given him a smack.


    I nced at Youngju cautiously. But instead, Youngju was happily whistling and looking around the aquarium."Wow, is that a red sea bream? It looks really meaty."


    Youngju, delighting like a child at the aquarium. I realized she also had this side to her. I rarely saw her feminine side, as she always had a tomboyish personality. When she smiled in such attire, she looked like an angel.


    The uncle quickly packed the sashimi and came outside.


    "Here, for the prettydy."


    "Thank you!"


    "I packed it generously, soe again."


    "Sure~"


    After the uncle went back in, we continued pushing the scooter along. Youngju drooled over the packed sashimi.


    "Look at this color. It''s a whole different level from what we had in Seoul. Do you have soju at home?"


    "Even if we run out of food, we never run out of alcohol."


    "Great! Let''s drink to death today. Hey, look at this. He really gave us a lot, didn''t he?"


    Seeing the sashimi Youngju handed to me, I was dumbfounded.


    "What''s this? It seems like 1.5 times the amount I would get for the same price alone. Wow, that uncle is really something. Is he discriminating?"


    Youngju, in such a good mood, hugged the sashimi packet and jumped around excitedly.


    "Kyahahaha! It''s all because I¡¯m pretty, right?"


    "Ugh."


    It had been 40 minutes since Youngju arrived at the port and stopped by the sashimi restaurant.


    During that time, Youngju didn''t say a word about what the media was saying or the outside situation.


    She just chatted happily, like a friend who hade on a trip with me. And I was so thankful for that.


    When we arrived at the amodation, I parked the scooter and said.


    "There''s another room inside; use that. There''s a bed, so don''t worry about sleeping on the floor. It''s better to eat in the yard. I''ll prepare everything, so just unpack your things and change intofortable clothes."


    "Okay, got it."


    Youngju went into the amodation.


    I told my friend I would prepare the meal, but I was curious about Youngju''s reaction and just watched. Sure enough, Youngju soon peeked out.


    Youngju, her eyes fluttering with emotion. I grinned and asked.


    "Do you like it?"


    "......"


    Youngju was silent. But just from her expression, I could feel she really liked it. I jokingly shrugged.


    "I really worked hard on it because you wereing."


    "......"


    Youngju''s long eyes trembled. Rubbing her nose, which seemed a bit sore, Youngju spoke in a feigned gruff voice.


    "I''ll change ande out."


    "Okay."


    Youngju disappeared. I chuckled to myself, looking up at the sky.


    "I''m d I painted the lilies that Youngju likes."


    Like Van Gogh in my dream at the museum. I painted flowers that my friend liked.


    Being cooped up here all day with nothing to do but time on my hands.


    I painted different colored lilies on five 50-size canvases.


    Dozens of blooming lilies now decorated the amodation.


    One next to the bed Youngju will use, one on the wall visible when lying in bed, one on the wall right outside Youngju''s room, one in the bathroom, and one in the living room where we can both see it.


    I ced the paintings in the spots where Youngju would see them the most.


    I hope my feelings reach you, Youngju.


    I¡¯m really grateful to you.


    You are really a precious friend to me.


    I don¡¯t know howforting it is to have you by my side.


    These paintings are filled with all these feelings.


    I hope they reach you.


    All these words, I keep them to myself.


    Because if I really said them, Youngju would tease me about being cheesy or something. I''d probably get smacked too.


    I chuckle to myself at the thought and continue preparing for our drink.


    But why isn¡¯t Youngjuing out? The soju I purposely put in the freezer to chill is going to warm up, and there''s no sign of Youngju.


    After sitting nkly on the tform for over 30 minutes, Youngju finally appears.


    ¡°Hey, what took you so long¡­.¡±


    I was about to scold her, but I lost my words seeing Youngjuing out of the door.


    Was Youngju always this pretty?


    I expected her toe out in something like sweatpants since she said she¡¯d change into somethingfortable. But Youngju is still made up, wearing a different colored dress and sandals.


    Her long hair flowing as she takes off her hat, I couldn¡¯t take my eyes off Youngju¡¯s face.


    Youngju walks over, nces at the fish, and then meets my eyes.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°¡­¡­.¡±


    ¡°What are you staring at, punk?¡±


    Crash.


    The sound of my fantasy shattering.


    But what''s left isn''t disappointment, it¡¯sughter.


    ¡°Hahaha!! Seo Youngju! That''s more like you! Hahaha!¡±


    ¡°What, punk. Why are you suddenlyughing like crazy! Did you eat someughter mushrooms or what?¡±


    ¡°Hahahaha!!¡±


    Youngju is choking me, shaking me violently, and shouting.


    ¡°You punk! You thought my clothes didn''t suit me! Thinking I should wear something like you! Admit it!¡±


    No, you fool.


    I thought it suited you well.


    Youngju, still choking me, screams.


    ¡°You thought, ¡®Why is someone like her wearing feminine clothes?¡¯ Admit it!¡±


    ¡°Haha!!¡±


    No, you fool.


    I thought you looked really pretty.


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 Chapter 149 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 149 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    It''s delightful.


    Is it the joy of being with people, or is it specifically being with Youngju that''s enjoyable?


    Last night, we shared a meal of wild rockfish sashimi under the moonlight, drinkingte into the night before retiring to our rooms at dawn. The next day, around noon, we walked along the beaches surrounding the ind.


    Youngju tightly held onto her hat to prevent it from being blown away by the sea breeze, strolling and spinning around on the white sandy beach.


    ¡°This ce is really great! It¡¯s on a different levelpared to ind beaches!¡±


    I couldn''t help butugh seeing my friend''s beaming smile.


    ¡°Oh, this is the ck Dark Beach, just a small stretch of white sand about a hundred meters long, but it¡¯s incredibly beautiful because it¡¯s a gorge. You can¡¯t see it now because of the high tide, but at low tide, a cave appears over there. The inside of the cave is all red.¡±


    ¡°Really? Where?¡±


    ¡°There.¡±We spent time on the beach, and during our experience riding a motorboat, which we paid for, around the gorge, Youngjuughed and seemed very happy.


    ¡®Youngju, too, hasn¡¯t had a vacation once while helping me build mypany.¡¯


    My friend, who worked to death for years under an ipetent boss.


    Being busy with my own work, I never paid attention to how she was living, blindly expecting her to understand. Though it was with Youngju¡¯s permission, I now feel incredibly sorry.


    Arriving at the Coral Beach, Youngju and I sat on a towel, touching the popcorn-shaped rocks in wonder, and I brought up a topic from my heart.


    ¡°Youngju.¡±


    ¡°Yeah?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    ¡°For what?¡±


    ¡°Just everything. And thank you.¡±


    Youngju hesitated for a moment, looking like she was about to swear, then suddenlyughed.


    ¡°Hehe.¡±


    Iughed too.


    ¡°Haha.¡±


    Weughed for a long while.


    After visiting the lighthouse and the So-moo-ri Summit, we walked the Olle trail to the Haenyeo (female divers) vige.


    I acted as if I had been here several times before.


    ¡°The stone octopus here is good.¡±


    It tasted like gum chewed for three days and spit out. The reason I couldn¡¯t taste it, even though everyone else said it was delicious, was probably because of my mood at the time.


    Youngju and I bought the stone octopus and stopped by a local mart to buy more alcohol, having finished all we had the day before.


    Tomorrow, Youngju will return to Seoul, and I¡¯ll be left alone again. I hope we spend ourst night well.


    As the sun set, we arrived at our lodging, put the groceries in the refrigerator, andy down on a wooden tform to rest for a while.


    The ind gets dark early, so the sky was already losing its blue, but in return, it offered thefort of being able to look at the sky without being dazzled.


    Youngju, gazing at the sky, spoke.


    ¡°Jeong-hoon.¡±


    ¡°Yeah?¡±


    ¡°Just bear with it a little longer.¡±


    ¡°¡­¡±


    ¡°Time will resolve everything eventually.¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°If you look at the news, even celebrities who hurt people in drunk driving incidentse creeping back after some time. If they can be easily forgotten for such actions, this incident will also be forgotten soon.¡±


    ¡°Is being forgotten the problem?¡±


    ¡°¡­¡±


    ¡°Rather, I wish it wouldn¡¯t be forgotten.¡±


    What happens if it¡¯s just forgotten like that?


    Should I sneak back into broadcasting in about a year, pretending like nothing happened, and live like a celebrity again?


    Or should I give up on broadcasting and dedicate myself to art in the shadows?


    Of course, I have noints about thetter, but the problem is the public¡¯s perception. If it¡¯s just forgotten like this, the public might ept what Yong-han said as fact.


    There¡¯s nothing more to learn from the past.


    Only the pursuit of newness is modern art.


    So what should I do?"


    After a while, when the anger of the excited crowd had subsided, I sneaked out to do an interview. Should I appeal that it was Yonghan''s fault that time?


    "I don''t want to."


    Why should I?


    Why do I have to do that?


    I washed my face and looked up at the sky.


    "Youngju."


    "Yeah."


    "Can I stay here for a while? I feel so sorry for leaving thepany management to you. I need some time."


    "Stay as long as you want, silly. The world goes on fine without you."


    "Ha ha."


    It''s reassuring yet somewhat bitter. The world keeps turning even without me.


    Everyone lives a self-centered life.


    I am always the protagonist of my life.


    But I am never the protagonist of the world.


    It''s a bit bitter, but also somewhat relieving.


    I covered my eyes with my hand and nodded.


    "Thanks."


    "What will you do while you''re here?"


    "I don''t know."


    "Will you paint?"


    "My learned skill is thievery, so probably not."


    "You don''t really want to paint?"


    "Well, sort of."


    "Your lily paintings are really good. President Yumin Young or Mrs. Kang would have bought them right away."


    "That''s a gift for you, I don''t n to sell it."


    "Really? You''re giving it to me?"


    "Yeah."


    "What if I take it and sell it in Italy?"


    "Ha ha, you can. It''s yours now."


    "Bullshit, just kidding."


    A briefugh, then silence again.


    After a while, Youngju stood up and said.


    "How about writing a diary?"


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 Chapter 149 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 149 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    "A diary all of a sudden?"


    Youngju hit my thigh and said.


    "Don''t you remember what Picasso said?"


    "......"


    Picasso''s words.


    ''A painting is just another way of keeping a diary.''


    He wrote diaries with his paintings. And most of those diaries are called masterpieces.


    Simply put, he habitually painted something that happened to him or something he saw.


    But the hidden meaning is different. If there is one thingmon among artists in any field, it is that their lives and thoughts are melted into their works.Such thoughts umte and create a work of art.


    Picasso summed up the process of creating a work in a short sentence instead of a long exnation.


    "A diary. That''s a good idea."


    "Do you have enough painting materials?"


    "No, I used them all up painting the lilies."


    "There''s no art supply store here. I''ll send them from Seoul, so text me what you need."


    "Okay."


    "Make sure you send it. It''s okay to waste time, but don''t put down the brush."


    "Ha ha, thanks."


    "Let''s have dinner. I''ll set the table today, so you rest."


    "Youngju."


    "What now."


    "Thanks."


    "Bullshit, setting a table is no big deal."


    "Not that. Thanks for being by my side."


    "......"


    "Stay by my side."


    "......"


    There''s no response from Youngju. I thought he''d kick me out and scream about ruining someone''s marriage.


    "......"


    Strange. It''s not the reaction I expected. Iy down and looked up at Youngju. His face is as red as a ripe apple.


    "What''s wrong? Are you sick?"


    "......"


    "You shouldn''t drink. The sun is still hot during the day, did you wander around too much?"


    Suddenly, Youngju rushed at me and choked me.


    "Shut up! If you don''t talk, at least we''ll be halfway there! Oh! This guy always talks too much!"


    "Uh? What''s this? Why suddenly? Cough! It hurts! It hurts!"


    "Shut up! It was just nice for a change, and you ruin it!"


    "What, what? What did I do?"


    "Idiot, shut up!"


    * * *


    The next day at the harbor.


    Holding her luggage and checking the ferry schedule, Youngju sits on a bench a bit away from the bustling harbor, staring at the iing boats before breaking the silence.


    "Once I get on, I''ll send the materials right away, so text me today."


    "Okay."


    Youngju looks at my face with wide eyes.


    "Don''t just curl up in a corner and cry, kiddo."


    "Haha. Hey,e closer and talk, you reek of booze."


    "Ugh... I drank too much yesterday."


    "I''ve never seen Seo Youngju that drunk before. Do you rememberst night, climbing up the pavilion, holding slippers and singing?"


    "......"


    "Climbing over the stone wall, pretending to ride a horse, that was you."


    "S*t, that''s embarrassing."


    "Haha."


    "I''ll die if you say it at work."


    "You have to go to work to say it, dude."


    As the ferry docks and announcements y, Youngju begins to stand up, grabbing his luggage. But I grab Youngju''s hand.


    "There''s still time. It just docked, about 15 minutes."


    "......"


    "Stay a bit longer."


    "......Okay."


    I''ve known Youngju for over ten years.


    Why does parting feel particrly hard this time, despite the many meetings and farewells we''ve had?


    Have I been too alone?


    Even though I held onto Youngju, intending to leave, I said nothing for 15 minutes. There was nothing particrly to say.


    Youngju too, just sat quietly next to me, looking at the ferry.


    Time seems to fly especially fast today. In the blink of an eye, those 15 minutes passed. As the final announcement ys, Youngju stands up with his luggage.


    "I''m going now."


    "Yeah."


    "Don''t cry and wait, I''lle again."


    "Haha, am I a kid?"


    "Leaving."


    "Okay."


    Youngju, dragging his luggage, heads towards the ferry. I silently watch her retreating figure.


    Arriving at the ferry, Youngju hands over her ticket and nces back at me. I wave from a distance. Instead of waving back, Youngju raises his middle finger, but that''s just her charm.


    I sit on the bench, quietly watching until the ferry carrying Youngju disappears from view.


    Ticklish.


    Something tickles my nose.


    Is it the wind, or just my odd mood today?


    As thest passengers for Jeju Ind leave like the ebb tide, only the harbor staff remain, cleaning the now empty harbor. After watching for an hour, I get up and look at the sky.


    Somehow, I don''t feel like going straight back to the amodation today.


    It feels like returning there would only bring the loneliness of the noisy weekend spent with Youngju.


    I put on my helmet, get on my scooter, and look towards the direction of the museum.


    Then it strikes me.


    "Ah, right. I should have taken Youngju to the museum. Lea went in, there''s no reason Youngju couldn''t."


    Stupid me.


    Forgetting to show the things that matter most to my closest friend.


    I gaze at the horizon where Youngju''s ferry has disappeared.


    "Well, she said she''lle again. There will be a chance, I guess."


    I sit on the scooter and start it energetically. The electric scooter doesn''t roar like a gasoline bike, but I still feel its power as I push the start button and speed away from the harbor, enjoying the sea breeze.


    The top speed of an electric scooter isn''t much, but it still feels good.


    Yes, instead of going straight to the amodation, let''s go to the museum today.


    Looking forward to what new aspects my hero, Van Gogh, will show me.


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 Chapter 150 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 150 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    In a Dream.


    I stood, gazing quietly at the yellow house about 50 meters away from where I had opened my eyes.


    The exact time was unknown, but it was veryte at night. Lights were on in the house, and a window was open.


    Next to the yellow house was a cafe, already closed due to thete hour. There were no people around.


    If Van Gogh was still in the yellow house of Arles, he might be painting sunflowers, waiting for a friend, or perhaps already engaged in joyful artistic activities with a friend.


    I slowly walked towards the yellow house and headed for the open window.


    Then, a loud crashing sound of a breaking bottle reached my ears. Seeing shards of ss flying out of the window, I frowned and quickly peered inside from the window.


    Inside the house.


    A man with deep double eyelids and strong frown lines sat at the table, supporting his chin with his hand. It was Paul Gauguin. He had finally arrived.Van Gogh, even though his awaited friend had arrived, was irritably opening a new bottle of alcohol, thoroughly drunk.


    The alcohol that ruined Van Gogh, absinthe.


    This liquor, known as the green fairy or the green devil, is light green in color when poured into a transparent ss.


    At that time, the bitter wormwood, which is a main ingredient of this liquor, contained thujone, apound that could affect the nerves, causing hallucinations or, with long-term consumption, potentially destroying the optic nerve. This led to its production being banned for almost 100 years from 1910 to the 2000s.


    I watched Van Gogh, who was nkly blowing into a new bottle.


    "That poisonous liquor."


    Depending on the brand, this liquor usually contains an alcohol content of 45-75%. In its pure form, it can even exceed 80%.


    It''s typically diluted with ice when consumed, but Van Gogh was drinking this poisonous liquor straight from the bottle.


    Van Gogh, gulping down the liquor and roughly wiping his mouth with his sleeve, res at his friend as if he were an enemy.


    "How could you do that!"


    Gauguin, looking confused and slightly irritated, says,


    "What exactly are you so angry about?"


    Van Gogh, pointing at a pair of canvases set aside, shouts,


    "How could you paint such pictures!"


    I pushed my head through the window to see the paintings Van Gogh was pointing at. As soon as the two paintings came into view, I closed my eyes tightly.


    "This very scene."


    The reason for their fight.


    It was because of two portraits they had painted simultaneously of the same model. Of course, there were other reasons, but the decisive one was the difference in interpretation of the paintings.


    The two paintings, known as ''The Woman of Arles.''


    These were paintings of Mrs. Ginoux, the owner of the inn where Van Gogh had left his luggage when he first came to Arles, with whom he had be friendly.


    Two paintings of the same model.


    However, the atmosphere emitted by the woman waspletely different in each.


    In Van Gogh''s painting, Mrs. Ginoux sits at a table in front of a yellow background, reading a book. An excellent painting already establishing the unique atmosphere of Van Gogh''s portraits.


    The yellow background makes the figure stand out more vividly, giving off a mystical aura. Thedy reading a book looks elegant and refined.


    What about Gauguin''s portrayal?


    In his painting, besides Mrs. Ginoux, other people are also visible.


    Mrs. Ginoux, with her chin propped up and a strange smile, at the front of the image.


    And several other people drinking at another table in the background.


    A worldly scene without any sense of elegance or grace.


    Van Gogh ms a bottle on the table and yells,


    "Didn''t you paint thedy in a vulgar manner! She''s not that kind of person!"


    Gauguin frowns.


    "Aren''t you a painter? A painter should be able to paint what he sees, but also understand the unseen. Painting the bar woman as noble is because you''re grateful to her, right? Why should I follow your lead and paint a vulgar woman nobly?"


    "What!!!"


    Van Gogh yells as he rips off his shirt buttons.


    "Then! The man drinking behind me! Why did you paint this? Isn''t this Joseph?"


    "Yes, that''s right. The postman."


    "Joseph is like a benefactor to me! To paint such a person like this, are you in your right mind!"


    "I only painted what I saw."


    "Painted what you saw! When did Joseph ever sit in a tavern, drinking with prostitutes, making such a vulgar face! He''s a man who knows nothing but his wife and children!"


    "To me, he seemed that way. His nose was so red from drinking. Seeing such a face, it''s natural to imagine such a scene."


    "You said you paint what you see!"


    "I also paint what I don''t see."


    "Are you trying to y word games with me now!"


    "Ha! I can no longer converse with you. Just yelling foolishly. I''ll go back to my painting, drink alone or do whatever you please."


    I looked at the two repeating their arguments with a sorrowful face.


    Whether Van Gogh drinks more or not, Gauguin picking up his brush. And seeing the painting he was working on, I sighed.


    "Please. Don''t paint that painting."


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 Chapter 150 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 150 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    I know the painting he''s currently working on.


    It''s the ''Sunflowers being painted by Van Gogh''.


    And that would be the decisive reason thatpletely separates the two men.


    Van Gogh res at his friend, sitting at the table, drinking alone.


    Watching his friend painting, he seems to be reflecting on the parts that angered him, trying to calm down.


    I watched Van Gogh with a nervous heart.


    If only he could see me, if we could talk, I''d jump in right away and try to calm him. But the dream doesn''t allow it.


    Hours that felt like days passed, and only the sound of Gauguin''s brush echoed in the Yellow House. Van Gogh continued to drink heavily, grumbling.


    Gauguin, after painting for quite a while, got up silently and went to the bathroom.Left alone, Van Gogh took a drink and then stood in front of the painting he was working on. His expression gradually twisted as he looked at the painting.


    I washed my face and looked at the painting of Gauguin that Van Gogh was ring at.


    In the painting, Van Gogh painting sunflowers, his eyes almost closed, as if drunk.


    He seemed out of his mind, whether drinking or painting.


    The sunflowers he was painting were wilted, leaves fallen, a grotesque sight.


    The brush Van Gogh held was so thin, it looked almost like a thread.


    Van Gogh, trembling with immense humiliation, muttered.


    "This is... definitely me. But it seems like I''m crazy... Is this how he sees me?"


    Then Gauguin, who had gone to the bathroom, stopped as he came back into the living room. Van Gogh slowly turned his head, red at his friend, and then threw a bottle at his face.


    "Get out! You don''t even look like a painter!"


    Fortunately, Gauguin narrowly avoided the bottle to the face and yelled.


    "You crazy man! Throwing a bottle at someone?"


    "What kind of person are you! You''re not even human!"


    "Your soul''s been eaten by the green devil! You''re not in your right mind!"


    "Shut up! What were you thinking painting me like this!"


    "Look at you now! How are you any different from the man in that painting!"


    "Shut up! Just shut up!"


    Drunk, Van Gogh was beyond reason. No one knew why Gauguin painted such a picture.


    It could have been an attempt to sober up his drunk friend.


    Or maybe it was out of anger, to mock him.


    That''s probably a truth only the parties involved would know.


    Angered, Gauguin left the house, and Van Gogh, left alone, started to trash the ce.


    "Ughhhh!!!"


    Van Gogh, pulling his hair in anger, eventually copsed.


    He bowed his head and a mumbling sound could be heard.


    "I had to keep painting even when I heard voices in my mind saying I couldn''t. When I painted... only then did the voices disappear. The human heart is like the sea. It has storms, tides, and deep within it, hidden jewels like pearls. But when will I find the pearl in my heart?"


    Van Gogh lifted his head, exhaling breath heavy with the smell of alcohol.


    And then he looked towards me.


    I was standing in front of the window, startled, but he couldn''t see me. He was just looking at the night view outside the open window.


    "There''s a huge fire in my soul. But no onees close to feel its warmth. People just pass by and see a bit of smoke."


    Van Gogh gazed thoughtfully at the portrait of himself painted by his friend.


    "I''d rather die passionately than live in boredom."


    Van Gogh slowly got up.


    I screamed at his figure.


    "No! Don''t do it!"


