I Became an Artist in a Romantic Comedy

Chapter 32

The carols announcing the arrival of Christmas filled the air.

Despite the dark night, the snow-covered streets glowed brightly.

“Ahh... My neck hurts.”

I must’ve slept in the wrong position during my nap; my neck wouldn’t move properly, making me uncomfortably stiff.

“Oppa, aren’t you going out to have fun during vacation?”

“That’s why I’m out right now, isn’t it, little sister?”

I responded curtly to Yoon’s sharp comment as she walked beside me.

Introverts like me usually prefer staying home, thank you very much.

“That’s not what I meant, Haeun...”

Walking ahead, Choi Ye-Seo turned back and shook her head.

“Haeun’s a shut-in,” Ha Soo-Yul jabbed from the other side of Yoon, hitting me squarely with the truth.

These girls—all of them were impossible.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s all my fault,” I muttered, pouting as I looked up at the sky.

It was one of the rare days when I went out with everyone. Coordinating schedules (mostly Ye-Seo’s) had been no small feat.

As snowflakes landed on my cheeks and melted away, an idea struck me. Could I turn this into a masterpiece?

The thought had been with me for a week now, ever since I began working on a new piece.

Creating something close to a masterpiece and crafting an actual masterpiece were vastly different in terms of time and effort.

Though it felt like I was nearing completion...

‘I don’t know how much more polishing and tweaking it’ll need.’

Whenever something felt off, my hands moved instinctively to fix it.

While the framework was complete, the details kept pulling me back, prolonging the process.

It wasn’t particularly difficult or exhausting—just time-consuming.

‘Masterpieces are such a hassle. They take forever to finish.’

Still, compared to creating a magnum opus, this was a cakewalk. At least by my standards.

The difference between a masterpiece and a magnum opus isn’t vast, but it’s significant.

The key distinction? A magnum opus contains “life,” while a masterpiece contains “essence.”

What’s the difference, you ask? It’s simple.

“Life” imbues a painting with the vitality of a living being.

“Essence” makes the painting seem alive, as though it might move at any moment.

Does that make sense? I’m sorry—it’s hard to put into words.

‘Let’s keep it simple today. Just a bit of touch-up and I’ll stop.’

Truthfully, I’d been working on the masterpiece until just a while ago.

That is, until Choi Ye-Seo and Ha Soo-Yul barged in unannounced:

“Hey! Let’s go out!”

Thanks to their sudden visit, I had to put my brush down.

Luckily, when I mentioned that we’d need a guardian if we were going out at this hour...

“Let’s bring your mom along. Should I call Ji-Hye as well?”

My mom, who had been with me in the studio, agreed to tag along, and Ji-Hye Auntie decided to join as well.

Thus, our Christmas outing party was formed: me, Yoon, Ha Soo-Yul, Choi Ye-Seo, my mom, and Ji-Hye Auntie.

For a moment, I wondered why I was the only guy, but then, who cares?

“Wow... Look at the chair prince.”

“Sweetie, where are you looking?”

I had become the center of attention for every young person on the street.

‘This is oddly addictive.’

Since when did I enjoy being the center of attention?@@@@

Oh, right—I haven’t mentioned my YouTube channel.

After the awards ceremony, I’d gained so much attention that my subscriber count skyrocketed.

In just six months, it had increased by 1.5 times.

And now that my face was public, I occasionally streamed live drawing sessions.

I also met privately with the Drawing Korea team, though those stories are still on hold.

That’s about all that’s changed recently.

‘Oh, and one more thing.’

Lee Do-Yoon and Baek Yoo-Seol—the main protagonist and heroine—had barely contacted me.

Actually, it wasn’t recent; they’d started drifting away after I received my award.

I heard Lee Do-Yoon had started attending an art academy.

Maybe he’s too busy to reach out.

What kind of hostage tactic is this, Mom?

“By the way, I need to stop by the studio first.”

“Why? Oh, is it that piece you worked so hard on?”

“Yeah. If I sense anything off about it, I’ll need to fix it right away.”

“Geez. From where I’m standing, it all looks the same.”

This is why laypeople are so different from artists—their eyes just can’t compare.

“Just don’t be late. Being tardy on the first day would look bad.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Heeding her words, I headed to the studio.

All my equipment was tucked away in one corner, except for the canvas on the easel at the center.

It wasn’t particularly cold outside, but the studio had a distinct chill.

It wasn’t just the weather—it was the painting itself.

Unlike Peach Blossom Village, this piece radiated an entirely different aura.

Even I regarded it with a cold gaze.

Before approaching, I grabbed a coat hanging by the door.

A thick coat—not something you’d usually wear on March 2nd.

“Phew...”

But the chill emanating from the painting wasn’t fake.

It was an illusion—a phenomenon that came with observing such works.

Even ordinary people could sense it to some extent.

That’s why I didn’t let Ha Soo-Yul or Choi Ye-Seo into the studio.

Only those who could resist the illusion—like my mom, dad, or me—were allowed inside.

Illusions affected the mind more than the body, so it wasn’t safe for younger kids.

‘It’s not hard to deal with, just annoying.’

Masterpieces required meticulous attention, whether it was time or the aura surrounding them.

I stepped closer to the painting.

Whoosh!

The closer I got, the more it felt like a blizzard was battering me.

Of course, it was just an illusion.

That’s why even someone as physically weak as me could approach it.

Mentally, I’m old, after all.

‘That’s... kind of depressing to admit.’

Anyway, I carefully examined the painting for any flaws.

Constantly, until nothing changed.

Paintings always had the risk of discoloration or deterioration, which is why they’re so valuable.

Only those willing to take on that risk could handle such pieces.

That’s a brand-new adage I just made up. Feel free to be impressed.

“No issues, as expected.”

I had checked it before bed, so there was no way it had changed in half a day.

Satisfied, I shrugged off the coat and left the studio.

The warmth of the sun outside almost felt like a lie after the chill inside.

“...Would anyone even buy this?”

A strange unease settled over me.

If someone ever did buy this painting, I’d like to meet them.

They’d likely be one of the few elites in the art world.

‘I hope no one calls it a cursed painting...’

I poured so much effort into it that such a label would honestly hurt.

“What time is it...?”

I checked my phone.

8:13 AM.

Seventeen minutes until the entrance ceremony.

And the school was too far to reach on foot—at least for me.

The school I’d be attending: the Private Comprehensive Arts High School.

It looked like I was about to be late on my very first day.

“...Hello? Mom? Could you drive me, please?”

And thus, Lee Ha-Eun became a prodigal son once again.