    But my cries couldn''t reach him. From outside the window, I could only stomp my feet in frustration.


    Van Gogh went to the bathroom, holding a razor in his hand. He came out and muttered while staring at the portrait his friend had painted.


    "If they won''t listen when I say this isn''t me, then I''ll make it so the person in this painting isn''t me."


    Van Gogh cut off his ear with the razor. Blood flowed freely, but he didn''t seem to think of stopping it, just staring at his ear on the ground.


    He was so drunk he seemed not to feel the pain. And then he copsed.


    Silence fell around.


    I stood by the window, looking at the fallen Van Gogh with pity.


    At dawn, Gauguin would return, find Van Gogh like this, and decide he could no longer stay with him. He would contact his brother and leave.


    Upon hearing the news, Theo rushed home and took his brother to the hospital, but by then, the rumor that Van Gogh had gone mad and cut off his own ear had already spread throughout the vige.


    The vigers began to fear Van Gogh, and eventually, a petition was submitted to the town hall for his istion.


    Among those people were those with whom Van Gogh had been friendly sinceing here.


    Knowing this, Van Gogh walked into a mental hospital, deeply disappointed.


    I stood alone by the window, looking at the unconscious Van Gogh, lost in thought.


    We always make ''what-ifs'' in life.


    What if I hadn''t said that then?


    What if I had made a different choice?


    What if I hadn''t gone down that road?


    What if I hadn''t met that person?


    What if I had held on a little longer?


    But all these are futile echoes. The event has happened, and it''s irreversible. Shooting echoes into the void is foolish.


    Van Gogh returned to Arles after leaving the mental hospital but could not bear the looks of the people and eventually left.


    And after staying 70 days in the same inn I had traveled to, he went alone into a wheat field and shot himself in the stomach.


    It''s a truly tragic and sad event.


    I am very sad. Thest moments of my hero in my heart were too tragic.


    Disappointed in people, causing trouble, and then disappointing them again with such behavior - this lonely man was Van Gogh''sst image.


    Standing alone by the window, looking at the unconscious Van Gogh, I muttered to myself.


    "I... need to make a different choice."


    I won''t repeat the vicious cycle like Van Gogh.


    Reviving the hero in my heart doesn''t mean making the same choices and expecting the same results.


    Expecting different oues by repeating the same process is a mental problem.


    I will use the disappointment from others as a driving force to make an entirely different choice.


    That must be why this art gallery showed me this dream.


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 Chapter 151 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 151 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    I was curious.


    The thing I, who loved Van Gogh, was most curious about.


    Was it true that Van Goghmitted suicide?


    Despite being lonely, solitary, struggling with poverty, and unable to find hope, Van Gogh was actually opposed to the idea of suicide.


    That makes sense, given that he originally intended to be a clergyman.


    For a clergyman, suicide is an unforgivable sin, and Van Gogh often praised life in the letters he exchanged with Theo.


    After cutting off his ear and receiving treatment, he returned to the vige. Faced with rejection from the people, he voluntarily entered a psychiatric hospital and sat on a bed.


    I watched him and pondered.


    "Van Gogh said that suicide is evil, horrific, a cowardly act feared by those who dread criticism, and a crime against the beauty of life and the sublimity of art. Yet, he shot himself."Was it his attitude towards life that sparked so much spection about his death?


    Moreover, he never owned a gun.


    One day, while painting in a wheat field, he was suddenly shot in the abdomen and returned to his lodging, where he died despite the doctor''s efforts.


    July 27, 1890. What exactly happened in those few hours between lunch at the inn and the evening?


    I heard about the negotiations Van Gogh had with the doctor when he walked into this hospital.


    Van Gogh agreed to be hospitalized on one condition ¨C he asked the doctor to let him paint as much as he wanted. Just one condition: he would cooperate with all treatments, provided he could continue painting.


    I wondered what happened to him.


    I wished I could remain in the dream world for a long time.


    But the Strange Art Museum never showed me what I was curious about.


    The museum showed me what I needed.


    This time was no exception.


    * * *


    Feeling dizzy and hearing a ringing in my ears, I slowly opened my eyes.


    In the dark museum, a painting appeared.


    It was Van Gogh''s Starry Night, painted in the hospital.


    And in my dream, I saw Van Gogh painting it.


    I murmured to myself, recalling the dream that showed me Van Gogh fighting solitude but never giving up on painting.


    "When I was in school, my professor said the 11 stars in this painting might represent the 11 bars on the window of the psychiatric hospital."


    Van Gogh, who I saw in my dream, mumbled something entirely different.


    He painted the 11 stars because Jacob had 11 stars.


    Van Gogh, who once aspired to follow his father''s footsteps into the clergy and even studied for it, often included Christian symbolism in his paintings.


    As he painted, Van Gogh murmured:


    "Joseph had another dream and told it to his brothers. He said, ''I had a dream, and this time the sun and moon and eleven stars were bowing down to me.''"


    It''s from Genesis 37:9. I don''t know much about the Bible, but thanks to Van Gogh, who had a Bible open while painting, I learned where this verse came from.


    The story of Jacob''s eleventh son Joseph, who was envied and cast out by his 11 brothers but never lost faith in God, grew up upright, and became the Prime Minister of Egypt. Later, when the 11 brothers were starving due to famine, they came to Egypt and begged Joseph for food.


    Perhaps Van Gogh saw the number 11 as the challenges he had to ovee himself, and not just the brothers who tormented Joseph. Therefore, the meaning of the painting isn''t just a night sky seen from the hospital, but a selfforting and hopeful representation of oveing the difficulties and hardships symbolized by Jacob''s 11 stars.


    "Could such a manmit suicide?"


    At that time, he frequently had seizures.


    They could have been alcohol-induced seizures or mental breakdowns due to extreme stress. So, a momentary extreme choice might have been possible. Certainly, it''s usible.


    "But the Van Gogh I saw."


    I couldn''t be certain since I hadn''t seen hisst moments, but at least the Van Gogh in the hospital still praised life.


    Life was always harsh to him, yet he always loved it.


    I just couldn''t understand why he would choose suicide.


    After gazing nkly at the changing paintings for a while, I eventually stood up. I knew staying here wouldn''t bring the dream back.


    With a solemn feeling, I left the museum and returned to my lodging.


    Sitting on a bench in the yard, looking at the night sky.


    The stars shining as beautifully as the ones I saw with Van Gogh in the Parisian countryside of 1890.


    "I guess I''ll never fully understand you, will I?"


    It''s natural.


    Van Gogh, who could only sell a single painting in his lifetime.


    An artist who was so marginalized that he wouldn''t have been able to paint without his brother.


    And then there''s me.


    Am I troubled just because I''m misunderstood and criticized by others for a moment?


    Am I struggling because I''m tired of people''s gossip and hiding?


    At least I''ve earned money, supported a family, and been recognized by many.


    I''ve been a star, received des, and have staunch supporters.


    I am different from Van Gogh.


    "So, I can''t understand him."


    It''s bitter. I wanted to understand him.


    But that doesn''t mean I want to live a life like his.


    I spoke to myself while looking at the stars.


    "Were you lonely, or were you solitary?"


    Many people confuse loneliness and solitude as the same.


    "But think about it. While there are many words in Easternnguages that mean the same thing, intuitive English is different. In English, loneliness and solitude are expressed by different words.


    Loneliness is loneliness.


    Solitude is solitude.


    While they are almost the same in the dictionary, they are distinctly different in psychological terms.


    Loneliness is the alienation of being rejected by others despite needing them.


    Solitude is voluntary self-istion despite others needing you.


    And solitude means enjoying being alone.


    Loneliness is the pain of being alone, but solitude is the joy of it.


    What about van Gogh at that time?


    The van Gogh I saw was clearly someone who enjoyed solitude. Of course, until he walked into the hospital after being ostracized by everyone he was close to in Arles following the incident.


    I''m curious about the truth behind his suicide.


    But whether someone killed him or he ended his own life, knowing that just satisfies my curiosity.


    The museum doesn''t show me dreams just to satisfy my curiosity.


    ¡°Yeah, how lonely could I be, how solitary could I be. Honestly, there''s no one treating me like a madman like the people of Arles back then. I''m overreacting, overreacting. Ban Jeong-hoon, I''m disappointed in you.¡±


    Self-reproach.


    But as I say that, I''m smiling.


    Isn''t that cunning?


    Humans are beings who realize the preciousness of their lives by watching others more unfortunate than themselves.


    Today, I''ll go to bed sober instead of drinking and start anew tomorrow.


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 Chapter 151 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 151 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    The next day, at 10 a.m.


    I was up early, preparing to go outside to paint.


    This ce is especially beautiful in nature. If van Gogh had seen this environment, he would have wanted to paint it. I can''t miss this opportunity.


    Paint, brushes, palette, canvas, camping chair, and portable easel. There''s more to pack than I thought.


    I double-check my luggage to make sure I haven''t forgotten anything, then, shouldering myrge bag, I smile broadly.


    ¡°Well, I''m not going out to paint at 7 a.m. like van Gogh, but I''m still diligent, right?¡±


    I''m about to ride my scooter, stepping out of the lodging''s wall, loading my luggage onto the back seat, and starting it up.


    The soft rumble of the engine is more wee and exciting today. Now, I need to ride this little scooter and find a good ce to paint.


    Just as I''m about to rev the throttle with excitement, I hear someone''s voice.¡°Ban!!!¡±


    Eh? Ban? Who would call me that in Korea...


    Startled, I quickly turn my head.


    Far away, between the alleys of the neighborhood, I see two people running towards me.


    I rub my eyes furiously and open them wide.


    ¡°Am I seeing a hallucination?¡±


    I haven''t even drunk absinthe, so why am I hallucinating?


    Does it make sense for Monica and Irina toe to this distant ind where you have to take a ferry and then another to get here from Jeju Ind?


    Huh?


    There''s someone else panting and following them?


    Wow, isn''t that Yoo Min-young, the CEO?


    Am I still sleeping?


    Do I have to pack my things again from the beginning?


    Then Monica, who had run up to me in one breath, bends over, panting.


    ¡°Haah, haah. Why aren''t there any taxis here?¡±


    ¡°¡­¡­.¡±


    Still thinking it must be a dream, I look at Irina, who is still struggling toe up.


    Irina, drenched in sweat, always dignified in front of the piano, looks strange in this state. But what kind of dream is this vivid?


    Monica straightens up and looks at me standing dumbfounded.


    ¡°Aren''t you d to see me?¡±


    ¡°¡­¡­?¡±


    ¡°Ban? What''s wrong, are you sick?¡±


    Monica grabs my shoulder and shakes it hard.


    Is this real? Not a dream?


    ¡°Huh?¡±


    ¡°Huh? Ban! Snap out of it!¡±


    ¡°Uh? Uh. Mo, Monica? Is that really you, Monica?¡±


    Monica turns her head worriedly towards Irina, who is following her.


    ¡°Look, Irina! I told you I was worried about Ban! He doesn''t even recognize me! What do we do?¡±


    After spotting me and running, Irina, who isn''t used to running and is out of shape, manages to grab my hand with all her might.


    ¡°Ban! Are you okay?¡±


    Oh, I can feel this.


    Irina''s hand is different from Monica''s. Not soft at all.


    From ying the piano since childhood, her fingers are calloused like a guitarist''s, giving a frog-like feeling. It''s truly Irina''s touch.


    ¡°I, Irina?¡±


    "Ban! I can recognize you, right?"


    I''m perfectly fine, of course you''ll recognize me.


    But why are you guys here?


    How did youe all this way?


    And how did you even know I was here?


    Just before the questions bubbling up to my throat could burst out, CEO Yoo Min-young finally reached me.


    "Haah, haah. Artist Ban!"


    "Min-young! Ban is acting strange! He doesn''t recognize me!"


    Monica stomps her feet in frustration. Min-young listens to her and examines my face carefully as she catches her breath.


    "Artist Ban. I was worried, so I nagged Director Seo to find out where you were and stopped by. Do you recognize me? It''s me, Yoo Min-young. I was worried about you after watching the broadcast, and when I heard you had disappeared, I came looking for you."


    I looked at Min-young, Monica, and Irina in turn. This is really not a dream.


    And at the same time, I feel grateful to realize that there are so many people who care about me, in addition to my family and Young-ju. I cleared my bewildered expression and started to grin broadly.


    "Ha ha... Hahaha!"


    Seeing me suddenlyugh, Monica, with a distressed look, cries out.


    "Ack! Ban is really acting weird! Min-young, hurry and call a doctor, it''s urgent!"


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 Chapter 152 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    A natural rockfish sashimi restaurant.


    The owner keeps ncing at us as he picks out several rockfish.


    ¡°Mister, pick the ones withrger sizes. This one, this one looks good. Give us this one.¡±


    Usually, he would grumble, saying they are all tasty, so why bother picking. But today, he carefully selects therger rockfish I mentioned without a word.


    Then, as the threedies engage in a conversation among themselves, he whispers to me in haste.


    ¡°What are you, really? Yesterday, you brought a pretty Koreandy, so I thought you were capable. And today, you¡¯ve brought two foreign women who look like goddesses and another who''s as elegant as a chaebol¡¯s daughter? Are you someone important?¡±


    ¡°Huh? Haha, no. They¡¯re just friends.¡±


    ¡°All your friends are so beautiful? And what kind of guy only has female friends?¡±


    Hmm, that¡¯s true. Why don¡¯t I have any male friends?If Minyoung, who has a lot of experience, hadn¡¯t been a bit away from the restaurant, wary of tourists recognizing Irina, all three would have burst intoughter upon hearing this.


    I had nothing to say, so I just scratched the back of my head andughed.


    The owner nced at me and then went to the kitchen to prepare the sashimi, saying,


    ¡°You seem happier, though.¡±


    ¡°Huh?¡±


    ¡°When you first came alone. You look better now than then. Maybe it¡¯s because your friends visit often, or you have good friends. Coming all the way to this rural area to see a friend¡¯s face. I¡¯m envious, really envious.¡±


    The owner was right.


    I saw the three of them looking at me from a distance, their eyes filled with concern.


    Monica probably came from abroad because of me. Irina too, I guess.


    Minyoung has recently been tasked with managing another hotel branch due to the sess of the theater project in Hannam. She must be incredibly busy, yet she came to see me.


    I scratched my temple and smiled awkwardly.


    ¡°I guess I¡¯m someone who causes a lot of worry.¡±


    Thedy in the kitchen poked her head out and said,


    ¡°You young people. Just be thankful your friendse to see you.¡±


    I grinned at her words. Although she was the one who would punch her husband for staring at pretty women, she was right.


    After buying a generous amount of sashimi and drinks, I returned to the lodging and set up a table in the yard.


    It was the middle of the day, but a drinking party was about to start. Well, why not? I can start painting tomorrow.


    During this time, Monica and Irina, who were touring inside, suddenly eximed.


    ¡°My goodness! What is this lily painting? Ban! Did you paint this?¡±


    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s so beautiful! It''s as if you can smell the fragrance of the flowers!¡±


    Minyoung, who was helping me set the table, heard them and rushed inside, then came out with a flushed face.


    ¡°Painter Ban. Did you paint the picture inside?¡±


    ¡°Ah, yes.¡±


    Minyoung hesitated for a moment and then said softly,


    ¡°Can W Tree Group purchase it?¡±


    ¡°Haha.¡±


    Suddenly, Monica bursts through the door, shouting.


    ¡°Minyoung! Are you trying to cut in line? I found it first! Ban, I¡¯ll buy it! I¡¯ll put it in our vige church! Thanks to Ban¡¯s murals, the number of tourists has been steadily increasing. Last month, we had over ten thousand visitors. The murals are not enough, let¡¯s decorate the church too, our vige¡¯s pride.¡±


    Irina pokes her head out, pushing Monica away.


    ¡°Ban! I want that painting to stand next to me when I perform. Sell it to me.¡±


    Monica pushes Irina away, shouting.


    "One piece for ten thousand euros (about 14 million won)!"


    Irina frowned and shouted,


    "Are you kidding? Someone who knows the current value of Van''s paintings in Italy! Van, don''t trust this merchant, business people are all like this. 100 thousand euros!"


    Wow, they''re bidding over a hundred million won?


    Monica angrily shouted back,


    "110 thousand euros!"


    Irina countered,


    "120 thousand euros!"


    Min-Young came beside me and whispered,


    "I''ll offer 300 million won."


    Why are they like this, ha-ha. But it feels good.


    I calmed down the three, who had turned the yard into an auction.


    "Wait, wait, this painting already has an owner."


    The disappointed group. But Monica, persistent as ever, didn''t give up.


    "Who''s the owner? I''ll buy it from them. Just give me their information! I''ll pay double to buy it."


    Upon hearing Monica''s words, all three look at me with curiosity. I chuckle briefly and say,


    "The owner... is Youngju."


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 Chapter 152 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    As soon as I say this, the three of them be as silent as if they had honey in their mouths. Ask if Youngju will sell the painting. She probably won''t, even for a billion won?


    I smile slyly and gesture towards the t wooden tform.


    ¡°Purchase the painting when you go to Seoul and meet Youngju in person, and start with the food. Sashimi doesn¡¯t taste good if it''s left in the air for too long.¡±


    Realizing that they cannot obtain the painting by pressuring the artist, who has already decided on the owner, the two finally sit down on the bench. I offered Monica a bottle of soju and asked her.


    ¡°Monica, did youe from Italy?¡±


    Monica receives the drink and shakes her head.


    ¡°I came from a logistics center in Hong Kong. A reporter came to interview me and asked if it¡¯s true that I¡¯m in charge of something because we''re somewhat involved. I asked what that meant, and they said it¡¯s a widespread rumor in Korea! Shocked, I searched Korean news and couldn¡¯t believe what was happening. I immediately dropped everything and came to Korea, but couldn¡¯t find Ban, so I pestered Director Youngju to find this ce.¡±


    Wow, Monica came all the way from Hong Kong after hearing about me. Yeah, it¡¯s hard to get news about Korea in Italy instantly. But I¡¯m so grateful she came right away.


    ¡°Thank you, Monica.¡±¡°What are you talking about! I should havee. I''m sorry I waste. I was so worried about Ban that I couldn¡¯t concentrate on anything.¡±


    ¡°Haha.¡±


    I smiled warmly, grateful, and then looked at Irina.


    ¡°Where did youe from, Irina?¡±


    Irina, who was wrapping sashimi in lettuce and munching, hastily swallowed and wiped her mouth before answering.


    ¡°I came straight from a performance in Ennd. I heard simr questions from reporters and found out what was happening after searching.¡±


    ¡°Wow, you came from Ennd for me?¡±


    ¡°If Ban is cornered, of course, I shoulde. You are my benefactor.¡±


    ¡°Haha.¡±


    I finally looked at Minyoung. She quietly picked at the sashimi and said,


    ¡°W Tree Group''s PR department is currently nning a counter-strategy in the media. Don¡¯t worry, Artist Ban. It¡¯s a direct order from the mother in the PR department, so the public opinion will change soon.¡±


    ¡°Haha¡­¡±


    Lady Kang herself has moved for me. I¡¯m so grateful. With the power of W Tree Group, public opinion can change in no time.


    But I put my gratitude in my heart and shook my head.


    ¡°Don¡¯t do that.¡±


    Monica and Irina, who didn''t understand Korean, just looked astonished as Minyoung¡¯s eyes widened.


    ¡°You¡¯re saying not to do it? Artist Ban, do you know what the public opinion is like right now? They¡¯re painting you as a stubborn and obstinate artist.¡±


    ¡°Yes, I know.¡±


    ¡°That guy Yonghan or something is appearing on TV and radio every day, pretending not to and broadcasting against you. And you want us to just sit by?¡±


    I smiled slightly.


    ¡°Just convey my thanks to Lady Kang and tell her not to take any action.¡±


    ¡°What are you thinking, Artist Ban?¡±


    At that moment, Monica and Irinained.


    ¡°Speak in English, Minyoung.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, let us understand too.¡±


    Iughed and spoke in English.


    ¡°Monica.¡±


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°Did you face opposition when you started your business?¡±


    Monica pouted her lips.


    ¡°Of course. The existing brands don¡¯t want to lose their share. They use their streamers to upload brandparison videos, subtly not rmending our brand.¡±


    ¡°What do you do then, Monica? Respond in kind?¡±


    Monica leaned her chin on her hand and thought for a moment before shaking her head.


    ¡°No.¡±


    I looked at Minyoung, who then interjected.


    ¡°You don¡¯t respond the same, but you must have a n.¡±


    Monica nodded.


    ¡°That¡¯s right. But we don¡¯t deal with the media. We don¡¯t have the capacity for that. I¡¯m too busy to even think about it.¡±


    I asked Monica,


    ¡°What¡¯s your strategy?¡±


    Monica just smiled, but that was enough of an answer for me. I turned to Minyoung and said,


    "So does W Tree Group respond the same way?"


    "..."


    "Mrs. Kang, who has been in the hotel business since the 1950s, wouldn''t make that choice, would she?"


    "..."


    I finally look at Irina. She is the exception in this matter. No one on this would dare speak ill of her.


    Chewing sashimi, Irina meets my eyes and grins broadly.


    ''Ha-ha, who would think of her as a world-renowned pianist?''


    Irina shows this side of herself only in front of me. No, correction. Only in front of these members.


    I enjoy seeing her unpretentious side.


    I address the three of them,


    "If other brands criticize the quality of your brand, I¡¯ll just release high-quality, well-designed products that will make their words fall t. If other hotels criticize ours, we just need to provide better service than them. The reaction might be slow, but it will be genuine and reach people eventually.¡±


    The three of them nod in agreement.


    "Art is no different."


    They all shut their mouths at my words. It¡¯s not wrong.


    I smile and turn to Min-Young.


    "Please tell Mrs. Kang to stop what she was nning. And may I ask for one more favor?¡±


    ¡°What is it?¡±


    I gaze quietly at the sky and then say,


    "In two years. I want to hold a solo exhibition at the theater. Is that possible?"


    Min-Young looks at me quietly and then nods with a smile.


    "A head-on approach, I see. It''s an honor, Mr. Ban."


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 Chapter 153 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 153 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    <i>Bonus chapter thanks to @Chip from Ko-fi!</i>


    Monica, Irina, and Minyoung stayed for only one day and then left.


    They came rushing because of their concern for me, but they are busy people in their respective fields.


    Although it was just a day, I fully realized how important I am to them. The visit of the four, including Youngju,pletely lifted my spirits.


    After the three women left, the next day around nine in the morning, I shouldered my painting bag, mounted my electric scooter, and started it.


    ¡°Great things are made up of small ones. Let''s start those small things from today.¡±


    Life is full of pains.


    But pain passes.


    Beauty, however, continues.What should I draw?


    On a gloomy day, that is, the day I heard the rumors from the women chattering in the sushi restaurant, I rode the same road lost in thought.


    But isn''t it strange?


    On the way home that day, I didn''t see the beautiful sceneries that now fill my eyes.


    ¡°To those who wish to see flowers, flowers will always be visible.¡±


    A quote by Henri Matisse.


    It seems the world always shows me what I want to see.


    Hell when my heart is hell.


    Heaven when it''s heaven.


    I remember a line from a Korean movie I saw before.


    Cry, and you will cry alone. Laugh, and the worldughs with you.


    Suddenly, I admire the great artists who loved life amidst its pains and passed away. Did they also experience moments like mine?


    They say time changes everything, but actually, it''s I who needs to change.


    Lost in thought, I rode for a while and found a ce I liked. An unnamed beach. Just a seaside, hard to describe where. But strangely, it appeals to me.


    I parked my scooter, took out my painting bag, and found a spot with a good view of the beach.


    It''s a very cloudy day today.


    It doesn¡¯t seem like it will rain, but it feels like it could start any minute.


    Fortunately, it''s humid, but there''s no smell of rain.


    After setting up my camping chair and taking out the canvas, I began mixing paints.


    But my gaze is not on the paints, but on the sea. The most important thing before painting well is to see well.


    Is it because it¡¯s cloudy?


    The sea looks very dark. Normally, this sea is calm and shines with an emerald light, but today it¡¯s dark and the waves are high.


    Moreover, the sun looks faint due to the cloudy weather.


    ¡°How different the sea looks on clear and cloudy days.¡±


    I have painted the sea on a clear day. Isn¡¯t that obvious? There¡¯s no reason to go out and paint on a bad weather day.


    Moreover, I live in the metropolitan area, so I have to make time to go to the sea, and I wouldn¡¯t choose a bad weather day to go.


    ¡°Staying by the sea for a long time has its benefits.¡±


    How should I paint it?


    How would Teacher Mucha paint this scene?


    What about Henri?


    What about Klimt?


    What about M?


    And how would Van Gogh interpret this scene?


    While I gaze intently at the scenery, my thoughts are elsewhere. Then suddenly, I wonder.


    ¡®Why am I thinking this?¡¯


    I met my beloved painters in a dream.


    Did I learn painting skills from them?


    No, not at all.


    In technical terms, I might be better than them.


    I learned many art techniques developed after their deaths.


    Staring quietly at the seascape, I put down my brush.


    ¡°What I learned from them is not skill, but spirit.¡±


    But why do I need to think about how they would have painted this scenery?


    I¡¯ve already learned a lot from them.


    Their thoughts and lives.


    How an artist should live.


    What to see, how to express, and what thoughts to embed.


    Isn¡¯t that enough?


    I smiled and picked up the brush again.


    ¡°In my own style.¡±


    I started with a light-absorbing ck paint, filling about 40 cm from the bottom of the canvas.


    * * *


    ¡°Hey, why did wee to a non-famous beach? Wouldn¡¯t it be better to go to a photo spot and take lots of pictures since we''vee all this way?"


    "Just trust me, okay? If we go to a famous ce, it''s just crowded and not that great. The charm of this ind is its quietness."


    "Come on, let''s just do as Junyoung says, you know how stubborn he is."


    Three college-age boys, backpacks in tow, seem to be on a trip as they walk along the beach.


    The one called Junyoung, with short hair, takes a deep breath of the sea air and smiles contentedly.


    "I came here three years ago. It''s an unknown beach, but it was so nice. I thought I had toe back, with friends I like."


    Perhaps it was the way he spoke? Even his grumbling friends look around with a smile.


    "Yeah, it''s quiet and pretty. But it''s too cloudy. It would have been better on a sunny day."


    "The weather is supposed to be good tomorrow. We can drink at the guesthouse tonight ande back here tomorrow."


    Junyoung sits down on a curb where the sea is clearly visible along the coastal road.


    "Wow, it''s still amazing. Jungkook, Cheoljin, sit down."


    Jungkook, Cheoljin, and Junyoung sit side by side on the curb, gazing at the rough sea under the faint sun obscured by clouds.


    In silence, the three are immersed in the sight of the sea, which they haven''t seen in a long time.


    Cheoljin speaks softly.


    "We''re already in our fourth year of college."


    A heavy silence follows.


    Being a senior in college brings many thoughts, mostly about career paths. The three, in the same situation, share simr worries.


    Jungkook speaks while looking at the sea.


    "Do you guys have any regrets?"


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 Chapter 153 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 153 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Silence.


    His friends don''t answer. Jungkook speaks again, more to himself.


    ¡°I kind of regret it. I feel like it was a mistake toe to art school.¡±


    The other two friends don''t respond, but their silence conveys agreement. Jungkook continues speaking.


    ¡°Getting a job is obviously going to be tough, right? After graduating from art school, it seems like studying abroad is the only way to get by. But doing the math, it looks like I''d need to work part-time for about three years to save up enough money. And even then, I''d probably have to keep working while abroad.¡±


    Jungkook nces at Cheoljin and asks,


    ¡°What about you?¡±


    Cheoljin, adjusting his hair ruffled by the wind, looks dejected.


    ¡°My family can''t afford to wait for me to finish studying abroad. I have to start working right away.¡±¡°It''s not like you can work if no one hires you.¡±


    ¡°I know someone who works in creating reproductions.¡±


    ¡°Is that illegal?¡±


    ¡°No, it''s a legitimate operation. They openly sell them as reproductions, so it''s not illegal.¡±


    ¡°Huh, isn¡¯t it boring to just copy other people¡¯s paintings? We all started out that way, but I didn¡¯te to art school to keep doing that after graduation.¡±


    ¡°What choice do we have? That''s the only kind of work avable right now. Plus, they''re really strict about skills there. You can''t just walk in and get a job.¡±


    ¡°You mean, like, they test you or something?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, you have to prepare a portfolio too.¡±


    ¡°Ha, even getting a job copying paintings isn¡¯t easy. Damn!¡±


    Jungkook flops down on his back.


    Looking up at the sky, he reaches out as if trying to grab it and mutters,


    ¡°In high school, I thought life would be rosy once I got to college. And it really felt that way for about two years. Walking around campus, living the college life... those are some good memories.¡±


    Junyoung chuckles and lies down next to him.


    ¡°Thatsted just two years. Starting from our junior year, it was just an avnche of assignments.¡±


    ¡°Ha, yeah. I spent more nights at school than at home.¡±


    ¡°Ha, what do we do then? Business school students who yed around and studied are getting jobs easily. We''re stuck with neither here nor there.¡±


    ¡°That''s why I regret it.¡±


    ¡°I feel the same, honestly.¡±


    Cheoljin lies downst, agreeing.


    ¡°Me too.¡±


    The three friends lie side by side, looking up at the sky.


    ¡°What will be of us?¡±


    Silence again.


    As none of them can see a clear path forward, they remain speechless.


    Junyoung suddenly sits up and shouts,


    ¡°Damn it! Why worry about this now? We''re supposed to be having fun on this trip, not getting all gloomy. Hey, let''s enjoy ourselves.¡±


    While Cheoljin and Jungkook are still lying down, they look up at Junyoung standing and ask,


    ¡°Starting to drink already?¡±


    ¡°So what! Let''s have a good time drinking in the afternoon!¡±


    The two friends exchange looks and almost simultaneously stand up.


    ¡°Okay, let¡¯s drink till we drop.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right, might as well drink.¡±


    As they start getting up, Junyoung turns his head towards the sea again, wanting to take another look before heading back to their lodging.


    Scanning the sea slowly, Junyoung¡¯s eyes narrow.


    ¡°What¡¯s that? Is that guy painting right now?¡±


    On the rocky beach by the sea.


    A man is seen sitting in front of a canvas, painting against the rough sea.


    At Junyoung¡¯s words, Cheoljin turns his gaze and chuckles.


    ¡°There¡¯s always someone like that. Most are amateurs. People like him aren¡¯t about the painting, but about the act itself. Narcissists who love the image of themselves painting outdoors.¡±


    Jungkook looks intently at the distant man and says,


    ¡°But it does look cool. Sitting on the rocky beach, painting alone against the rough sea. Wow~ Should I try it too?¡±


    ¡°Bullshit, do you even have your painting supplies? The guy who packed only soju in his bag for a fun trip?¡±


    ¡°Ha, you got me there. Hey, let¡¯s take a detour near that guy on our way back to the lodge, see what he¡¯s painting.¡±


    ¡°Why bother? I¡¯m telling you, he¡¯s just an amateur posing as a painter. Don¡¯t waste your eyes on that.¡±


    ¡°You go, I¡¯ll take a quick look on my way back.¡±


    ¡°Ah, geez. Annoying.¡±


    Despite his words, Cheoljin also follows his friends towards the man painting.


    As art students, they¡¯re more curious about the painting than the man, naturally focusing on the canvas as they get closer.


    Cheoljin chuckles knowingly as the paintinges into view.


    "Look at that. What is that? It''s not even a decent Moonlight Sonata, what''s he trying to do?"


    The three friends see a canvas half-covered with ck paint. Junyoung, frowning slightly to see better, mutters.


    "He''s not even painting the sea, why sit on the rocks in this weather?"


    Cheoljin ps Junyoung''s back and says,


    "That''s what I''m saying, the guy is just a narcissistic idiot."


    At Cheoljin''s remark, Junyoung and Jungkook almost simultaneously shift their gaze from the canvas to the man painting.


    "What''s with him? He''s not a spy, why cover his face so much?"


    "Do narcissists usually hide their faces?"


    Cheoljin, with a cynical tone, replies,


    "Maybe he''s hiding post-stic surgery swelling. Men get a lot of surgeries these days."


    "Crazy, haha! That''s hrious."


    "Damn, stic surgery? Haha."


    Cheoljin, seeing his friendsugh, drops his cynical demeanor and says,


    "Let''s not waste time. Let''s go and drink."


    "Alright, let''s do that."


    As Cheoljin and Junyoung turn to leave, Jungkook grabs them.


    "Hey."


    "What now?"


    Jungkook''s eyes widen in astonishment.


    "Look, look at that. Damn."


    In front of the three friends, the painting that had seemed like an eyesore, akin to a poorly done ying card, suddenly transforms as if by magic, dazzling them with its brilliance.


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 Chapter 154 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 154 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    A brush lightly dipped in a mix of white, brown, and yellow paints circles the top of the white canvas, then, with lighter strokes, mixes brown and blue into the fading paint.


    The man shrouded in mystery washes his brush, shakes off all the paint on the easel, and then blends all the painted colors on the canvas with a clean brush.


    As his brush moves in an ¡®S¡¯ shape, a dark and rough sky appears with each stroke.


    He dips a one-inch brush in titanium white paint to mark the center of the sun, then scrapes off the paint with a knife.


    A knife mixed with blue, brown, and cream colors scratches across the canvas.


    The knife, drawn so powerfully as if to tear the painting, moves diagonally. Then, the artist uses a clean brush again to sweep over the canvas, mixing the paint.


    Jungkook''s eyes widen as he mutters,


    ¡°Is there such a way to paint?¡±


    Cheoljin''s eyes are also wide, but he doesn¡¯t shift his skewed gaze.¡°Can that even be a painting?¡±


    Junyoung, holding Cheoljin''s shoulder, says,


    ¡°Quiet for a sec. Holy sh*t. What is that?¡±


    As the brush with ck paint moves in a circr direction on the canvas, ck clouds start to form.


    These clouds,bined with the scars made by the knife, are expressed as clouds moving quickly on the wind.


    Each time the titanium white paint brushes over the ck clouds, they gain light and shadow.


    ¡°Wow¡­¡­¡±


    Pure admiration.


    Even Cheoljin, who had been looking skeptically, opens his mouth in awe. The three friends are amazed not only by the vividness of the painting but also by the astonishing speed at which it''s being created.


    Junyoung, staring intently at the painting, asks,


    ¡°Hey, the clouds... Can you feel the distance? He seems to be giving depth to the clouds with white and blue. Damn, he''s so fast. Can you paint like that?¡±


    Jungkook swallows hard and shakes his head.


    ¡°No, that''s crazy.¡±


    Incredible skill. While ordinary people are simply amazed, the art students are in shock. And then they witness a scene that nearly knocks them off their feet.


    ¡°Sh*t, he''s expressing that with a knife? Insane!¡±


    ¡°He''s only used five colors, that guy. What the hell?¡±


    ¡°Can you really depict waves just by dipping a knife in titanium white?¡±


    The man shrouded in a veil dips his knife in titanium white and lightly brushes it horizontally across the bottom ck-painted part of the canvas, moving downwards.


    This simple act creates waves over the ck paint in the picture.


    ¡°Again, again! He¡¯s mixing it all up with a clean brush. Holy sh*t! The waves are blending into the sea.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s that? It¡¯s not magic. What technique is that, exactly? I¡¯ve never learned that in school.¡±


    The man with his face covered draws a cliff on the right side of the screen and adds white foam crashing against the coastline. The scene of water flowing over rocks is vividly depicted.


    A solitary tree stands precariously on the cliff. The heavily clouded sky and fast-moving clouds. Waves reaching high as if to touch the sky.


    All elements seem to be moving with life.


    Junyoung swallows hard and looks at his watch.


    ¡°Sh*t, it was 11:13 AM when we woke up.¡±


    Cheoljin, with eyes about to pop out, asks,


    ¡°What time is it now?¡±


    ¡°11:30 AM.¡±


    ¡°Sh*t¡­¡­.¡±


    Just 17 minutes. Although it must have taken some time for the ck paint at the bottom to dry, the work done afterwards was only 17 minutes. But the painting is nearlyplete.


    Jungkook, looking at the man finishing the painting and cleaning up, turns to Cheoljin.


    ¡°A narcissistic idiot, you said? That person?¡±


    ¡°¡­¡­.¡±


    Cheoljin is speechless as if he has eaten honey. Jungkook mutters to himself again.


    ¡°Who could he possibly be?¡±


    Junyoung quickly runs to the man, saying,


    ¡°He must be a famous painter. Let''s go and greet him!¡±


    Jungkook follows Junyoung, and Cheoljin, who was standing dazed, also runs after them.


    Junyoung, arriving first behind the man, bows deeply at a 90-degree angle.


    ¡°Hello, senior!¡±


    Startled by the loud greeting while cleaning up, the man turns around. He is Junghoon.


    Following Junyoung, Jungkook and Cheoljin also bow.


    ¡°Hello, senior!¡±


    Junghoon, surprised by the sudden appearance of the people, asks,


    ¡°Senior?¡±


    Junyoung responds with a grin.


    ¡°We are art students. We were watching you paint from afar. You are really amazing!¡±


    ¡°Indeed! We were so surprised. How can you paint so quickly?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a really impressive painting, senior!¡±


    Even Cheoljin, who had been making sarcasticments, is busy showering praises.


    ¡°How did you paint this in just 17 minutes? You started painting directly without even sketching. How do you practice to be able to paint like this, senior?¡±


    Upon learning they are art students, Junghoon smiles with his eyes.


    ¡°Which school?¡±


    Junyoung, Cheoljin, and Jungkook straighten their shoulders simultaneously.


    ¡°We are students at Seoul Comprehensive College of Arts.¡±


    The three of them seem proud of their school.


    That¡¯s understandable as Seoul Comprehensive College of Arts is one of the top three art colleges in the country, so it¡¯s natural for the students to have pride, even though they are currently struggling with unemployment.


    Realizing they are juniors from his alma mater, Junghoon smiles even more.


    ¡°I graduated from there too.¡±


    The three friends¡¯ eyes widen simultaneously.


    ¡°As expected! With such remarkable skills, it makes sense!¡±


    ¡°Wow! Such a coincidence!¡±


    ¡°We respect you, senior!¡±


    Junghoon looks at the three friends intently and smiles with his eyes.


    ¡°Is school life manageable?¡±


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 Chapter 154 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 154 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    The three friends look at each other. Seeing them, Junghoonughs.


    ¡°Worried a lot?¡±


    ¡°¡­¡­¡±


    ¡°Once you graduate, it might feel overwhelming to think about what to do.¡±


    Perhaps because he¡¯s a senior, Junyoung findsfort in an adult who seems to understand their feelings. He scratches his head and grins broadly.


    ¡°To be honest, the future is uncertain, but we are not losing hope. There¡¯s a very famous senior from our school who is our role model.¡±


    Jungkook chimes in with agreement.


    ¡°Yes, we want to be like that senior, so we are working hard.¡±


    Cheoljin joins the conversation.¡°You must have heard of him, right, senior?¡±


    Junghoon asks back.


    ¡°Who?¡±


    All three speak at once.


    ¡°The pride of Seoul Comprehensive College of Arts, artist Ban Junghoon!¡±


    Junghoon''s mouth mps shut like a m. The three friends chatter away, oblivious to the fact that the person in front of them is Ban Junghoon himself.


    ¡°Ban Junghoon started as a street portrait artist and is now the head of an artistpany with overwhelming recognition in the design world. We often look uppany information because of job hunting, and we heard that hispany has grown into a medium-sized enterprise with over a hundred employees.¡±


    ¡°The ceiling mural at W-Tree Group''s leading national hotel chain was something I saw in person, and it was magnificent. I even attended their joint exhibition. Seeing the paintings depicting what visually impaired people wish to see, I was moved to tears.¡±


    ¡°He''s more famous in Europe than in Korea. He designed a luxury brand store, and now that ce has be a part of the tour itineraries in Italy. Moreover, the mural vige is incredible! It¡¯s not only a tourist spot but also bing a global attraction!¡±


    Junghoon, whose face is hidden, would have revealed a blushing face if he weren''t wearing a mask. He coughs to divert attention.


    ¡°Is that so?¡±


    Junyoung continues.


    ¡°Despite being in hiding due to some narcissistic artist¡¯s nonsense, we firmly believe he will make aeback.¡±


    Jungkook agrees.


    ¡°Seriously, after that broadcast, I posted angryments against Yonghan, but the fans covered them up like ghosts. That guy is pretending to be nice, but it''s obvious he¡¯s doing it to make our senior look bad. It¡¯s clear he¡¯s trying to appear good while tarnishing our senior¡¯s reputation!¡±


    Cheoljin, the most hot-tempered among them, speaks angrily.


    ¡°To say there¡¯s nothing to learn from past artists! What a ridiculous statement! The general public, influenced by Yonghan''s poprity, thinks he¡¯s right and Ban senior is wrong! Even our professors hope there''s no one like Yonghan in our ss. They mention it before starting every lecture. Ah, that guy. If he were here, I would¡¯ve punched him.¡±


    Junghoon remains silent amid their chatter.


    Junyoung tentatively asks.


    ¡°Excuse me, senior. But, what¡¯s your name¡­?¡±


    Junghoon doesn¡¯t respond to the name query, instead throwing another question.


    ¡°You¡¯re art students, right? What''s your major?¡±


    Jungkook quickly replies, despite Junghoon''s avoidance of revealing his name.


    ¡°All three of us are majoring in Western painting.¡±


    Junghoon pulls out a new canvas and suggests.


    ¡°Want to try painting?¡±


    The three friends nce at each other. Junghoon looks at the students, his eyes smiling.


    ¡°An artist speaks through their art, after all.¡±


    An artist cannot help but paint, even if it means going hungry. This is the very essence of being an artist.


    The three friends postpone their n to drink in the afternoon and sit on Junghoon''s camping chair. Although there''s only one chair and the rest have to sit on the rocky shore, it doesn''t matter.


    What''s important is the beautiful scenery around them, the canvas, brushes, and paints before them.


    Junghoon, standing behind the three friends as they start painting thendscape, gives advice.


    ¡°A painting can never catch up to a photograph if you only paint what you see. It muste from emotions and will. Look directly and see the inner meaning behind it.¡±


    ¡°The clouds, wind, and waves are given by nature. And encapsting them on canvas is art.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t hide yourself. Every human''s work is a portrait of themselves. The more you try to hide, the more your personality will inadvertently show. Better to reveal it all. That¡¯s putting yourself into the painting.¡±


    Is it because they firmly believe in the advice of someone they trust as a senior?


    The faces of the three friends are very serious as they paint.


    ¡°Fearing a nk canvas is foolish. Make the canvas fear you. Forget logic and theory. Artists do what logicians cannot.¡±


    Junghoon spent only 17 minutes, but the students, having painted for two hours, still haven¡¯t finished their paintings.


    Junyoung, the first among the friends to finish his painting, looks at Junghoon, asking with his eyes how his painting is. Junghoon nods silently, signaling it¡¯s good.


    Junyoung, satisfied, takes a photo of his painting with his phone camera and speaks to Junghoon, who is still advising the other friends.


    ¡°Excuse me, senior.¡±


    ¡°Hmm.¡±


    ¡°May I take a photo of your painting?¡±


    ¡°Sure.¡±


    ¡°Can I post it on SNS?¡±


    ¡°Do as you wish.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, senior.¡±


    Junyoung, excited, takes a photo of Junghoon''s painting. As he logs into a site to post it on SNS, he asks,


    ¡°But senior.¡±


    ¡°Hmm.¡±


    ¡°I want to tag you, what¡¯s your name¡­?¡±


    ¡°¡­¡­.¡±


    The three friends look at Junghoon simultaneously.


    Junghoon, scratching his temple with his index finger, finally speaks.


    ¡°Just call me Artist A.¡±


    A name casually given.


    However, from that day on, rumors about the mysterious Artist A spread like waves on social media.


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 Chapter 155 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 155 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Dear Youngju,


    In the cold wind of winter,


    Among the faded leaves in autumn.


    Among the ripened peanuts in summer,


    Among the grass in spring.


    Under the waves in summer,


    In the scorched farmhouse in winter,


    It''s always a joy to live with the grass-cutting workers and fishermen.


    These things never change and will continue to be so.Dear friend,


    I feel uneasy about drawing sophisticated people.


    I try to draw ordinary people and nature that warmly embraces them.


    I don''t intend to express mncholy in people andndscapes.


    Just want to depict the rich tapestry of life flowing between them.


    My works might seemmonce, but ultimately, I hope they are appreciated for their depth and subtlety.


    - From Udo (Cow Ind), your friend Jeong-Hoon.


    * * *


    A shaggy beard.


    Long hair hanging down, almost reaching the shoulders.


    My current appearance resembles Jean Valjean from Les Mis¨¦rables, who was imprisoned for 19 years for stealing a loaf of bread to feed his starving nephews.


    In the yard of the small lodging Youngju found for me, my paintings are drying in the natural sunlight and wind, and I am sitting on a tform, finishing the paintings I started outside.


    ¡°There, teacher.¡±


    A sudden voice.


    But I wasn''t surprised.


    It''s a voice I''ve been hearing every weekend for the past year.


    Maybe I''ve been waiting all week for this voice toe find me.


    My half-bearded face no longer wears a mask, but still, nobody recognizes me.


    The clean-faced, elegantly styled me on TV and the current me are entirely different people.


    ¡°Have youe?¡±


    The stone wall that borders the yard and outside.


    The guy who doesn''t step inside my home without my permission, peering in from outside.


    It''s Jun-Young.


    A school junior I met by chance at the seaside when I started painting here.


    For the past year, he''s visited this ce every two weeks.


    Jun-Young bows respectfully to me, sitting on the tform, then starts taking out things from the backpack he brought.


    ¡°Autumn is here again. I bought some figs and persimmons because they''re good. And teacher, this is pork. I''ll put it in the freezer, so take it out and grill it.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to bring such things. You don¡¯t even have money.¡±


    ¡°No, I do it because I want to. And who says I don¡¯t have money? Thanks to you, my SNS earns a lot from advertising.¡±


    ¡°Ha ha, okay, got it.¡±


    What happened?


    That day at the seaside, Jun-Young took a photo of my painting and posted it on SNS.


    The painting of an unknown, unnamed artist. The birth of Artist A.


    Did posting one painting make a difference? Not at all.


    Contrary to the expectations of his three friends who came with him, it rained on the ind for three days.


    The friends nned to leave after three days, but high waves prevented boats from leaving the ind.


    The cash-strapped students wandered the ind with their backpacks and met me by chance in front of a seafood restaurant.


    Hearing their situation, I invited them to stay at my lodging, and after three more days, they finally left the ind on the sixth day.


    Whether those guys were there or not, I went out to the yard and painted the flowing eaves and cloudy sky, the wet stone wall, and the rain-filled tform.


    The guys would always stick close and sneak peeks at my painting.


    Two weeks after they left, Jun-Young came back.


    He said he brought some side dishes his mother made to thank me.


    And he was surprised to see the works Ipleted in those two weeks.


    "Senior! It''s only been two weeks since west met, but you''ve already drawn fifteen paintings? Are you drawing one every day? Is that even possible?"


    I smiled wryly and replied.


    "Those who don''t want to do something will always find an excuse, and those who do will always find a way."


    It was just a casual remark.


    But Junyoung was deeply moved by it. He pondered over it even after returning home, making it his life''s motto. It was just something I blurted out, though.


    Afterwards, he would visit every two or three weeks, always asking my permission to take photos of my work.


    He needed my permission because he uploaded the photos of the paintings to his SNS.


    Returning from putting meat in the freezer, I saw him admiring the paintings and asked,


    "Did your SNS followers increase?"


    Excited, he ran over and showed me his phone.


    "My followers have surpassed 700,000, Teacher! It used to be just my friends, about 500, but now it''s increasing by 3,000 daily. There was even an article recently. Reporters DM me asking who Painter A really is."


    On his phone screen, there were over a hundred posts, just of my paintings. It''s quite surprising that 700,000 people are viewing these posts.


    Looking back, this guy has a knack for photography. He took some really cool shots of my paintings.


    "What''s with these posts of brushes and paint in between?"


    Junyoung, looking a bit embarrassed, scratched his head and hesitated.


    "Well... as the number of followers grew, I started getting more ad inquiries. Mostly art materials, but I mix them in."


    "Are you making decent money?"


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 Chapter 155 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 155 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    "Are you making decent money?"


    "Haha, it''s way better than working at apany."


    "Boy, stop this nonsense and get a real job. People need to work."


    "What are you saying? This is a job nowadays. Many people make a living off it. You''re not that old, but you seem out of touch with the times."


    "So you''re just getting by?"


    "Getting by? Thanks to you, Teacher, I''m thriving. Of all my friends who came with me that day, I''m the most sessful. All thanks to you, Teacher. And you won''t even ept my gifts. That hurts."


    "Hurt? Talking about a Rolex as a gift with your finances?"


    "No, Teacher! I''m telling you, I make good money. And this watch."


    Junyoung showed the watch on his wrist. He was wearing it because I refused it, the very gift he intended for me."I got this after contacting thepany directly as a token of my gratitude. You can''t even find this in stores. Do you know how much this watch is worth? A whopping 40 million won..."


    "Forget it, boy. Who would dare wear that out, fearing someone might cut off their wrist? You keep it."


    "Haha, Teacher, you really don''t care about money."


    It''s not that I don''t care.


    Even now, I check how muches in from MG Electronics, how much from Rosellini, the profit of thepany, every month.


    I could afford to buy a watch like that every week with the money I make, so it''s easy to be indifferent. Who can bepletely free from the devil of money?


    I nced at the T-shirt Junyoung was wearing and smiled.


    "Do you like that outfit?"


    Junyoung, taking off his coat, stopped and looked down at his T-shirt.


    "Do you like it? Should I buy you one?"


    "Nonsense."


    "Why? It''s expensive. It''s Rosellini, an Italian brand that''s been really hot sincest year. This isn''t from their cheaper line; it''s a genuine ckbel T-shirt, costing over 2 million won. But if you ask, Teacher, I''ll gift you the most expensive one."


    ¡°Wow, the guy who used to crash at my ce because he was broke is now strutting around in a T-shirt that costs 2 million won?¡±


    ¡°Haha, all thanks to you, sir. But if you really like it, just say the word. It¡¯s tough to buy these days since there¡¯s not much stock left, but I know someone at the department store who can set aside some for me as soon as they arrive in Korea. They''re so popr that they raised the price by 20% two months ago, yet they still sell out.¡±


    Monica, you¡¯re doing great too.


    I smiled wryly and shifted my gaze away from the small ck lotus emblem on his T-shirt.


    ¡°I¡¯ll pass.¡±


    ¡°No, sir, I really can get one for you.¡±


    Kid, I''m friends with the store owner.


    If I want one, I should just ask them directly. Why pay for it? They''d give it to me for free.


    As I refocused on my work, he silently watched me paint for a while.


    When it was time to wait for the paint to dry, he finally spoke up.


    ¡°But sir.¡±


    ¡°What.¡±


    ¡°Have you really not thought about an interview?¡±


    ¡°¡­¡­¡±


    ¡°The media is calling me ten times a day, asking who you are. How can you not give at least one interview? Advertisers contacting me are also curious about your identity. Do you know? Those photos of your artwork? I took them. They often appear in Korean art magazines.¡±


    ¡°¡­¡­¡±


    The media. Tiresome.


    They swarm like bees when it''s sweet and turn vicious when it''s not.


    ¡°Forget it, I''m not interested.¡±


    ¡°Ah! Someone like you should be out there in the art world, it would inspire the younger artists.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m busy enough taking care of myself.¡±


    ¡°Hmph.¡±


    He looked frustrated, scanning the yard, then suddenly asked, ¡°Wait, sir. Why do you have fewer paintings? When Ist came, there were nearly 300 pieces in the warehouse and yard. Where are they now?¡±


    ¡°Sent them away.¡±


    ¡°Where to?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s cramped here. Sent them to a friend.¡±


    ¡°What! Which friend? Is it someone trustworthy? Not some crook who¡¯ll run off after selling your paintings? Sir! You have to be careful. Especially someone like you, who only knows about art, is a prime target for scams.¡±


    Crazy kid, I sent them to Yeongju.


    One of the few people I trust besides my brother and mom.


    ¡°Mind your own business.¡±


    He kept asking, seemingly worried.


    ¡°300 pieces? That''s enough to fill a small museum. Do you realize how high your reputation as Painter A is? Look at this.¡±


    He showed me his SNS.


    Someone hadmented on a photo of my painting, and it had over a million likes.


    [StrongDragon94]


    Art provokes various interpretations, and interpretations create meaning.


    But Painter A''s work needs no interpretation.


    Beautiful nature and people. The desire to be among them.


    A simple, primal pleasure for the eyes. That''s all.


    I nced at Junyeong after reading thement.


    ¡°Who¡¯s StrongDragon94?¡±


    Someone famous enough to get a million likes.


    Junyeong grinned and gave a thumbs-up.


    ¡°Ever heard of Yong-han, the singer who got an invite to the UK for contemporary art?¡±


    ¡°¡­¡­¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s his SNS ount. He''s a fan of Painter A and often DMs me to ask if he can post my photos. Thanks to you, I get to interact with such famous people. With this level of fame, you should really cherish your work more. Is it okay to just send them off to any friend?¡±


    I chuckled at his words.


    Yong-han, huh? I wonder what kind of expression he would make if he knew that I am Artist A.


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 Chapter 156 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 156 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Dear. Yeongju.


    Although reluctant to be called a hypocrite of art, it is clear that there are indeed such hypocrites in the world of art.


    I asionally meet Van Gogh in my dreams.


    Watching him, I discover my strengths, which is a very joyful thing.


    Among people who are not satisfied unless they call something exaggerated or illogical,


    I was always someone who couldn''t control the intense anger and pain.


    But in my dreams, he always erases the pain caused by that with the discovery of strengths in others.


    He could be on someone''s side or be an enemy like others.


    Sometimes life forces that upon us.It also demands us to have clear opinions and encourages us to have the courage to see them through.


    But he always tries to first see the positive aspects of things


    And then makes an effort to look at the negative sides.


    Even if he can''t do it now, he always tries to be generous and have a free perspective liberated from prejudice.


    - Your friend Jeonghoon from Udo.


    * * *


    An artistpany now recognized as a solid medium-sized business.


    Three months ago, Yeongju, signing documents in the upper floors of the newly acquired five-story building, asked,


    ¡°Jiyeon, about the sky garden sculpture project with the Dutch GY Group. We''re having a localpany handle the construction, right?¡±


    The much more sophisticated Jiyeon, holding a file under her arm, nodded.


    ¡°Yes, sir. We¡¯re only handling the design, while the production and instation will be entrusted to a localpany. Jiyong is going to check on it personally.¡±


    ¡°Jiyong? How long will he be gone?¡±


    ¡°About three months.¡±


    ¡°Didn''t Jiyong just get married? Is it okay for him to leave his newlywed home for three months?¡±


    ¡°Should we send someone else?¡±


    ¡°Send someone at the assistant manager level, not a manager. It¡¯s problematic if a manager is away.¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir. I¡¯ll do that.¡±


    Yeongju nodded and closed the file, then picked up another document.


    ¡°How many of Jeonghoon¡¯s paintings have we received this week?¡±


    ¡°Seven.¡±


    ¡°How many in total so far?¡±


    ¡°A total of 351 to date.¡±


    Yeongju leaned his chin on his hand and closed his eyes.


    ¡°351, crazy guy. He¡¯s literally painting one piece a day. How¡¯s the quality?¡±


    Jiyeon smiled and replied,


    ¡°You know the quality of his works.¡±


    ¡°¡­Huh.¡±


    ¡°W Tree Group keeps inquiring.¡±


    ¡°To sell the paintings?¡±


    ¡°Yes, they know that painter A is him. Rosellini Group is also continuously inquiring. They¡¯re opening a new branch in New York and want to disy your paintings there.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t decline, but just put it on hold.¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir.¡±


    ¡°Did you secure the exhibition schedule?¡±


    ¡°Yes, W Tree Group has offered to rent out the entire Hanam-dong Catb for the exhibition period. They won¡¯t hold performances during the exhibition and will even support a portion of the marketing costs.¡±


    ¡°Hmm, that¡¯s good. What¡¯s the schedule?¡±


    ¡°We initially asked for a two-year period. We¡¯re thinking around next March.¡±


    ¡°March, huh.¡±


    Yeongju looked at the calendar on his desk.


    ¡°It¡¯s October now. So, six months left.¡±


    He leaned his chin on his hand again and asked Jiyeon,


    ¡°What do you think? How many more pieces will Jeonghoon paint in six months?¡±


    ¡°Haha, who knows. Based on what we¡¯ve seen so far, at least 150 more?¡±


    ¡°Crazy guy. How can there be so much to paint on that small ind? Are they all Udo paintings?¡±


    ¡°Yes, if the exhibition goes as nned, that ind will be swamped with tourists. Considering his fame, we expect international visitors too.¡±


    ¡°Put in a query to Jeju Ind about the exhibition concept and see if we can get support.¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir. I¡¯m already nning it.¡±


    ¡°Good, you can go.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    After Jiyeon left, Yeongju, left alone, fell into a moment of deep thought, then opened the bottom drawer of hisrge desk. Inside were numerous envelopes.


    Opening one of the letters, Yeongju bit her lip and muttered,


    ¡°Should I go down there? It¡¯s good that the painter is focusing on his work¡­ but meeting Van Gogh? What is this kid doing, is he going crazy down there?¡±


    Despite her harsh words, Yeongju¡¯s face was full of concern. Reading the letter, she decided it was time to act and pressed the inte.


    ¡°Contact Seoul Medical Center and invite a psychiatrist to Jeju Ind, at least a professor. I¡¯ll go down personally and bring them. As soon as possible.¡±


    After confirming the secretary¡¯s response, Yeongju looked at the letter again, then gently stroked it, muttering,


    "You''re alright, aren''t you? You trust me and are waiting? Keep your wits about you, punk."


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 Chapter 156 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 156 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Dear Junghoon,


    Thinking that people who dislike me are foolish for not knowing my many strengths,


    Does it really make me feel better? Bullshit, why the hell do they dislike me.


    I''ll dislike them too, those bastards.


    How''s your mental health?


    Make sure the ind wind doesn''t blow you away. Hold onto your pant legs.


    The hardest thing to handle in life is the imagination based on anxiety.


    I''ll being down soon.


    Prepare a table with wild rockfish and makgeolli.- From Youngju at Artist Company.


    Sitting on a rock sofa in the art museum for the first time in a while,ughing loudly as I read Youngju''s reply with Van Gogh''s paintings and grand music as mypanions,


    "Hahaha!!"


    Youngju''s replies always make meugh.


    "At first, heined about my handwritten letters being too mushy."


    Since the day I started drawing properly, I have written letters every day. To Youngju, to Mom, to my brother. Though my brother probably needs Mom to read them to him.


    My brother sent replies with Mom''s help. Same for Mom.


    My brother responded with the help of my mom. Mom did the same.


    But Yeong-ju just cursed me over text, asking why I would send such a thing.


    I found his reaction amusing, so I sent more letters, and now I get replies like this.


    With a tearful smile, I carefully read Yeong-ju''s letter again and folded it neatly into my pocket.


    "Nice."


    The reason I started writing letters was actually due to the influence of Van Gogh, whom I watch in my dreams.


    I didn''t know that these handwritten letters, which I once thought were trivial, could bring such simple joy and happiness. I n to write them more often.


    I waited for the painting that would pull me into the dream, lost in thought.


    "That Yong-han, I didn''t expect him to cling and suck up to me like this."


    Initially, I thought he was just trying to ride the coattails of the newfound poprity of a new artist, Painter A, who was trending on SNS.


    But when I looked up his posts, they were unexpectedly filled with pure admiration.


    He even posted my paintings on his SNS and was generous with his praise.


    I was nning to give him a hard timeter, but seeing this, I realized that he genuinely loves art.


    I had a narrow-minded view, but he really does have a love for art.


    "A person who has only read one book is the scariest in the world."


    Study more. Then, one day, you''ll also be recognized as a proper artist, as long as you continue to love painting.


    "Alright, what painting will Van Gogh paint today?"


    Watching Van Gogh in my dreams is truly enjoyable.


    Unlike other dreams that quickly show only what''s necessary, Van Gogh''s dreams are long.


    In the dream, he has left the mental hospital and is now in Arles.


    At least once a week, Ie alone to the museum to watch him.


    My current daily painting and letter writing to friends and family are behaviors influenced by watching him.


    "How many days has it been?"


    I can''t calcte.


    How much time has passed since Van Gogh came to Arles.


    He enjoyed sitting in a corner seat at the inn, quietly looking out the window, and rarely conversed with anyone.


    The only ones he talked to were the innkeeper and the psychiatrist sent by his brother Theo.


    Van Gogh would sit in the furthest corner instead of near the window, which he seemed curious about.


    He would focus on his meal and then quickly return to his small room to paint.


    He didn''t just paint in his room.


    He would wander around all day looking for ces to paint until dusk, then return to the inn with his painting to finish the remaining work.


    I watched him and saw the many works he left behind in this ce.


    Not just seeing, but watching him paint. I don''t know how fortunate I am to have seen this.


    His focused eyes while painting, the shape of his mouth, the delicate movements of his facial muscles.


    I captured all of him in my eyes.


    The look in his eyes while painting the Night Caf¨¦ Terrace.


    The shape of his mouth when painting the Arles Arena.


    How many crows troubled him while painting the Wheatfield with Crows.


    I am fortunate to witness scenes that no one else can see.


    What will he paint in today''s dream?


    Looking at the gradually rising stars in the night sky, I prepared to enter my dream. And as always, the dream brings me dizziness, pulling me somewhere.


    The tinnitus that troubles my ears.


    The dizziness that seems to make me fall at any moment.


    A feeling that should be familiar by now, but never is.


    My senses slowlye to life, and I start hearing sounds around me.


    "Can you check me out here?"


    "80 francs, sir."


    The sound of coins, counting bills. The owner opening the cash drawer, the bell on the door ringing. Various sounds rush in all at once.


    I stagger a bit, clutching my head.


    A ce I''ve been to countless times over the past year, watching Van Gogh.


    And a ce I''ve visited in person.


    This is the Ravoux Inn.


    The cleanly shaven innkeeper in neat attire is attending to guests in the dining room on the first floor.


    The dining room, essible not just to guests, sees many patrons. Judging by the sun outside, it seems to be around lunchtime. Hence, there are quite a few guests.


    More people seem to be leaving than arriving, indicating that lunchtime is almost over.


    I looked around for Van Gogh but couldn''t see him. My gaze then turned towards the stairs leading upstairs.


    "He should have already left by this time."


    Van Gogh usually leaves the inn around 7 AM, so he must be walking somewhere looking for a ce to paint or already sitting somewhere painting.


    "Where should I go to find him?"


    Initially, it was daunting, but now it doesn''t concern me much. The town is very small, and as a fellow artist, finding a good spot for painting wasn''t too difficult.


    Then, I hear a customer who was settling the bill asking the owner something.


    "Ah, sorry, but what''s the date today?"


    The owner, seemingly not too concerned with the date himself, checks the calendar before answering.


    "Today is July 27th, sir."


    Hearing this, I followed the customer who had opened the door to leave the inn. But the owner''s words made me stop in my tracks, my eyes trembling.


    ''July 27, 1880. The day Van Gogh passed away.''


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 Chapter 157 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 157 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Finally, the scene I''ve been longing to see is here.


    Soon, the reason for Van Gogh''s suicide will be clear.


    Despite his struggles, he never forgot to celebrate life. When he visited the wife of his recently married brother Theo, he was cleanly shaven, dressed in clean clothes, and disyed impable manners.


    Observing his life in Auvers-sur-Oise, where he spent hisst days, it seemed he never had a moment that would push him to give up on life.


    Though I can''t physically intervene, I can watch and uncover the secrets hidden within.


    ''Why, why did he do it?''


    I check the time on the antique clock in the corner of the restaurant.


    ''It''s just past lunchtime. There''s still time.''


    That day, Van Gogh was out in the wheat field, painting.I dashed out of the restaurant through the door left ajar by a departing guest, sprinting towards the wheat field.


    As I ran, the contents of Van Gogh''s letters came to mind.


    ''I saw many crows in the cathedral this morning. Spring ising soon, and the swallows will return. It is written, ¡®God renews the face of the earth.¡¯ ¡®Behold, I make all things new.¡¯ And just as God renews the earth''s surface, so can he breathe new life into the human soul, mind, and heart.''


    ''Really, did you choose to end your own life?''


    ''If so, why, why did you?''


    It''s unheard of for someone who attempted suicide by shooting themselves to miss, then drag themselves back to an inn andnguish for two days before dying.


    Many pathologists and gunshot experts argue that Van Gogh was murdered. They say:


    ¡®It¡¯s unlikely for someonemitting suicide with a gun to shoot themselves in the side.¡¯


    Objectively, it doesn''t make sense.


    Autopsies of those who chose suicide often reveal a significant portion of their brain melted due to extreme stress.


    But humans instinctively fear death. Thus, even in their final moments, they choose a method to die as painlessly and quickly as possible.


    Would such a person shoot themselves in the side?


    Was it because he was not in his right mind, like when he cut off his ear?


    No, that''s not it. The Van Gogh I observed was not like that.


    People, who couldn''t understand Van Gogh''s work, also failed to understand his mental state.


    That''s why it was easy to conclude it as suicide.


    But I can assert this. He was not insane. He was not mad.


    After Van Gogh''s death, a gun was found in the wheat field, but Van Gogh had never owned a gun. Where did he get it?


    Although from a different era, I had visited this ce before, so I found the wheat field without getting lost.


    Thete autumn wheat field stretched endlessly, bathed in golden light, and the sky was filled with crows, just like the scene Van Gogh had painted.


    The tall grass. Somewhere here, Van Gogh is.


    I make my way through the underbrush, struggling to see, searching for him.


    And he was surprisingly easy to find.


    "Get away, you creatures!"


    I hear a shout.


    Heading towards the sound, I see Van Gogh, chasing crows off his canvas.


    He swings his paintbrush around, trying to chase them away. One flies off, another takes its ce. They seem to enjoy pestering him, constantly hovering nearby.


    They don''t peck or attack, but they''re definitely a nuisance to the focused painter.


    "Why are they like this today? Go away!"


    Angry, Van Gogh spins a water bucket around to scare the crows away. They fly overhead, cawing as if mocking him.


    Van Gogh looks at his palette and frowns.


    "Damn! Crow poop on my palette!"


    White crow droppings were smeared on it. After initially getting angry, Van Gogh stared at the droppings and suddenly burst intoughter, mixing them with other paints.


    ¡°This crow dropping has a strange color. Gray, white, a bit of ck¡ªdoes it create this hue?¡±


    A true artist at heart. Thinking of paint even when looking at crow droppings.


    Van Gogh wiped his palette clean with a towel, then sat down on a wooden chair he brought over and began painting again.


    The painting we know as ''Wheatfield with Crows'' isn''t the one. The painting he worked on today remains unfinished.


    Then, from a distance, I heard a loud ''Bang!'' followed by children''s voices.


    "Ren¨¦! Shoot in that direction, those guys have been raiding the storehouse. Drive them all away!"


    "You can''t eat crow meat, it''s tasteless, don''t hunt them like game, just shoot wildly!"


    Wait, was that a gunshot just now?


    Could it be the voices of kids who followed their father out here? Isn''t it dangerous for such young children to y with firearms?


    I briefly pondered this but then felt a chill run down my spine.


    ''They just said Ren¨¦...''


    Ren¨¦ Secr¨¦tan.


    The boy who disappeared from the vige after Van Gogh''s death. And his family also vanished at that time. Could it be?


    Then, from the bushes, a boy holding an old-fashioned .38 caliber handgun emerged.


    A mischievous-looking boy in his early teens, with rosy cheeks and freckles, appeared.


    "Hey mister, painting again?"


    Van Gogh, familiar with the boy''s presence, waved his hand dismissively.


    "Don''t bother me, go on. Get back to what you were doing, you little rascal. Didn¡¯t you put salt in my coffeest time?"


    "Hehe! It was just a joke!"


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 Chapter 157 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 157 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    The boy, with a handgun tucked into his waistband, poked Van Gogh''s back with his finger, giggling.


    "Crazy painter mister. What are you painting today?"


    "Ah! Get away, you little brat."


    Despite Van Gogh''s scornful reaction, the boy continued to circle around, being a nuisance. He seemed as mischievous as he looked.


    But Van Gogh only warned the boy, not really driving him away. After a while, the boy quietly observed the painting Van Gogh was working on.


    "It¡¯s beautiful, mister."


    ¡°¡­¡­.¡±


    "I wish I could paint well too."


    ¡°¡­¡­.¡±"But it doesn¡¯t work out for me. I tried at home, but it just didn¡¯t happen. My mom saw my painting andughed for a long time. I was so embarrassed, I couldn¡¯t continue."


    Van Gogh nced at Ren¨¦ and replied curtly.


    "Even if you make mistakes, it''s better to try again with enthusiasm than to be timid and fearful."


    Ren¨¦ pouted and twisted his body around, saying,


    "But the paintings I make be aughing stock for people."


    "When life seems empty and insignificant, a soul with conviction and passion does not give up easily. If you have passion for painting, you won¡¯t be able to give it up. If you do give up, then that¡¯s all the passion you had."


    Ren¨¦ looked at Van Gogh with dissatisfaction and then turned his gaze back to the painting. Lost in the brilliance of the golden wheat field in the painting, he asked as if mesmerized.


    ¡°When did you start painting well, mister?¡±


    ¡°¡­¡­.¡±


    Was it because he was told he painted well? Van Gogh looked at the boy with a stern face, his deep and serious eyes capturing the boy¡¯s image.


    ¡°I dreamed of painting my paintings, and then I painted my dreams. Talent is born from long endurance, and creativity arises from effort through strong will and diligent observation.¡±


    ¡°How can I paint well?¡±


    ¡°Love is essential.¡±


    ¡°What should I love?¡±


    ¡°Many things. Because that''s where the power of truth resides.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand.¡±


    ¡°A candle burns itself to give light to others. Even if a single candle lights many others, the light of the original candle does not diminish. I burn myself in love for life.¡±


    These were difficult words for a young boy toprehend.


    But to me, they carried a profound meaning.


    Ren¨¦ spoke with frustration.


    ¡°But I¡¯m scared of painting because people might make fun of me. I get scared just looking at a nk sheet of paper.¡±


    Van Gogh stroked Ren¨¦¡¯s head and said,


    ¡°Even if one day a voice inside you says, ¡®You cannot paint,¡¯ just keep painting. That voice will naturally fade away.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°I always do things I can¡¯t yet do. That¡¯s how I learn to do them.¡±


    ¡°But I''m just an ordinary country boy. Can someone like me paint?¡±


    ¡°Ordinariness is like a well-paved road. It¡¯sfortable to walk on, but no beautiful flowers can grow on it. Who dares tobel a person as ordinary? If you set limits for yourself, those limits be your reality.¡±


    ¡°Hmm.¡±


    ¡°Start with something very small. Small and simple things umte into something big. Come here.¡±


    Van Gogh lifted the boy onto hisp and set up a new canvas.


    Van Gogh prepared the palette with paints, creating a pleasing color scheme, then handed a brush to the boy. Guiding the boy''s wrist with his own hand, he moved it over the palette.


    ¡°Do you see that tree over there?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s beside the tree?¡±


    ¡°Beside the tree?¡±


    ¡°Yes, it¡¯s not just the tree.¡±


    ¡°Hmm.¡±


    Ren¨¦''s eyes studied the distant tree. As he did, his expression brightened.


    ¡°Wow, I¡¯ve seen that tree since I was little. But I¡¯ve never looked at it this closely. There¡¯s a hole in the middle made by a bird, and magpies have built a nest at the top.¡±


    ¡°Right, how many leaves does it have?¡±


    ¡°It''s almost winter, so most have fallen. Only a few are left, and even those are changing color, turning red and yellow.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right, everything starts with observation. If you observe well, you can paint well.¡±


    ¡°Wow.¡±


    ¡°Want to paint with me?¡±


    ¡°Yes, I¡¯d love to!¡±


    Ren¨¦ agreed enthusiastically, but as his brush neared the canvas, his face showed fear.


    Van Gogh firmly grasped the boy''s wrist, saying,


    ¡°Fishermen know the sea is dangerous and the storm is frightening. But such reasons don¡¯t stop them from going out to sea. Be brave, Ren¨¦.¡±


    The boy swallowed hard and rxed his hand, which was trying to move away from the canvas.


    Van Gogh, holding the boy¡¯s wrist, began to move the brush.


    Ren¨¦¡¯s eyes widened in amazement as the brush, never leaving the canvas, swiftly created branches and a trunk.


    ¡°Wow¡­¡±


    ¡°Shall we make the leaves?¡±


    ¡°Yes!¡±


    ¡°What color should they be?¡±


    ¡°Like the fallen leaves, red.¡±


    ¡°The tips of the leaves, if you look closely, have orange and even purple. Take a closer lookter.¡±


    ¡°How about we mix those colors?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a good idea.¡±


    ¡°Can I try mixing them?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    The paint jars below the easel.


    The boy, sitting on Van Gogh¡¯sp, leaned over to reach the jars.


    At that moment, a loud noise erupted between them.


    Bang!!!


    Startled by the sound, Ren¨¦ rolled off Van Gogh¡¯sp onto the ground.


    The boy, unknowingly touching the gun he had tucked in his waistband.


    Seeing the barrel of the gun, which had just fired a bullet, was hot, Ren¨¦, trembling, looked at Van Gogh, who was still sitting in the chair.


    "Ah, mister?"


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 Chapter 158 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 158 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    ¡°Cough! Cough!¡±


    Blood stters from Van Gogh¡¯s mouth. The blood spreading from his clutched side stains his brown shirt dark.


    Startled, Ren¨¦ trembles and rushes to Van Gogh, trying to stop the bleeding from his side.


    ¡°Mister!¡±


    Ren¨¦ screams, not in his right mind.


    ¡°No! No, Mister! I''m sorry, I forgot it was loaded, hurry! Let''s go to the hospital quickly, Mister!¡±


    Van Gogh swallows blood and looks at the boy. He silently watches the child and then pushes Ren¨¦ away.


    ¡°Go.¡±


    ¡°Mister!¡±¡°Hide the gun on your way.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°You''re just a teenager. If it gets out that you caused a gun ident, you''ll go to jail.¡±


    ¡°¡­¡­.¡±


    The child just gulps down saliva. To a boy of this age, jail is a terrifying ce, so such a reaction is understandable.


    But soon, Ren¨¦ starts shaking his head and crying.


    ¡°No! No, Mister! I''m fine! I did wrong, so I should be punished. Let''s go to the hospital with me!¡±


    Van Gogh silently pushes the clinging boy away, then shakily gathers his painting supplies and hands them to the boy.


    ¡°This.¡±


    ¡°Why this!¡±


    ¡°It''s yours now.¡±


    ¡°Mister!¡±


    ¡°Take the paint¡­ and the brushes¡­ all of it.¡±


    ¡°Please, Mister!¡±


    ¡°I need to¡­ clean up¡­ here.¡±


    ¡°Clean upter! Let''s go to the hospital first, Mister!¡±


    ¡°Ren¨¦, listen to me. What did I say about candles earlier?¡±


    ¡°¡­¡­.¡±


    Ren¨¦ hugs Van Gogh while crying.


    ¡°Waaaah!!¡±


    ¡°Ren¨¦, do you remember the story I told you?¡±


    Ren¨¦, tearfully, says,


    ¡°A candle burns itself to bring light to others! Even if one candle lights many others, the first candle''s light does not fade! Mister, you burn yourself to love life! Waaaah!¡±


    Van Gogh nods his head as if to say well done and strokes Ren¨¦''s head.


    ¡°Cough! Gurgle! You have a good memory. Whatever you do, you''ll do well. Always live with hope. And Ren¨¦. Make sure to hide the gun well, okay?¡±


    ¡°Waaaah!!¡±


    ¡°Now, go quickly. Take Mister''s painting supplies too.¡±


    ¡°Mister! Mister!¡±


    ¡°Go fast!¡±


    Van Gogh shouts like thunder. The crying child, startled, falls backward. Then, terrified, Ren¨¦ runs into the bushes.


    I watch all this, my face contorted.


    ¡®Was I just watching a child being framed for a crime?¡¯


    It wasn''t suicide, but an ident.


    And Van Gogh remained silent about the ident to protect a child.


    Watching the departing child, Van Gogh, struggling, gets up and starts to tidy the area.


    Holding his bleeding side, Van Gogh cleans up to show nothing happened here, not stopping until he copses from exhaustion.


    Finally, Van Gogh falls to the ground, gasping for breath.


    Every breath he takes causes blood to surge from his side.


    Van Gogh¡¯s eyes gaze at the blue autumn sky.


    His murmurs are heard.


    ¡°For some reason, when I look at the stars, I dream.¡±


    The sky is too bright for stars, but Van Gogh murmurs as if he sees a shower of stars.


    He slowly closes his eyes.


    ¡°Winter waits for spring, and spring walks towards winter. Life bes stronger when its end is remembered.¡±


    Is he thinking of ending it like this?


    Van Gogh doesn''t move for a long time.


    How many hours have passed? I keep watching the motionless Van Gogh. Just then, I thought Van Gogh had lost consciousness, but his lips part and a name is heard.


    "Theo."


    It''s his brother''s name.


    After saying his brother''s name, Van Gogh uses all his strength to sit up.


    "Brother... I must repay him... I can''t go on like this. I owe Theo too much."


    Van Gogh begins to crawl.


    A trail of blood forms in the golden wheat field. And as he crawls to the roadside where people pass, he mutters continuously.


    "Theo... Theo..."


    Van Gogh''s figure, crawling through the wheat field, murmuring his brother''s name to the end.


    I watched him, tears streaming down my face.


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 Chapter 158 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 158 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Even after waking from the dream, I sat still for a long time, head bowed, sobbing.


    The pain and sorrow embedded in his life. And his heart, loving life and people to the end. What if I had gone through something like that?


    ''Could I have cared for the boy''s future until myst moment?''


    Probably not.


    I would have resented the boy deeply.


    I wouldn''t have called the police right away. Survivales first.


    I would''ve called an ambnce, and while receiving treatment at the hospital, I likely would have told the police everything. Many people would have done the same.


    I can''t say Van Gogh''s actions were right. Given that the boy''s name wasn''t heard afterward, it seems Van Gogh''s sacrifice didn''t make the boy''s life more beautiful or shining.


    ''Maybe he spent a lifetime in pain because of that memory, dying in anguish.''If the boy had been bad, full of evil thoughts, I would have hated him.


    But the Ren¨¦ I saw wasn''t such a child. It was an ident, not intentional.


    And Van Gogh''s sacrifice changed a child''s future.


    Van Gogh returned to the inn and suffered a high fever for about 30 hours.


    After rushing here, disregarding everything, he told his brother, the doctor, and the police, who had arrived, that he shot himself, then he became a star.


    I wiped my tears and looked at the wall where his paintings were being disyed.


    "I want to set things right."


    The mad painter who cut off his ear and ultimately chose suicide.


    I want to rectify this incident that cast such a stigma on him.


    But who would believe it?


    Pulitzer Prize winners Steven Naifeh and Gregory White Smith imed in their biography of Van Gogh that he attempted suicide to protect a boy who had shot him, providing a false testimony.


    However, the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam stated they couldn''t agree with their conclusion due to insufficient evidence to support their ims.


    I sighed and took out my phone to search the boy''s name, then covered my face again.


    "Van Gogh... the child you protected with your death. He died the following year."


    Such immense regret.


    The fact that the life of the boy Van Gogh tried to protect with his life ended so vainly.


    How would Van Gogh, who became a star, have watched this? How much would he have grieved and wept in the heavens?


    I sighed deeply from the bottom of my heart.


    And I thought of onemon thought shared by all the masters I''ve met so far.


    And it aligns exactly with what Teacher Alphonse Mucha, whom I first met, said.


    ''Have I really been of help to the world?''


    * * *


    One yearter, Udo.


    The couple running a natural rockfish restaurant looked at Jeong-hoon with wide eyes. He gestured to the t,rge envelope they were holding, smiling.


    "It''s a gift. Thank you for everything."


    Realizing it was a farewell, the uncle they had seen often for two years showed a hint of sadness.


    "Leaving now?"


    "Yes, back to where I originally belonged."


    "I''ve grown fond of you."


    "Me too."


    "What''s this? Why such a big gift?"


    "It''s a painting, drawn by me."


    "A painting? Are you an artist?"


    Jeong-hoon smiled broadly and nodded.


    "Yes, if you like it, please hang it in your store."


    "Uh... I don''t know much about paintings."


    "That''s okay. If it brings peace and happiness to your heart, that''s enough."


    "Yes... Will you always be healthy and be able to see you again?"


    "Yes, I wille down again."


    "Alright, take care."


    As Jeong-hoon climbs back onto his scooter, the uncle watches him pensively and after he leaves, he says to his wife,


    "There''s another painting on the scooter."


    "He must be on his way to the Haenyeo vige. He said he used to stop by there often, not just at our shop."


    "Is he going to gift a painting there too?"


    "Probably, let me see it."


    "Here."


    The aunt carefully unwraps the well-packaged canvas she received from her husband, and her eyes widen in amazement as the painting is revealed.


    "Oh my!"


    "Why?"


    "My goodness, such a talented artist!"


    "Let me see."


    "Look at this, honey. It¡¯s our shop."


    "What? Really, it¡¯s our shop?"


    The canvas shows their shop, beautifully painted with its name included.


    It seems to have been painted in spring, as the forsythia flowers bloom profusely around the shop, glowing yellow and giving off a warm feeling.


    The aunt, who was admiring the painting, quickly runs to where a clock is hung, climbs on a chair, and reces it with the painting.


    "How about here?"


    "No, how about right there, where it can be seen as soon as you enter?"


    The uncle points to a spot where arge menu is hung.


    It might seem foolish to remove the menu, the most important thing in the shop, and hang the painting instead, but today, the aunt has no intention of scolding him and quickly reces the menu with the painting, smiling contentedly.


    "Then we have to hang the menu somewhere else. Wow, it¡¯s really well done. How could he paint it so warmly? Our guests will remember this painting more than the taste of our fish."


    The couple stands side by side, looking at the painting.


    The uncle, after scrutinizing the painting, nods his head.


    "That young man was right."


    "About what?"


    "That a painting is just meant to be seen and enjoyed."


    "Yes, really."


    The uncle, with his arms crossed, looks at the painting, then suddenly checks the time and quickly says,


    "It¡¯s time for the boat toe in. Let¡¯s get ready for business."


    "Oh, is it that time already? Honey, go check if we have enough fish."


    "Alright, you take care of the kitchen."


    "The same work I always do."


    The wife enters the kitchen, and the uncle, after checking the fish in the aquarium, looks at the painting again and smiles broadly.


    Just looking at it makes him happy. The fact that their cherished sushi restaurant, which they built together aftering to this ind 20 years ago, looks so beautiful to others feels wonderful.


    The uncle, gazing at the painting, suddenly notices a signature at the bottom right and his eyes widen.


    "Whoa, the artist even signed it, let''s see. The signature is¡­ Ban¡­ Jeong¡­ Hoon?"


    The uncle confirms the signature again and frowns.


    "Ban Jeong-hoon? Where have I heard that name? Where did I hear it?"


    Just then, a tourist couple enters the sushi restaurant. The uncle quickly gathers himself and greets the customers.


    "Wee! The boat must have alreadye in?"


    "Hello! Do you have sea bream?"


    "Of course, what kind? Red? Spotted? We also have flounder."


    "Please give us red sea bream."


    "Oh, you¡¯re choosing an expensive one. Lucky first customers. Haha!"


    As the uncle prepares the sea bream, he overhears the couple¡¯s conversation.


    "Wow, this painting is amazing. Such a wonderful painting in a small ind sushi shop."


    "Whose painting is it?"


    "I don¡¯t know, probably an unknown artist. It¡¯s not a famous painting."


    "There¡¯s a signature there."


    "Really? Let me see¡­ Wow!"


    "Why, what?"


    "Look, darling! It''s a Ban Jeong-hoon painting, this one!"


    "No way? What are you talking about, why would a Ban Jeong-hoon painting be here? Is it fake?"


    "It looks real, there¡¯s a signature here!"


    Overhearing the couple''s conversation while cutting the fish, the uncle tilts his head in confusion.


    "Was he a famous person? Ah, I should have treated him better."


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 Chapter 159 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 159 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    ¡¶W Tree Group announces the opening of Ban Jeong-hoon''s solo exhibition starting March 1st¡·


    ¡¶The Eastern Starunched from Italy, holding a solo exhibition!¡·


    ¡¶W Tree Group reveals SNS star painter A is Ban Jeong-hoon!¡·


    ¡¶Artist Company officially acknowledges painter A and Ban Jeong-hoon are the same person¡·


    Bang!


    "What the hell is this!"


    In the office of Kim Young-min, the CEO of YM Entertainment, one of the top three entertainment agencies in Korea.


    Kim Young-min, the CEO of YM, ms his desk after reading an article brought by his secretary.


    "Damn it! Call Yong-han in, now!"After seeing the secretary leave to call Yong-han, Kim Young-min scratches his head in frustration and hurriedly makes a call to a familiar journalist.


    The sly tone of the journalist is heard from the other end of the phone.


    -President, what brings you to call me?


    "Hey, Jeong reporter. It''s me."


    -Yes, did the kids cause trouble again?


    "No, it''s not that. This article about painter A being Ban Jeong-hoon. Is it true?"


    -Oh, that. Haha. Yong-han is in a bit of a pickle, isn''t he? Didn''t he release a new songst week? It''s a crucial time for his activities, but now this happens. It''s unfortunate.


    "Is it really true?"


    -Yes, actually, reporters are now taking screenshots of how Yong-han has been hyping up painter A. If this continues, it''ll go beyond trouble to being ridiculed.


    Kim Young-min clenches his teeth.


    "Hey, Jeong reporter. Remember how much money you''ve taken from us."


    -Ah, who said I would write about it? I won''t. I have a conscience. But what can you do, how will you stop all the media and reporters?


    "......"


    -President, you can''t stop this. Either make Yong-han apologize officially, or send him abroad for a while. The department head was just making a fuss, asking to find Yong-han for an interview. Is Yong-han at thepany now?


    Reporter Jeong, pretending to be supportive, subtly asks for Yong-han''s current location. However, the experienced Kim Young-min is not fooled by such a shallow ploy.


    ¡°Yong-han went to the U.S. for an LA concert.¡±


    -Oh? I haven¡¯t heard of that. When did he leave?


    ¡°Just now.¡±


    -Ho, really? I don''t recall Yong-han being on the LA concert list.


    ¡°He was squeezed in, so know it as such! And pay back what you owe. See how the media moves and report back.¡±


    -Oh, President Kim. I¡¯ve done enough for what I''ve taken, and this time, it doesn¡¯t look good. It¡¯s impossible to turn this tide. Didn¡¯t I tell you to do something about Yong-han? That guy''s mouth is always the problem, how many times have I said that?


    ¡°Damn it. Fine, let me know in advance what you can. When did the reporters leave?¡±


    -They''ve already left.


    ¡°Damn it! Hang up!¡±


    After abruptly ending the call, Young-min, who was called away from his album work in the studio, throws an ashtray on the table as Yong-han enters the room.


    ¡°You son of a bitch!¡±


    Crash!


    The ss ashtray shatters against the door, scattering fragments everywhere. Yong-han, though not hit by the ss, is visibly shaken and swallows hard.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on? I didn¡¯t touch any drugs.¡±


    ¡°Look at this, you bastard!¡±


    Kim Young-min throws a tablet PC onto the sofa.


    Yong-han, fearful that Young-min might throw something else, cautiously approaches the sofa and picks up the tablet to check the article.


    ¡¶Artist Company Officially Recognizes Painter A and Ban Jeong-hoon as the Same Person¡·


    Article published 02.15 at 1:41 PM,st modified 02.15 at 1:45 PM


    Seo Young-ju, a registered director of Artist Company, issued a statement this morning officially acknowledging the identity of Painter A, announced by the W Tree Group. Painter A, known as the Star of the East in Italy, is the artist Ban Jeong-hoon himself, and his solo exhibition starting in March will feature many of Painter A''s works, previously only seen in photos on SNS.


    Ban Jeong-hoon, who disappeared two years ago after being attacked by the fervent fans of singer and artist Yong-han, was surprisingly found to have been working in a vi on Udo Ind, Jeju.


    Director Seo Young-ju rified that Ban Jeong-hoon wasn''t in hiding but needed a two-year break due to an overwhelming TV schedule, leaving him little time for artistic activities. The uing exhibition will featurendscape paintings beautifully capturing the ind¡¯s natural environment, created during his two-year stay on the ind, and is said to include as many as 500 works.


    W Tree Group ns to hold a preview exhibition for VIPs from the end of February but will continue to disy the sold paintings until the exhibition for general visitors isplete. With inquiries about the VIP exhibition pouring in from renowned collectors at home and abroad, citizens are keenly interested in the prices of Ban Jeong-hoon''s paintings.


    Meanwhile, Yong-han, who has been praising Painter A on SNS, is now under suspicion of having yed the victim through clever media maniption two years ago. The public is interested in the fact that he praised Ban Jeong-hoon, unaware of his identity as the stubborn and self-absorbed artist he previously criticized.


    Singer Yong-han has not yet made an official statement.


    Reporter Kim Hyuk-jin ([emailprotected])


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 Chapter 159 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 159 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Yong-han freezes as he reads the article. Rereading it from the beginning with disbelief, he asks in a trembling voice, "Painter A is... Ban Jeong-hoon?"


    ¡°So you little punk! Didn''t I tell you to either not provoke them in the first ce, or if you did, to keep your mouth shut and be careful? Did I or did I not?¡±


    ¡°¡­¡­.¡±


    ¡°You started getting all high and mighty just because people praised your drawings, huh? Thinking you''re some great artist just because you got invited to Ennd? You crazy fool, do you think you would have been invited to Ennd if you weren''t a K POP singer?!¡±


    Yong-han swallows his saliva.


    At the exhibition held in Ennd on the gallery''s invitation, only two paintings were sold. And even those were bought by a member of his fan club in Ennd.


    ¡°What should I do now?¡±


    Young-min frowns and spits out his words.


    ¡°Go straight to the airport. I¡¯ll include your name in the concert happening in LA. Pretend you¡¯re leaving the country for the performance and don''te back until I contact you, I''ll cover it up as a vacation.¡±¡°Then, what will happen next?¡±


    ¡°We have to wait until the public opinion dies down, what else!¡±


    ¡°And if it doesn''t?¡±


    ¡°¡­¡­.¡±


    ¡°What if, like two years ago, Jeong-hoon Ban subtly mocks us on air, what then?¡±


    ¡°Damn it.¡±


    Kim Young-min kicks the table again and yells.


    ¡°Damn it, you little punk! Look at the mess you¡¯ve caused!¡±


    ¡°CEO, sir!¡±


    ¡°Just get lost to LA for now! I¡¯ll convene a meeting with the board members, so keep quiet until then!¡±


    ¡°Yes¡­¡­.¡±


    ¡°The journalists are on their way here right now! Hurry up!¡±


    Yong-han, who had been dejected, suddenly gets up and runs out, shouting.


    ¡°Manager! Where are you! Get the car ready quickly!¡±


    Young-min, left alone, washes his face dryly.


    ¡°Ha, even two years ago, I had to freak out to settle this mess. And here we go again, damn it.¡±


    Two years ago, Yong-han had not just had an argument with an artist, but had also faced bacsh from the art world for his derogatory remarks about a historical master.


    At that time, YM was already dealing with some of its artists being involved in a drug issue, and its stock prices were already falling.


    If Yong-han also caused a scandal, they feared the situation would be uncontroble, so they bribed the journalists.


    They also manipted the fan club with money.


    They found out where Jeong-hoon Ban lived and let the fan club know, ming Ban''s mistakes for the fans'' wrongdoing and ensuring it was reported in the media.


    They had to spend billions to finally settle the media down.


    There were rumors that Yong-han had an artist''s sickness, but he was a genius musician and his albums were always hits, so it was natural for thepany to protect him.


    They contacted TV and radio PDs, inserting Yong-han into broadcasts under the pretext of featuring YM Entertainment artists, and coerced writers to subtly bring up episodes involving Ban Jeong-hoon.


    At that time, Yong-han actually dissuaded those who were belittling Ban, turning the public opinion in his favor.


    But the public isn¡¯t stupid.


    Well, at least some of them aren¡¯t.


    Some caught on to this tactic, and again, they had to spend money to silence them.


    It was fortunate that the main person involved, Ban Jeong-hoon, had disappeared and did not respond at that time. If he had actively responded, Young-min would have had to spend even more money.


    Kim Young-min mutters as he scratches the table with his fingernail.


    ¡°If this goes on, Ban Jeong-hoon¡¯s current exhibition has to fail.¡±


    To prevent this fire from bing a wildfire, Ban Jeong-hoon must destroy himself. If they act rashly, they could suffer a major blow.


    ¡°Ha, this is driving me crazy.¡±


    Kim Young-min presses the inte and speaks.


    ¡°Tell all the board members toe to thepany, immediately!¡±


    * * *


    ¡°Crazy guy, didn¡¯t I tell you to shave?¡±


    ¡°Sorry, I was just toozy.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s too long for a razor, bring the scissors.¡±


    ¡°Alright.¡±


    In the CEO¡¯s office of Artist Company.


    Coming to this empty CEO¡¯s office in the building, which had never seen anyone before, I awkwardly look around. It¡¯s mypany, my office, but it¡¯s my first time here.


    ¡°The interior is killer.¡±


    ¡°Stop talking nonsense and just bring the scissors!¡±


    Startled by Young-ju¡¯s fiery shout, I hurriedly grab the scissors from the pen holder on the desk. Young-ju looks at me irritably as she wraps a towel around my head.


    ¡°You have to do interviews with the journalists, and here you are looking like Tom Hanks in Cast Away. What¡¯s with this beard?¡±


    I grin with my bushy beard.


    ¡°Thanks to it, no one recognized me at the airport.¡±


    ¡°It would be strange if they did, man! Didn¡¯t you get searched?¡±


    ¡°Hehe, yes, I did.¡±


    ¡°You crazy fool,ughing about it. Raise your head.¡±


    Young-ju cuts my beard.


    The sound of the scissors cutting the beard is oddly satisfying.


    It feels like worries and pains are flying away with the beard.


    Young-ju grumbles while shaving me.


    ¡°Wow, I¡¯ve never even shaved a boyfriend, and here I am shaving this guy.¡±


    ¡°Think of it as practice.¡±


    ¡°Nonsense, why practice on you? It should be a boyfriend.¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯ll be better at it when it¡¯s time.¡±


    ¡°What if the boyfriend asks why you¡¯re so good at it?¡±


    ¡°¡­¡­¡±


    ¡°Say you got good by practicing on other guys?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s one way to see it.¡±


    ¡°Shut up and look forward.¡±


    ¡°Okay.¡±


    ¡°Did you go home at least?¡±


    ¡°No, I came straight to the office.¡±


    ¡°You unfilial fool, your mother must be so worried.¡±


    ¡°Did she call?¡±


    ¡°I visit her sometimes. Her son is always out and about, so atleast I should take care of her, you know. Ah damn, raise your head.¡±


    Though Young-ju¡¯s mouth is harsh, his heart is warm like a spring. I looked at my grateful friend.


    ¡°Thank you, Young-ju.¡±


    ¡°Stop it, it¡¯s ticklish, you fool.¡±


    ¡°Haha.¡±


    ¡°One more time lowering your head, and this razor is going in your throat.¡±


    ¡°Eek!¡±


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 Chapter 160 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 160 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    "A Child Prodigy Born at the Florence Academy of Art in Italy!"


    Article published on 02.27 at 3:30 PM,st modified on 02.27 at 3:45 PM


    A young artistic genius, only eight years old, has emerged in Italy, thend of art. The Florence Academy of Art, known as the center of art, proudly announced the early admission of a young girl, acknowledging her exceptional artistic talent.


    Pietro Einaudi, the Dean of the Florence Academy of Art, revealed in an interview with local Italian media that the girl has a deep connection with Korean painter Ban Jeong-hoon. It''s said that the girl spent time with Ban Jeong-hoon when he visited her vige and transformed the entire ce into a mural vige.


    The girl''s name is Lea Elena Boschi, originally from Roseto Valfortore, a vige that became a tourist attraction after Ban Jeong-hoon transformed it into a mural vige.


    Monica Rossellini, CEO of Rossellini Corporation, which officially sponsors the young prodigy, expressed hermitment to provide all necessary support for the girl''s early artistic education. She believes the time spent with the "master from the East" awakened the girl''s artistic sense.


    Meanwhile, Monica announced her ns to attend Ban Jeong-hoon''s VIP exhibition in Korea in March, along with the young prodigy Lea. Esteemed guests, including world-renowned pianist Irina Sebanova and professors from the Warsaw Music Hall in Pnd, have also expressed their intentions to attend.


    The VIP exhibition, organized by W Tree Group, will issue 500 invitations, and it''s reported that wealthy people worldwide are eagerly trying to secure a ticket. There''s spection that the rising poprity and value of the painter''s works are attracting investors eager to pre-acquire his creations.


    By Kim Soo-hyun ([emailprotected])* * *


    The good news brought by Young-ju in the waiting room ahead of the press conference eases my nervous heart.


    "Haha, Lea is called a genius girl?"


    Young-ju, watching me through the mirror while I''m getting makeup done in the waiting room, joins the conversation.


    "She seemed like an old soul, didn''t she?"


    What are you talking about? She''s such a cute kid.


    "Why?"


    "The things she said during her interview with the Florence University professor have be quite a topic. Didn''t you know?"


    "I just saw this article, how would I know?"


    Young-ju clicked her tongue and continued.


    "The professor asked why she paints nature, isn''t she interested in modern abstract art? To that, an eight-year-old girl replied, ''A good painter imitates nature, but a bad painter vomits it.''"


    "......"


    "And she said that painting for her is just another way of writing a diary. Oh, and that people can only observe what exists in their minds, but if they can imagine it, then it''s already real. Can you believe this came from an eight-year-old?"


    I burst intoughter internally.


    ''That''s exactly what M said in my dream that day.''


    I couldn''t stopughing. To others, Lea''s words might sound like those of a genius different from ordinary people, but she was just repeating what she heard in her dreams.


    Of course, it''s a different story that the kid has artistic talent.


    Misinterpreting myughter as a fond expression for a growing child, Young-ju clicked her tongue and continued.


    "This kid is talking a lot about you in the Italian media. They are introducing her almost like your official disciple there. Thanks to her, your stock is rising. Happy? Are you happy?"


    "Haha, yeah. I''m happy."


    "Is Lea pretty?"


    "Extremely pretty, like an angel."


    Young-ju pouts her lips and looks away.


    Surely she''s not jealous of an eight-year-old? Should I tell her she''s prettier? But that seems a bit over the top.


    While I was pondering, Young-ju handed me a thick folder of papers, meeting my eyes through the mirror.


    "Here''s the list of pre-arranged questions. Go through them."


    "Ah, thanks."


    The list of questions the reporters would ask, with notes on how to answer them, handwritten by Young-ju. I smiled looking at Young-ju''s writing.


    "Your handwriting is still a mess."


    "Shit, who writes by hand these days?"


    "You sent me letters, though."


    "That''s why, punk. Who writes letters by hand these days? You know how much trouble that caused me for two years."


    "Haha."


    "Stop joking and go through the questions. Start from page four."


    "Page four?"


    Following Young-ju''s words, I turned to the fourth page of the list and squinted my eyes at the list of questions.


    "There''s a lot about Yong-han, isn''t there?"


    "Of course, that''s what the public is curious about."


    "Hmm."


    "Tear into him, got it? I''ve been boiling with rage for two years and barely held back. This time, make sure he can''t recover, that damn guy."


    "Haha."


    Just then, a staff member wearing a hat opens the door to the green room and peeks in.


    "Painter Ban Jeong-hoon, it''s time for the press conference."


    I ask the makeup artist with a nce if we are done and then stand up from my seat. Young-ju gives a final check to my outfit.


    "Aren''t you nervous being in front of the camera after so long?"


    "I think I''ve stood in front of it too many times to be nervous."


    "¡­Sorry. I was only thinking about raising thepany''s profile and didn¡¯t consider how hard it was for you."


    Young-ju bows her head, genuinely apologetic.


    Iugh and put my arm around my friend''s shoulder.


    "Hey, Director Seo Young-ju."


    "Huh?"


    "I think you''re mistaken about something. That¡¯s not yourpany, it¡¯s mine, right?"


    ¡°Why is the director apologizing when I was the one advertising mypany? Could it be that you¡¯re plotting to swallow thepany behind my back?¡±


    "¡­"


    Yeongju frowns and pushes my arm away.


    ¡°Shut up, you jerk.¡±


    ¡°Haha.¡±


    ¡°Hurry up and go, idiot.¡±


    ¡°Okay, I¡¯m off.¡±


    As I leave the waiting room, I look back at Yeongju. Despite her harsh words, the guilt in her eyes hasn''t faded. I wink and thump my chest reassuringly.


    ¡®I exist because of you.¡¯


    Better keep the cheesy lines to myself.


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 Chapter 160 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 160 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    ¡¾Let''s take the next question, yes, you there, journalist.¡¿


    A professional announcer, in charge of the press conference, points to a journalist.


    Originally, an employee of thepany was going to handle it, but a broadcasting station offered to have their announcer lead it in exchange for a prime camera cement.


    The conference seems to flow naturally, though it''s just a deal to get a good spot and good footage. No need to be particrly grateful.


    Have I been exposed to too much media?


    The chosen journalist introduces their affiliation and then asks, ¡°I heard you¡¯ve been in Jeju for the past two years. Are all the artworks disyed in this exhibition 100%ndscapes of Udo?¡±


    The announcer signals that it''s okay for me to answer. I grab the mic and nod.


    ¡°Yes, all 500 pieces are depictions of Udo¡¯s nature.¡±


    Was that too brief?Anyway, as other journalists raise their hands, the announcer gives another one the floor.


    ¡°I heard Jeju City installed ques with the names of your paintings at every location you painted. If true, Jeju City would see significant revenue from tourist visits. Did you receive any support from Jeju City regarding this?¡±


    Hmm, I think I''ve heard about this. I''m not particrly interested though.


    ¡°Yes, I am aware that Jeju City partially sponsored the exhibition. Honestly, I''m not sure about the details. But I''m hearing for the first time about ques with my name being installed. Surely, they don¡¯t have my face on them, right? That would be too embarrassing.¡±


    Laughter erupts among the journalists. Though it''s a joke, there''s a hint of seriousness. The thought of 500 ques with my face on that small ind is insane.


    If they really did put up pictures or drawings of my face, I¡¯d never go there again.


    More journalists raise their hands, and the announcer points to another.


    ¡°There¡¯s been continuous mention of the young Italian genius, Lea, in rtion to you. What is your rtionship?¡±


    Just hearing baby angel Lea''s name brings a smile to my face. I grin broadly and say,


    ¡°We share a dream, I suppose?¡±


    I spoke the truth, but as my words fall, the announcer''s face stiffens. I can see Yeongju from afar signaling, ¡®What are you talking about?¡¯


    ¡®Surely, even in this rotten world, no one would think that sharing a dream with an eight-year-old girl means something twisted.¡¯


    Still, after being burned by public opinion before, I add,


    ¡°I mean, we painted together.¡±


    The sound of journalists typing fills the air. I''m a bit flustered, but my rification prompts another question.


    ¡°There''s a view that Lea¡¯s paintings are close to Impressionism. They seem simr to the mural style you painted in the vige and for a brand store. How much has she been influenced?¡±


    She must have been influenced. I can''t say how well she''s done it.


    The doodles I left on the walls were so haphazard it was hard to tell what they were, but she must have practiced painting a lot over thest two years.


    After all, Monica, who studied art, often visited the vige, so she might have received some special training.


    "Well, I never taught her formally. Lea was my partner in painting the murals."


    The journalists react with surprise and start murmuring.


    "That mural in the vige was painted two years ago, right? So Lea was only six years old then? Is she really a prodigy?"


    "Seriously, a partner of Ban Jeong-hoon, not just any unknown painter? The Italian media will go crazy over this."


    I smirked inwardly.


    That''s not what I meant. Lea was more of an assistant to me. An assistant''s job is mainly to carry paint and fill water buckets.


    But I couldn''t say that. Just like how I watch Lea''s interviews, she might be watching mine, and I don''t want to disappoint her.


    Due to the national interest in the news about Lea, the questions about her continued for quite a while.


    And then.


    Finally, those questions starting.


    The announcer picks one of the journalists raising their hands high.


    ¡¾Yes, you there, journalist. Go ahead with your question.¡¿


    The microphone is passed from hand to hand to the journalist.


    While other journalists had asked their questions sitting down, this one stood up, nced around cautiously, and then spoke.


    "I have a difficult question to ask."


    I already know what the question will be. I respond with a jesting tone and a smile.


    "Starting off with a tense one, huh?"


    The journalistsugh again. The journalist who received the speaking right alsoughs awkwardly and then begins.


    "I can''t help but ask about your incident with singer Yong-han, Mr. Painter. Could you tell us what happened that day? Why were you so angry? The public has only heard Yong-han''s side for the past two years."


    As soon as the journalist finishes the question, an overwhelming barrage of camera shes erupts, iparable to anything we''ve seen so far.


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 Chapter 161: The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 161: The Mysterious Art Museum


    At the same time in the Sheraton Universal Hotel in Los Angeles, USA. It was 11 a.m. Korean time and 7 p.m. in LA, with the sunset streaming through the curtains of the hotel room.


    Yonghan, watching the live inte broadcast of Jeonghun''s press conference on hisptop, takes a strong sip of whiskey.


    "Ugh."


    Yonghan watches the press conference with a trembling heart. About 30 minutes have passed, but there¡¯s no mention of him yet.


    Is it a stroke of luck? The story of a genius girl appearing in Italy dominates the discussion.


    He tries to console himself that maybe his story will naturally be buried, but he knows that''s not possible. And then, finally, the reporters start talking about him.


    "We can''t help but ask about your incident with singer Yonghan, sir. What happened that day, at that time? May we ask why you were so angry?"


    Yonghan, who had been sitting on the sofa, leaning back and drinking, leans forward.


    "Please, please."Yonghan prays to every god that exists.


    He is a celebrity. Celebrities live off people''s attention.


    If the person standing there now speaks negatively about him, whether it¡¯s true or not, he will be buried.


    Why?


    Because the other person is currently the center of a huge controversy. Even if it were a popr celebrity, it would be burdensome, but this person is causing a huge stir in the art world.


    The exhibition hasn''t even started yet, but the fact that he was revealed to be the same person as the previously exposed painter A means that he has already lost the game before it even began.


    Yonghan quietly smiles and scans the reporters, looking at the rxed face of Jeonghun, and washes his face.


    "Why did I do that at the time?"


    This is not the first time he has regretted the incident.


    At that time, his pride was hurt, and he thought that the artist''s anger was a bit excessive.


    However, as a musician involved in the art world, he couldn¡¯t avoid meeting other art world figures.


    Most of the art world figures he met after that day pointed pointed out that he was wrong.


    At first, he didn''t ept it due to stubbornness. From his perspective of pursuing the aesthetics of novelty in contemporary art, he thought what he had said was not wrong.


    But when a professor he respected also pointed out his arrogance, he changed his mind.


    ''The professor said this at the time.''


    Look at the paintings of past masters instead of looking in the mirror. Arrogance grows from the image in the mirror.


    Pride is the pleasure thates from thinking highly of oneself.


    The arrogance of prosperity is the despair of adversity.


    If you ever face adversity, you will understand what I mean.


    He was a bit shocked by the professor¡¯s words. The professor had always highly rated his talent and was not stingy with praise, but hepletely changed his attitude after the incident with Jeonghun.


    Even if he tried to y the victim through media y, the cold eyes of the art world figures did not change.


    About three months after the incident, Yonghan admitted that the cause of the incident was his fault. But it was toote to turn back.


    The president of his agency spent billions to portray him as a victim, and vehemently rejected his suggestion to admit his mistake.


    He felt guilty.


    He wanted to secretly apologize to Jeonghun, but he couldn''t find him. Time passed too far for him to catch up.


    The arrow had been shot, and when it was toote to turn back, he had no choice but to push forward.


    He followed the agency president''s orders, appearing on TV and acting ording to the scripted scenario.


    He felt guilty every time, but he had no choice. If he backed down, he would end up in a mess.


    Yonghan covers his eyes and sighs, but his ears are still listening to the interview.


    Jeonghun''s voice reaches his ears, full of tension.


    "Well, I really don''t understand what you''re curious about. Didn''t you all see what happened that day?


    Yonghan cannot be relieved by this unexpected response. It could be a cunning strategy to make him look worse.


    The reporter who asked the question is given the floor again.


    "There was a verbal argument with singer Yonghan on the broadcast, but was there no sh in the waiting room?"


    "There was none at all. That day was the first time I met him. I hadn''t met him before or after that."


    That''s true. In fact, Yonghan had never faced Jeonghun before that.


    After receiving an invitation from a gallery in Ennd and holding an exhibition, he returned to Korea with his ego inted to the sky. He looked down on other artists, and he thought God had given all the talent in the world to him alone, so he would not have visited the waiting room to greet


    "It wasn''t that I felt unjustly treated, but rather my heart was in pain. I nned to return the victim-ying act I had done back to them."


    Instead of ming the other party, he chose a strategy of saying his heart was in pain. This was in line with the strategy nned by CEO Kim Young-min. Yonghan hung his head low. It''s really over now.


    Then, Yonghan hears Jeonghun''s voice.


    ¡¾The situation at the time was exactly as the viewers saw it. The unedited original video was circted, so everyone knows the situation. There was nothing unjust about the situation itself. However, the public''s reaction afterwards did hurt me.¡¿


    Yonghan''s eyes tightly shut.


    "Now they''ll start criticizing me for the media y."


    A reporter''s question is heard.


    ¡¾What reaction are you referring to?¡¿


    Because of Yonghan and his agency''s shallow media y, the public was deceived, and everything was their fault. Jeonghun would say so. Yonghan takes a swig of whiskey and sighs.


    "Where did it all go wrong?"


    He muttered, but he knew the truth.


    It was all his fault for being arrogant and haughty, thinking too highly of himself when others praised him.


    He could have refused the instructions of the agency CEO with his level of experience.


    If he had apologized then and there, it wouldn''t havee to this. It was all his fault.


    But there''s no sound for a while.


    When Yonghan, who had closed his eyes, opens them, he sees Jeonghun scanning the reporters'' faces. Jeonghun''s face is one of genuine heartache.


    ¡¾Do you know the one thing that artists like Alphonse Mucha, who wished to be helpful to the world until their dying moment, Gustav Klimt, who tried to convey the beauty of art to ordinary people, Toulouse-Lautrec, who, more marginalized than anyone, painted the marginalized and ugly, ude M, who loved life to the end even though he went blind, lost his wife and son, and never received a warm look from the world, and Van Gogh, who faced death in a wheat field with crows flying, prayed for in theirst moments?¡¿


    Yonghan''s hand, reaching for the whiskey, pauses. He hears Jeonghun''s voice.


    ¡¾It''s not just the simple act of conveying the beauty of art to you all. All of them loved life, people, and living beings. And they hoped that this love would be conveyed through their works.¡¿


    After taking a breath, Jeonghun stands up and says,


    ¡¾It''s regrettable that the love they tried to convey with their lives was forgotten in just 100 years.¡¿


    Jeonghun leaves a difficult answer and stands up. The reporters urgently call out.


    ¡¾Mr. Painter! Please say a word about your issue with Yonghan!¡¿


    Just as Jeonghun is about to turn around, he pauses and looks directly into the camera.


    ¡¾Mr. Yonghan, I heard you like painter A. I''ll send VIP exhibition tickets to yourpany, so it would be great if you could grace the exhibition with your presence. That''s all.¡¿


    Jeonghun nces at the moring reporters and then leaves the press conference. Soon, the anchor''s closing remarks are heard at the press conference.


    ¡¾This was the press conference of painter Ban Jeonghun. Painter Ban remained silent about the issue with singer Yonghan, instead inviting him to a VIP exhibition. The conversation between the two at the VIP exhibition is highly anticipated. This is Lee Sang-hwa from MGN News.¡¿


    The camera shifts to the reporters organizing the press conference. Yonghan, staring nkly at the video, murmurs,


    "What''s happening?"


    He doesn''t understand. It was a press conference watched by the entire nation.


    There, Ban Jeonghun, who could have sent him flying to outer space with a single word, was standing. But instead of speaking there, he invited Yonghan to a VIP exhibition.


    Why? To scold him directly?


    There would be reporters there too, so articles would definitely be written. But why?


    If he scolded him face-to-face, the agency would n another strategy, and knowing the possible traps, why again?


    Then the phone rings loudly. It''s CEO Kim Young-min.


    "Yes, CEO."


    -Did you watch the press conference?


    "Yes."


    -Come back to Korea.


    "To the VIP exhibition?"


    -Yes, we''ll attach our reporters. The board meeting decided it''s best to bow down for now, so go and apologize no matter what. If he gets overly angry, we''ll exaggerate it and switch back to a pitiful concept.


    "CEO, let''s stop now."


    -What?


    "I already knew I was wrong. I''ll take it if you scold me cleanly and harshly, so please take our reporters away.


    -What? You ungrateful... Do you know how much money I''ve spent to save you? No way!


    ¡°¡­¡­.¡±


    -Come back to Korea. There will be reporters at the airport, so don''t say anything, just bow your head and get in the car. Got it? If you mess up the n with your nonsense, I won¡¯t let it slide. If you want to live in Korea, you''d better listen to me. We¡¯ll book your flight for tonight. I¡¯m hanging up.


    The call ends.


    Yong-han closes his eyes and sighs deeply.


    Staring nkly at the turned-off phone screen, Yong-han whispers softly.


    ¡°What should I do?¡±


    Yong-han opens the hotel room curtain and looks up at the sky.


    ¡°Please tell me, if you¡¯re watching.¡±


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 Chapter 162 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 162 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    "Damn it, you crazy fool! What did I tell you? I told you to tear into him fiercely, didn¡¯t I? After enduring the turmoil inside me, waiting just for this day, you feed me sweet potatoes instead of a refreshing cider? Are you out of your mind?" [T/N: Sweet potatoes are hard to swallow, so korean use it as an idiom for such hard to swallow situations]


    The one tearing into things fiercely seems to be you, Young-ju.


    As soon as I returned to the waiting room from the press conference, Young-ju rushed over and started scolding me. I patted my friend''s shoulder, saying, "Sorry, I saw something recently."


    "What did you take in, you son of a... Did you watch a movie filled with love for humanity? A film about Buddha¡¯s life? Preaching forgiveness even to enemies?"


    "My mom goes to church. She¡¯d foam at the mouth if she saw me seeking Buddha."


    "Then what is it, you little..."


    "There¡¯s something, let''s go. We have to prepare for the exhibition."


    "What¡¯s there to prepare, you idiot. You''re not the rookie artist you used to be. Just deliver the work, and that¡¯s it. W Tree will handle everything else!"


    "But it¡¯s my exhibition. I should go and check.""Forget it, damn it. Go by yourself."


    Young-ju, furious, ms the door of the waiting room and leaves.


    Left alone, I chuckled and scratched the back of my head.


    "Young-ju, there was someone who died in silence for the future of a boy who shot him."


    Muttering to myself, I was about to leave the press conference venue in the car driven by Seong-chul, who had taken on the role of my manager.


    Just as our car was about to exit the parking lot, a luxury car blocked our way.


    Startled by the sudden brake, Seong-chul was about to swear when his eyes widened in realization.


    "Some jerk is... Huh? Isn¡¯t that Director Seo Young-ju¡¯s car?"


    I leaned out of the back seat and asked.


    "Wasn¡¯t Young-ju¡¯s car a domestic model?"


    "She changed it earlier this year."


    "Wow, he bought a BMW 7 Series? Young-ju has grown up."


    Seong-chul smiled and said.


    "That¡¯s riching from someone who drives a Ferrari Roma."


    "Hey, I didn¡¯t buy that with my own money."


    "Haha, that¡¯s true."


    The driver''s window of Young-ju¡¯s car, which had blocked ours, rolled down. Young-ju, looking quite displeased, sticks his head out and yells.


    "Get in my car!"


    Haha, that guy. She left as if she would abandon me, but she came back in the end.


    I instructed Seong-chul to just return to the office and then moved to Young-ju''s car.


    Despite being a subordinate, our friendship came first, so instead of sitting in thefortable back seat, I sat in the passenger seat and melodramatically grabbed my neck.


    "Ouch, my neck seems to have been hurt by the sudden entrance of the car. Shouldn''t we go to the hospital first?"


    Young-ju, driving roughly, growled in response.


    "Go to the hospital, you jerk. I''ll pay for all the medical bills, so just lie down there."


    "Haha, just kidding."


    "Your jokes are crap."


    Young-ju''s face was red with anger. Looking at her profile, I felt a warm feeling.


    Who else in the world, not family, would get so genuinely angry over my affairs? How much anger must have built up over the two years he had to endure this?


    I couldn''t be more grateful for Young-ju, who was sincerely angry with me.


    "Young-ju."


    "What!"


    "Shall we get married?"


    "You crazy bastard! What... what did you say?"


    Screech!


    Young-ju, who had juste out onto the road in front of the press conference venue, jerked the steering wheel and pulled the car over to the shoulder.


    She furiously dug at her ear then turned it towards me.


    "I think I''m hearing things because of the shock, say it again."


    I smiled slyly and said, "Let''s get married."


    "......"


    Young-ju froze with her hand on her ear and said nothing. I, feeling awkward, continued the conversation.


    "What''s this? A man confesses and you don''t even respond?"


    I could see Young-ju''s hand, still on her ear, trembling slightly. I quietly waited for her response.


    After a while, Young-ju removed her hand from her ear and muttered softly.


    "Son of a bitch."


    Huh? This reaction is a bit off, isn''t it?


    I quickly added to Young-ju.


    "I''m not joking, I meant it sincerely."


    Young-ju''s eyes were red. Thinking she was upset because he thought I was joking, I hurriedly exined.


    "I''ve thought about it a lot. I missed you in Italy, and wherever I was, I felt safe knowing you were there. To me, you are like a stable family. You are the person, other than my family, who cares about me the most. That''s why I said it. I''m definitely not joking."


    Young-ju red at me with a fierce look and repeated the same words.


    "Son of a bitch."


    Why, though? I''m not saying this on a whim, really. I don''t get it.


    "Young-ju, I''m serious."


    Young-ju then grips the steering wheel and shifts gears roughly, saying, "You propose like this, without any ir? How long have I been waiting, you son of a bitch?"


    "......"


    As Young-ju starts driving again, a tear rolls down her cheek.


    "Do the proposal properly again. If you fill the trunk with balloons or do something like serenading in a crowded ce, I''ll kill you."


    "......"


    I stared at Young-ju with a dumbfounded expression and then burst intoughter.


    "Uhahaha!!! Uhahaha!!"


    "What are youughing at, you jerk! It''s not a joke! You make me wait for 10 years and then propose in a car? Son of a bitch! Son of a bitch!"


    "Uhahaha!!! Damn, it''s hrious, uhahaha!"


    "Don''tugh! Bring a diamond ring!"


    "Alright, alright! Uhahaha!"


    Our steps towards W Tree Hotel were vastly different from thest 10 years.


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 Chapter 162 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 162 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    ¡¶Ban Jeong-hoon''s First Solo Exhibition, ''Invitation to the Ind: VIP Preview'' Opens!¡·


    ¡¶Google, Microsoft, Apple CEOs Visit in Session for the Exhibition¡·


    ¡¶The Prime Minister of Italy, the President of France Visit Korea¡·


    ¡¶Hollywood Top Stars Arrive in Korea One After Another, All for the Exhibition¡·


    ¡¶Warsaw Concert Hall Moves Investors to Acquire Ban Jeong-hoon''s Works¡·


    ¡¶World''s Luxury Brands Scramble to Engage Ban Jeong-hoon¡·


    ¡¶MG Electronics Executives, Real-Time Movement of W Tree Group Chairpersons¡·


    ¡¶Irina Sevanova, Heads to W Tree Hotel Immediately After Arriving at the Airport¡·


    ¡¶Italy''s Prodigy Girl Lea Finally Sets Foot in Korea!¡·¡¶Yong-han Invited to the VIP Exhibition. What Will He Discuss with Ban Jeong-hoon?¡·


    The VIP exhibition has begun.


    W Tree Group decorated this exhibition very luxuriously and stylishly, preparing a banquet for the VIPs. They arranged food, drinks, and alcohol, providing ample time for the guests tofortably and freely enjoy the paintings.


    Young-ju sticks close to my side, a tablet PC tucked under her arm, whispering in my ear whenever someone approaches.


    "French President Robert Hirsch. Last year, he entrusted the Nantes City Hall design to Artist Company, and he''s been coveting your paintings for a while."


    I listened to Young-ju and greeted the president with a smile.


    "Mr. President, thank you foring like this."


    The typical French ir.


    To them, it''s polite and well-mannered, but to Koreans, it might seem a bit over the top.


    "Ah, Ban! I''ve heard much about your reputation. You''re quite renowned in Italy. I''ve always wanted to meet you. It''s truly a pleasure to do so."


    "Thank you, but did youe here just for the exhibition?"


    "Oh, not exactly. I was here for a dialogue with the President of Korea and took the opportunity to drop by."


    "I see, haha."


    Young-ju whispers to me again.


    "It''s a lie. The presidential dialogue was originally scheduled for two monthster. He advanced his schedule specifically toe here. Rumor has it that the president''s wife''s family is very wealthy and famous collectors, and he was instructed to buy one of your paintings."


    I nced at the president and smiled.


    "Then please take your time, Mr. President."


    "Thank you, haha. Do visit France sometime."


    "I''ve already been there."


    "Oh? Really? Of course! I knew an artist like you couldn''t have missed France. Where did you stay?"


    "I was in Auvers-sur-Oise, near Paris."


    "Oh! You were in Van Gogh''s city, truly befitting an artist, haha."


    The French President walks away contentedly, his face saying ''I thought as much.'' The moment of our conversation is being captured in numerous photos by the carefully selected journalists invited to the event.


    Once the French President moves on, Young-ju staggers and holds her forehead.


    "Ah, damn, it''s nerve-racking. To think I''d be talking to the President of France."


    I smile and look back at Young-ju.


    "What''s with this reaction? You''ll have to meet even more famous people once you''re my wife."


    "Wait, have you met him before?"


    "No?"


    "Then who have you met that''s more impressive?"


    "Of course, someone obvious."


    "Who?"


    "Seo Young-ju."


    "You''re joking at a time like this?"


    "It''s true. She''s scarier than the President of France."


    "Do you want to die?"


    "Haha."


    It''s half-joking, half-serious.


    The people I''ve met in my dreams are certainly not less significant than the President of France.


    I''ve met many more incredible people, those whom no one else has met. So, being intimidated by the likes of these people isn''t really in my ybook.


    Then, a woman as beautiful as a goddess approaches, leading a group of elderly men towards me. I smile broadly and bow my head.


    "Irina."


    The ice beauty, Irina. As she approaches, the shbulbs of the journalists explode.


    Irina, with a pleased face, hooks her arm through mine. I noticed Young-ju ncing our way, but since she''s a fervent fan of Irina, it should be fine, right?


    "Ban, it''s been a while. First time since the ind, right?"


    "Yes, it has. And who are these people with you?"


    "They''re professors from the Warsaw Concert Hall."


    "Hello, I''m Ban Jeong-hoon."


    The elderly men, with their hairpletely white, shower me with praise in heavily ented English.


    Politely refusing their repeated inquiries about creating a painting textbook for the Warsaw Music Hall students, I agree to donate two paintings for disy at their school. It''s a bit much to sell paintings meant for students to study.


    Satisfied with achieving their goal, the elderly professors joyfully return to enjoy the exhibition. Irina too, promises to return after showing the professors around the exhibition.


    Then, a beloved and youthful voice calls out.


    "Ban!"


    A beautiful young girl rushes towards me from a distance.


    It''s Lea, now eight years old.


    "Lea!"


    She runs into my arms in a sh.


    I lift her up high with a wide smile.


    "Lea! Our promise to meet again is fulfilled!"


    Lea pouts andins.


    "Ban promised toe see me, but in the end, I had toe!"


    "What? You''re speaking English?"


    Just then, a woman approaches with the sound of clicking high heels. Cameras turn towards her, shing away.


    Monica, exuding a seductive and elegant charm, smiles broadly and says,


    "Lea insisted on learning English so she could talk to you if she met you again. Along with her early art education, she''s also learning English, Ban."


    "Monica! Thank you foring."


    "Of course, I had to. There''s no better education for a prodigy in art than seeing Ban''s paintings."


    Lea clings to me as if she''s so d to see me, not wanting to let go. Even when I set her down, she clings tightly to my leg.


    Even Young-ju, who had been jealous, couldn''t help but find Lea too adorable, her eyes practically sparkling with hearts.


    However, I had to push Lea away for a moment.


    "Lea, I''m sorry. Just a moment."


    "Why? I want to be with Ban."


    "I have to talk to someone important who just arrived."


    "Who? Someone more important than me?"


    I smile and gesture with my eyes.


    "Over there."


    The cameras of the journalists all turn, and the surroundings be noisy.


    Yong-han, with his head bowed, is walking through the crowd of journalists towards us.


    Glossary: ```json


    {


    "??": "cathedral",


    "??": "journalist",


    "???": "taxi fare",


    "??": "painter",


    "???": "editor",


    "????": "Isabe",


    "???": "Klimt",


    "???? ???": "Monreale Cathedral",


    "???": "Romano",


    "??": "Yona",


    "??": "wife",


    "?": "daughter",


    "????": "deep-sea fishing boat",


    "???": "portrait",


    "???": "Monica",


    "??": "article",


    "??": "coffee",


    "??": "turnover",


    "???":  profit",


    "???": "operation costs",


    "?????": "influencer",


    "??": "shares",


    "???": "live broadcast",


    "????": "designer",


    "??": "poption",


    "??": "city",


    "???": "brand",


    "??": "fashion",


    "??": "industry",


    "?? ??": "rural vige",


    "??": "Young-ju",


    "??": "Lea",


    "???": "Ban Jeong-hoon",


    "??": "Yong-han",


    "???": "Irina"


    }


    ```


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 Chapter 163 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    From the group of journalists, three reporters break away and follow Yong-han. Watching coldly, Yeong-ju whispers,


    ¡°These are reporters from the top mediapanies in the country. They weren¡¯t originally on the invitation list but used theirpany¡¯s influence to secure spots. They might have been brought by theirpany to stir up some media trouble, so be careful what you say.¡±


    I nod slightly and, after sending Leah to Monica, approach Yong-han to extend my hand.


    ¡°I heard you were in LA, thank you foring all this way for the exhibition.¡±


    ¡°¡­¡­.¡±


    Yong-han quietly observes my extended hand.


    I study his gaze intently. A face full of guilt, an expressionden with remorse. Of course, I don¡¯t believe it. It¡¯s all been media y on his part until now.


    What will he pull off this time?


    No matter what he does, this is my turf. Even if the three reporters he brought create a fuss, the rest will counter with opposing articles, so I''m not concerned.As long as I keep my cool and don¡¯t overreact, that¡¯s enough.


    Yong-han looks haggard.


    He seems to have suffered a lot in his heart while hiding in LA and then returning to Korea.


    I quietly observe Yong-han, who neither shakes hands nor speaks, and then say,


    ¡°Since you¡¯re here for the exhibition, would you like to start by seeing the paintings?¡±


    A flicker of surprise crosses Yong-han''s face.


    He must have thought I would start by berating him. Smiling faintly, I pat his back.


    ¡°Feel free to look around, and we can talkter. Oh, did the Prime Minister arrive?¡±


    * * *


    The Prime Minister of Italy.


    It¡¯s already remarkable for an Italian figure to visit a personal exhibition, let alone the Prime Minister himself.


    Yong-han watches Jeong-hun, who after telling him to look at the paintings, turns to greet the Prime Minister.


    He must have rehearsed a thousand times on the flight what to say and how to behave.


    The script sent by President Kim Young-min. It contained three methods to trap Jeong-hun.


    Of course, there¡¯s not much for him to do. He just needs to silently show a guilty demeanor, and the reporters will handle the rest ording to their reaction.


    But is this really all he has to do?


    The first mistake was his, but everything that followed worsened because he listened to others.


    Yong-han shifts his gaze from the departing Jeong-hun to the cold eyes of the surrounding people.


    Seo Yeong-ju, known as the director of Artist Company. She res at him as if to kill.


    Monica, the CEO of Rosellini, who he knew had an interest in fashion and often looked up in magazines, also looks at him as if he¡¯s a bug.


    Even the world-renowned pianist, who was showing foreign professors with white hair the exhibition, does the same.


    Not just them, but art world figures far away, arms crossed, look this way with scornful expressions.


    Yong-han hears the whispering of the reporters President Kim Young-min assigned to him.


    ¡°The reaction ispletely different from what we expected? Doesn¡¯t this mess up our scenario?¡±


    ¡°Exactly, there needs to be a reaction for us to write a story. We can¡¯t just write that he was told to look at the paintings.¡±


    ¡°What about spinning it like this: Invited to a VIP exhibition and then just told to look at the paintings as if being ignored?¡±


    ¡°Will that create an issue?¡±


    ¡°We need to earn our keep, but this is serious.¡±


    Yong-han turned to look at the journalists behind him.


    It was as if he could see loathsome insects crawling all over his body.


    ¡°Journalists.¡±


    Journalists who frequented the agency and recognized him looked back, wondering what he wanted.


    ¡°I would like to view the paintings alone.¡±


    A journalist, rtively friendly to him due to past interviews, gestured with his eyes and said:


    ¡°Stay within 10 meters around us, and if Jeong-hoones, I¡¯lle right over. Look at the paintings. And this.¡±


    The journalist handed over a small recorder.


    ¡°Press the record button in advance. It should record for at least three hours. Recording everything Jeong-hoon and his associates say to you will help us n our strategy.¡±


    Yong-han stared at the recorder given by the journalist and then put it in his jacket pocket.


    ¡°Alright.¡±


    After parting ways with the journalists, Yong-han slowly moved towards the area where the paintings were hung. The journalists followed, maintaining a distance of about 10 meters, but their eyes never left Yong-han.


    Yong-han clenched his hand in his pocket and bit his lip.


    "What am I doing right now?"


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 Chapter 163 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    "What am I doing right now?"


    A surge of frustration rose within him.


    Somewhere along the line, he had lost track of his own actions, moving without awareness.


    Yong-han stood before the first painting.


    He had a habit of reading the descriptions before looking at the paintings. He didn''t know why, but understanding the paintings was easier after reading the descriptions.


    The engraved words on an aluminum te with the painting¡¯s description caught his eye.


    ¡¶The Cow on the Ind¡·


    50X50 canvas, oil painting.


    ¡°To preserve form and stability, I varied the characters in the work. Previously, using uniform lines sometimes resulted in ack of depth. But that technique gradually became uninteresting. I¡¯m thinking of an extreme solution. The first thing to do to learn is to be in the unknown.¡±Instead of where the painting was made, its background, or story, there were words simr to a letter.


    ¡°That¡¯s unusual.¡±


    Sometimes at art exhibitions, quotes from letters written by artists during their lifetime are disyed. However, he had never seen them used as painting descriptions before.


    Yong-han¡¯s gaze moved to the painting. As soon as he saw it, his eyes fluttered.


    An artist educated in elite methods habitually approaches with a highly trained, rational method. They considerposition, perspective. Landscape paintings should be drawn while adhering to these basics.


    But this painting is different.


    Yonghan turns his eyes back to the description of the work.


    "I became bored with such techniques. I thought of using an extreme solution."


    An extreme solution.


    To know, first one must be in a state of not knowing.


    His gaze returns to the painting.


    "Ignore all perspective. It''s not just about painting what you see. Thisndscape portrays the order in which I was impressed by it."


    Thendscape in the painting shows a sea in the distance, winding roads between stone-paved sidewalks, and old telephone poles stretching towards the horizon with four lines each.


    In the middle of the road, red and blue electric cars are racing.


    "A scene of waves crashing in the distance. The white foam seems to ssh onto me at any moment."


    The wind can be felt.


    The waves can be felt.


    The moisture brought by the wind feels like mist sprayed on the body.


    And all this breaks thews of art he learned.


    Neither perspective norposition is observed in the painting.


    The horizon is distorted, and the sky is tilted. The painting is not just tilted in one direction, nor is it symmetrically tilted at a single point.


    "It should look unstable."


    But it doesn¡¯t. It feels like the warmth of a whirlwind within instability, simr to Van Gogh''s "Starry Night."


    But that''s not all. The distant sky looks like the impressionist paintings of William Turner, as seen on a trip to Ennd.


    How would critics, who like to categorize genres, view this painting? Impressionism? Surrealism? Maybe even Abstract.


    Unable to take his eyes off the painting, Yonghan finally moves to the next one.


    Again, he first checks the description of the work and sees a letter.


    "The Old Woman''s House"


    50X46 canvas, oil painting.


    "I passed by an old woman''s house in the neighborhood and was captivated by the unique lighting of a shabby thatched house with a smallmp lit. When I tried to paint it, the color mix seemed too dark, and the bright tones transferred onto the white paper looked like ink stains. I remembered how usually bright tones bnce with dark colors to appear bright. So, I tried painting with unblended ck. Isn''t it cool? Unblended ck. It''s like life. I didn''t paint with ck, but life always has ck seeping through."


    Yonghan''s gaze returns to the painting.


    Late evening, an old woman hunchbacked from sewing, relying on a small light in a humble house without proper furniture.


    Her face full of wrinkles from hard farm work, her hands rough.


    The light from the smallntern barely illuminates her face and the cloth in her hands.


    Beside her, an old dial telephone.


    A painting with dark, grimy colors.


    It smells like the musty manure of the fields, the color of unpeeled potatoes.


    Yonghan clenches his fist with trembling eyes.


    "How much brightness exists in such murky colors."


    The grandmother in the dark shines.


    The deep life etched in the wrinkles, the dirt on her hands and clothes, sing.


    The faded telephone beside her waits for calls from her children.


    "There''s a sense of hope in this lonely old woman''s image."


    What is it? What''s different?


    Then, a woman''s voice is heard.


    "I want people to see things from apletely different perspective. Isn¡¯t the grandmother''s appearance beautiful? The dirt-stained pink top and the faded blue skirt she wears, weathered by the Jeju wind, carry a delicate atmosphere. If she wore luxurious clothes, it would lose something genuine inside her. The heart of a mother who sacrificed her life for her children''s education."


    Who is it? And what does this mean?


    Turning around, Yonghan sees the cold face of Director Seo Young-ju staring at him. She''s holding what appears to be a letter.


    "Yes?"


    Director Seo Young-ju nced at him briefly before lowering the letter.


    "I was reading the letter that Jeong-hoon included when he sent this painting."


    Yong-han''s eyes widened. He looked back and forth between the painting and the letter in Young-ju''s hand. Finally, the content of the letter aligned with the painting.


    Was that the meaning?


    The faint hope felt in this dark, dull-colored painting.


    Was it the heart of a mother who loved her children?


    In the heart of the grandmother, sewing alone on this small ind, relying on a small light, there was love and longing for her children instead of loneliness.


    And Jeong-hoon saw that heart. And he painted it.


    Yong-han''s fist trembled.


    "What have I... What have I done to such a person."


    Young-ju, with her arms crossed, spoke in a scornful voice.


    "Honestly, I didn''t want to talk to you, but Jeong-hoon asked me toe and exin. He said it seemed like you were busy entertaining and made a mistake."


    Yong-han''s eyes fluttered.


    And behind Young-ju, in the distance, Jeong-hoon, talking with people, loomedrge in his eyes.


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 Chapter 164 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 164 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Journalists lingering around Yonghan lit up their eyes.


    This was because Seo Young-ju, known as the closest aide to Ban Jeong-hun, approached Yonghan. An impatient journalist tried to stick close behind Yonghan, but a more experienced journalist stopped him.


    ¡°We''re known as journalists. Don''t make them cautious and raise their guard. The recorder is already on.¡±


    The journalist who tried to approach responded with a troubled face.


    ¡°But senior, it''s hard to grasp the situation if we just write articles based on the recording without knowing the whole story.¡±


    ¡°Are we here to write facts? We''re here to write fiction, so why bother understanding the whole situation?¡±


    ¡°¡­¡­.¡±


    ¡°Just stay put and don''t mess things up.¡±


    ¡°Yes¡­¡­.¡±Suddenly, one journalist eximed in surprise.


    ¡°Se, senior. Look over there!¡±


    Their eyes turned towards Yonghan.


    They saw Yonghan take out a recorder from his pocket, throw it on the ground, and crush it under his foot.


    ¡°That guy must be crazy.¡±


    ¡°Let''s hurry over there.¡±


    The journalists rushed towards where Yonghan and Young-ju were.


    Yonghan, after giving the journalists a re, spoke to Young-ju.


    ¡°If it¡¯s not rude, I¡¯d like to have a word with Artist Ban Jeong-hun.¡±


    Young-ju nced at the journalists and said.


    ¡°He actually asked me to let him know if you were looking for him. Please wait.¡±


    As Young-ju went to fetch Jeong-hun, the journalists behind Yonghan started whispering.


    ¡°Why did he crush the recorder? What? Is he insane?¡±


    ¡°Maybe it got caught on Seo Young-ju. He pretended to break it to get a new one.¡±


    ¡°Shh! Ban Jeong-hun ising!¡±


    Yonghan bit his lip as he saw Jeong-hun walking towards them, escorted by Young-ju.


    Jeong-hun stood in front of a painting, arms crossed, and stared pensively at it.


    ¡°The colors are dull, aren¡¯t they?¡±


    ¡°¡­¡­.¡±


    ¡°Lea said she found this painting scary. Do you feel the same?¡±


    ¡°¡­¡­.¡±


    All the words he wanted to say.


    All the words he wanted to throw.


    All the words he wanted to spit out.


    Yet, this man only talks about the painting.


    Yonghan, standing in front of the painting Jeong-hun was looking at, spoke seriously.


    ¡°No, although the colors are dark, I could see the hidden hope in it.¡±


    Jeong-hun slightly smiled.


    ¡°I see.¡±


    ¡°The phone might ring soon.¡±


    ¡°Unfortunately, it didn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Will it ring tomorrow?¡±


    ¡°Maybe it would have.¡±


    ¡°The socks look nice.¡±


    ¡°I saw the day before this painting was made, her children onnd sent her new socks. She cherished them so much. She only opened one pair out of twenty, saying she would wear them sparingly.¡±


    ¡°So, that¡¯s why the socks looked new. But does she really live without any furniture like this?¡±


    ¡°Yes, she only has a dressing table and the drawers under the TV.¡±


    ¡°Did you get permission from the grandmother to paint this?¡±


    ¡°Of course. But I only got her permission after helping her nt peanuts in the field in front of her housete into the night.¡±


    ¡°You even did farming?¡±


    ¡°She said I didn¡¯t need to pay a model fee, haha.¡±


    The journalists, with wide eyes, waited for something substantial toe out of their conversation, but their talk was solely about the painting. The journalists looked at each other, confused.


    Then, an unexpected statement came from Yonghan.


    ¡°3 million each, and 5 million for that person over there.¡±


    Wondering what he meant, they looked towards Yonghan, to see Yonghan and Jeong-hun staring back at them. Yonghan red at the most senior journalist and said.


    ¡°The reporters here were bribed by President Kim Young-min of the entertainmentpany to side with us. The amount I just mentioned is what they were paid.¡±


    ¡°!!!!!!!!!¡±


    The reporters are shocked by the bombshell revtion. Simultaneously, a group of reporters who had suddenly appeared began snapping photos. The senior reporter panicked, waving his hands and shouting.


    ¡°No! This is all nonsense! You believe this? Even though you''re reporters too!¡±


    But his defense is weak. Reporters capturing Yonghan''s words and taking photos are invigorated by their flustered expressions and keep clicking away.


    ¡°No! It''s not true! Don''t take pictures! Who gave you permission? Hey! Yonghan, have you lost your mind?¡±


    Yonghan responds with a cold expression, but his words are not directed at the reporter but rather at Jeong-hun, who is silently observing them.


    ¡°That reporter is the one who nned the scenario for me to y the victim on television after the sh with the artist. For that, he received 30 million won from President Kim Young-min.¡±


    ¡°Crazy!¡±


    As the situation esctes, three reporters hesitantly back away and eventually flee from the exhibition hall.


    Some reporters follow them to the end, capturing their escape on camera.


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 Chapter 164 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 164 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Jeong-hun, who had been watching, quietly looks at Yonghan and then crosses his arms, turning back to the paintings.


    ¡°You like paintings?¡±


    ¡°¡­¡­.¡±


    ¡°I''ve seen your paintings.¡±


    Yonghan is surprised, not having expected Jeong-hun to have seen his work. Jeong-hun smiles and says.


    ¡°I could feel the frustration in your paintings.¡±


    ¡°¡­¡­.¡±


    Yonghan''s shoulders slump, disheartened by Jeong-hun''s blunt assessment.


    ¡®Yes, to a real artist, my paintings must look insignificant.¡¯It''s a realization.


    In the eyes of an artist capable of creating such works, his own must seem mediocre.


    Jeong-hun, not looking at Yonghan, but at his own paintings, casually remarks.


    ¡°So, step out of there.¡±


    ¡°¡­¡­?¡±


    What does he mean?


    Yonghan lifts his head to look at Jeong-hun. Jeong-hun looks pensively at Yonghan and then says.


    ¡°A painting contains the life and emotions of the artist. The frustration embodied in your paintings is not due tock of skill, but the emotions you are currently feeling. A good artist needs to reflect on themselves.¡±


    Yonghan''s eyes widen.


    ¡®He''s not evaluating my work.¡¯


    It''s about the emotions contained in his paintings. And Jeong-hun had empathetically experienced the emotions he felt while creating his paintings and music.


    Yonghan is momentarily speechless, staring intently at Jeong-hun.


    Jeong-hun nces at Young-ju and then says.


    ¡°While it might be difficult to support your singing career, if you focus on being an artist, you''re wee to join the Artist Company.¡±


    Yonghan''s eyes widen again.


    ¡®He''s willing to ept me? After what I did to him, to thatpany?¡¯


    Jeong-hun nces at Young-ju behind him and adds.


    ¡°My soon-to-be wife is so good at her job that thepany has grown too big for us to afford to pay yourpany''s penalty. You''re wee to join us after your contract ends or if you resolve it yourself.¡±


    Upon Jeong-hun''s statement, the reporters'' cameras sh towards Young-ju.


    ¡°Hey, this crazy bird¡­¡­.¡±


    The flustered Young-ju starts to curse as usual but stops herself upon seeing the reporters. Jeong-hunughs and says.


    ¡°So what. We were going to announce it soon anyway.¡±


    Yonghan looks fiercely at Young-ju, who is ring at Jeong-hun, and then speaks.


    "If possible, I would like to sing the congrattory song."


    "Oh, that would be an honor."


    "I doubt that would be enough for you, though."


    "No, it''s more than enough."


    "I saw some American singers here earlier."


    "What''s the use of receiving congrattions from strangers? It''s meaningful when ites from someone who truly means it."


    "¡­¡­"


    Yonghan quietly observed Jeong-hun, who spoke as if nothing had ever happened between them.


    "Mr. Artist."


    The reporters all turned their attention to Yonghan.


    Most of the confessions had been made. Once the article was published, YM Entertainment and President Kim Young-min would plummet. It would all be over with just one more decisive statement from Yonghan.


    However, the reporters'' hopes were not fulfilled, as Jeong-hun interrupted Yonghan''s speech.


    "Korea is a fascinating country."


    "¡­¡­"


    "Everyone makes mistakes. And everyone deserves an equal opportunity to correct them. But there''s a profession where you don''t have the freedom to correct your mistakes. That''s the life of celebrities."


    "¡­¡­"


    "You came to my house, didn''t you?"


    Yonghan was startled.


    "How, how did you know?"


    "Mom told me. You were lingering in front of the gate and eventually left without doing anything. Twice."


    "¡­¡­"


    "You wanted to talk to me personally, didn''t you?"


    "¡­¡­I wanted to apologize."


    "But you couldn''t. It''s not your fault. I disappeared without informing anyone of my whereabouts."


    "No matter the excuse."


    "There are others who deserve the punishment, right?"


    "¡­¡­"


    "You came to our house to apologize, and you epted my invitation here. You smashed the recorder and confessed the journalists'' crimes, preventing me from falling into another trap."


    Jeong-hun asked the journalists.


    "You all saw it, right?"


    The journalists gestured affirmatively. Jeong-hun smiled, resting his hand on his waist.


    "What should happen to someone who has sufficiently reflected, felt guilty enough, and apologized enough?"


    The atmosphere became quiet. Jeong-hun spoke brightly in front of them.


    "I said it earlier. Everyone deserves a chance to correct their mistakes."


    Jeong-hun put his arm around Yonghan and smiled.


    "So, that''s enough now."


    "Mr. Artist."


    Yonghan bowed, tears streaming down his face.


    "I am sorry!"


    Jeong-hun smiled, patted Yonghan on the back, and helped him stand up.


    "It''s time to stop. Now it''s time to apologize to yourself."


    "¡­¡­"


    "Apologize to the part of yourself that you''ve suppressed and endured, and correct those mistakes. That''s enough. Life gives people multiple chances."


    "¡­¡­"


    Though silent, Yonghan''s face, streaming with tears, showed he understood Jeong-hun''s words.


    Jeong-hun turned around, putting his arm around Yonghan.


    "Now, shall we go see the next painting?"


    Jeong-hun led Yonghan to the next painting.


    Monica and Irina, watching them, smiled.


    "Irina."


    "Yes?"


    "About Irina''s nickname. Don''t you think it suits Ban more?"


    "Haha."


    Irina nodded, looking at Jeong-hun''s radiant back.


    "Yes, Titan suits him better than the Star of the East."


    * * *


    "YM Entertainment CEO Kim Young-min Arrested on Charges of Bribery to Media!"


    "Yonghan''s Tears of Regret and Reflection, and His Expos¨¦!"


    "Prosecutors Decide to Investigate Additional Charges of Sexual Assault and Drug-Rted Issues Against CEO Kim Young-min!"


    "Yonghan Announces Termination of Contract with YM Entertainment, Finds New Home in Artist Company!"


    "Jeong-hun''s Private Exhibition: All Works Sold Out During VIP Preview!"


    "On the First Day Open to the Public, 100,000 People Flock to W Tree Hotel Theater"


    "Jeong-hun Announces Marriage! The Partner is Director Seo Young-ju"


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 Chapter 165: The Mysterious Art Museum

    Chapter 165: The Mysterious Art Museum


    Just a moment ago, from the window of the lodging you found for me, I could see a beautiful spectacle.


    The bell tower, rooftops, and smoke-emitting chimneys formed a deep, dark silhouette against the horizon''s light.


    The light was merely a sh of lightning against the backdrop of heavy storm clouds.


    As the clouds thickened towards the bottom and began to scatter into pieces with the autumn wind, they eventually disappeared.


    When the light shed for a moment, the rain-soaked dark-colored roofs shone brightly here and there in the vige.


    At the window of a second-floor room where the breeze was gently blowing, a piece of paper on the table fluttered in the wind.


    I often open the drawer in Yeongju''s room where I keep the letters I''ve sent and take out old letters to read them.


    Small memoriese back to me, eventually merging into onerge mass.


    At some point, I stopped worrying about what to paint today, as things I wanted to draw appeared before me every day.Sitting at a desk ced to provide a good view of the outside scenery from a well-ventted second-floor window, I leaned my chin on my hand and smiled while feeling the sea breeze in a splendid mansion overlooking the sea.


    A very faint sound of a door opening could be heard. It might have been mistaken for the wind moving the door, but I smiled slightly. Then, after waiting for a moment, I turned around and shouted loudly.


    "Waaaah!"


    "Kyaaaah!!!"


    Tip-tap-tip-tap.


    A little girl in a dress with water droplet patterns ran away,ughing merrily. Watching the child leave through the door, I smiled as I heard Yeongju''s voice.


    "Ban Ji-young! Didn''t I tell you not to go into the study when your dad is there?"


    "Kyahaha!"


    The voices were noisy but pleasant.


    Yeongju''s face peeked cautiously through the open door.


    "Are you working?"


    I stretched and smiled.


    "No, just looking outside."


    Hearing that I wasn''t working, Yeongju entered the room and looked at the letter on the table.


    "Looking at letters again? It''s been 10 years since we got married, and you''re still not looking at my letters but your own?"


    "Haha, just because I like it."


    "Try to finish your work early today. You didn''t forget that brother-inw and mother areing today, did you?"


    "Is it today?"


    "Oh my, what a fool! What else can you do other than painting? It''s your mother''s birthday today!"


    "Oh, right. Oh, what should I do? I didn''t prepare a present."


    "I bought everything, so juste down in time."


    "As expected of my wife. I did well in marrying you."


    "Stop it... No, don''t joke and go to the harbor in 30 minutes."


    "Eh? I thought they wereing in the evening?"


    Yeongju cuts herself off from swearing. Yeongju has never sworn at me since our marriage, and I really like that about her.


    With a look of exasperation, Yeongju said.


    "You forgot they were alling because it''s mother''s 70th birthday. Monica, Leah, Irina ¨C they''re alling by ship. It''s time for them to arrive, so go meet them."


    "Oh, right."


    "Who would think this man is the world''s most famous painter? Hurry up! And tidy up the kindergarten bag Jiyoung left by the front door when you go."


    "Got it."


    I hurriedly left the room before getting scolded. I saw a vacuum cleaner ced in the hallway. Yeongju cleans my study only when I''m asionally out of the house so as not to disturb my work at home.


    As I went down to the front door, I saw Jiyoung''s kindergarten bag scattered around, just as Yeongju said.


    "Oh, what''s all this. Ban Ji-young! Why did you leave your bag like this!"


    From the kitchen, my cute daughter Ji-young peeked her face out.


    "Hehe, Dad, are you taking out your anger on me after getting scolded by Mom?"


    "What? When did I ever take my anger out on you?"


    "Should I tell uncle everything?"


    "Tell what?"


    "That you said auntie isn¡¯t pretty. I heard everything."


    "Shh! Hey, you absolutely can¡¯t say that! You know how good your uncle¡¯s hearing is. Absolutely not!"


    "I''ll keep quiet for a thousand won."


    "Wow, look at Seo Young-ju''s daughter, so keen on money. Here, take it."


    "Hehe!"


    I handed my daughter a thousand won, patted her head, and said, ¡°I¡¯ll be going to the harbor, so stay put. Don¡¯t bother Mom while she''s cleaning, or you''ll get scolded again.¡±


    ¡°Yes! Is Leaing?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, Monica and Irina too.¡±


    ¡°Yay! I like Lea the most! I wish she would visit more often!¡±


    ¡°Lea¡¯s busy. Can an eighteen-year-old world-renowned genius painter have time to y with you?¡±


    ¡°But she still ys with me.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s nice of her.¡±


    ¡°I also like Irina Auntie''s piano ying. I hope she ys the piano again. When I told my school that my piano teacher is Irina Auntie, all the teachers were surprised.¡±


    ¡°Well, who in the world gets lessons from Irina? You realize how lucky you are, right?¡±


    ¡°Hehe! Monica Auntie said she¡¯d make clothes just for me! Aren¡¯t you jealous?¡±


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m dying of jealousy.¡±


    ¡°Hehe! I¡¯ll brag about it at school~¡±


    ¡°Go on, go y and stop talking. Doesn¡¯t your mouth get tired from talking all day?¡±


    ¡°Not at all~ I¡¯ll keep talking~¡±


    I wonder who she takes after to be such a cheeky little thing. She''s my precious child, but sometimes I feel like giving her a flick on the forehead.


    I watched my daughter running around me in circles and then suddenly yelled.


    ¡°Stop, it''s making me dizzy!¡±


    ¡°Hehe!¡±


    ¡°Go to your room and do your homework.¡±


    ¡°Okay! But Dad!¡±


    ¡°What now?¡±


    ¡°The kids at kindergarten want your autograph.¡±


    ¡°Alright, I¡¯ll do itter. Go to your room.¡±


    ¡°A hundred!¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°The whole school wants it.¡±


    ¡°Do I look free to you? How can I do a hundred?¡±


    Ji-young¡¯s eyes began to flutter and soon filled with tears.


    ¡°You won¡¯t do it?¡±


    ¡°¡­¡­.¡±


    Ji-young¡¯s shoulders slumped, and she hung her head.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be bullied at kindergarten then. The kids were really looking forward to it. Then Ji-young will be alone without friends, ride the kindergarten bus alone, eat alone, have no one to talk to¡­¡­.¡±


    ¡°Alright, alright! I¡¯ll do it!¡±


    ¡°Hehe! Have a good trip, Dad!¡±


    Ji-young, as if nothing had happened, straightened her shoulders and scampered to her room. I held my forehead and shook my head in disbelief.


    ¡°Ah, my fate.¡±


    I sighed and opened the front door.


    The warm sunlight rushed in all at once, and the fragrant sea breeze tickled my nose at this ce.


    I live on Biyangdo, a small ind near Jeju Ind.


    Though it''s inconvenient to travel to and from Jeju Ind for Ji-young''s kindergarten, it''s hard to find an ind as quiet and beautiful as this one.


    Our house, built on the very top of a hill on this small ind with an area of 0.5 km2, blends beautifully with the natural scenery.


    Walking towards the harbor, familiar vige elders wave and speak to me.


    ¡°Hey, Artist Ban. Where are you headed?¡±


    ¡°Artist Ban! My mother really appreciates the park you built in our vige. Thank you, thank you.¡±


    ¡°What are you doing this evening? How about some makgeolli and pork belly?¡±


    Politely bowing to the vige elders repairing a docked boat, I smiled and said,


    "Yes, elders. Today is my mother''s 70th birthday, and guests areing from the maind. Let''s have that makgeolli some other time."


    "Oh, is that so? That''s nice. Maind guests are always wee. Are you heading to the harbor to greet them?"


    "Yes, it''s time for the ship to arrive."


    "Alright, then off you go."


    At that moment, one of the vige elders cleared his throat and said tentatively,


    "By the way, about that painting you hung in the vige hall. It''s really nice. Could you paint one for me too? My son who moved to the maind keeps nagging me about it."


    There was no need for me to respond. The other elders around me took care of it.


    "Good grief! Haven''t you seen the news? Ban''s paintings sold for 7 billion at a New York auction, and you''re asking for a free one? There''s a limit to how thick-skinned you can be!"


    "7 billion is nothing. Wasn''t it three years ago? I saw news that one of Ban''s paintings sold for 11.3 billion in Austria!"


    "Ban, don''t listen to this nonsense and go on your way. The ship will be arriving soon."


    Grateful for the elders handling the situation, I smiled broadly and walked toward the harbor.


    Late autumn is approaching winter, but the sun on this southern ind is still warm.


    The sound of waves hitting the harbor is always pleasant.


    Whoosh. Whoosh.


    The sight of waves breaking into white foam in front of me is always awe-inspiring.


    Which painter could truly capture this scene? Which painter could express the texture of this dazzling sunlight?


    All beautiful things exist in nature.


    Art is the act of capturing nature and transferring it onto a canvas.


    Capturing the most beautiful moment of a single instant.


    In the distance, arge ship approaches.


    The vige headman takes a small boat out to transfer people from therge ship, as it cannot dock at such a small ind.


    I see my loved ones waving at me as they transfer from the deck to the small boat.


    "Mom, brother, sister-inw, Monica, Lea, Irina. Oh? Yong-han is here too?"


    That guy has been pursuing both music and art since joining ourpany. Thanks to him, we expanded into the music business.


    Young-ju moved to this ind, and we hired a professional CEO for thepany, who turned out to be quite capable. The music business is growing day by day.


    Sitting on a rock near the harbor, I quietly watched the people I love, parting the waves of nature toe to me.


    Faces of many people I''ve met float across the blue sky, especially those from the dream of the strange art museum.


    "Are you watching? Every day, I paint something new. And sometimes, suddenly, I discover something I''ve never seen before. It''s a difficult task, but I''m managing well."


    Since dreaming of Van Gogh, the strange art museum no longer follows me. I went back to Ikseon-dong where I first found the museum, but now there''s a cafe there.


    I haven''t seen the museum since that day, but the dreams it left in my heart remain deeply ingrained.


    Gently tapping my left chest, I looked up at the sky and smiled softly.


    "I dream about paintings, and I live painting those dreams. I try to live loving life, loving people, and sharing. Perhaps this was the story you wanted to tell me?"


    I looked up at the sky and slowly bowed.


    "Thank you."


    < The Mysterious Art Museum End >


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