I Became an Artist in a Romantic Comedy-Chapter 85

My past self didn’t care much about tidiness, even for important works.

Art supplies littered the floor in poor condition, further emphasizing my carelessness.

Despite the mess, I hadn’t let go of my brush back then.

The only light in the room came from a single small lamp. That’s how I’d worked during those days.

"But why is no one here?"

As far as I remembered, after setting up my studio, I rarely left unless it was for something important.

The room was empty except for me and the paintings.

Just as I began to wonder about the absence of people, I heard voices in the hallway outside.

- "Sanya, you must stop now."

- "I refuse. This will be my last painting. Stopping here is not an option."

- "It’s not about stopping here; it’s about not painting that final work. This decision will change your life."

- "What’s left to change? There’s nothing else anyway. Falling further won’t make much difference."

The voices belonged to me and my mentor.

Their conversation continued, but my mind wandered to other thoughts.

‘If this is about the last painting, it must be [Angel]. And now that I think about it, every other piece is already here.’

After finishing [Angel], I’d stopped painting altogether. My mentor and I had also parted ways.

I spent some time idly drinking before I eventually died—probably.

Click.

The studio door creaked open, and two figures stepped inside.

One was a young man with shoulder-length hair; the other, an older man carrying the weight of many years.

Just looking at them made me sigh.

‘Seriously, couldn’t I have gotten a haircut back then?’

The once timid boy I’d seen in the memories of [Gumiho] and [Fish] had turned into this disheveled wreck in just a few years.

This was why one’s environment was so important.

"Listen to your mentor for once," Wu Hua pleaded.

"I have no intention of doing so."

My mentor tried to convince the younger me, but his resolve was unshakable.

Watching the fragments of the past, memories I’d long forgotten came flooding back.

It was in this studio that I’d painted my first masterpiece, [Gumiho], as a sort of inauguration piece.

Eighteen years had blurred my memories, but I could vaguely recall deciding to run away from home the moment I got this studio.

Though I lived like a recluse, I was consumed by my passion for painting.

Looking back, I didn’t regret it. Even if I could go back, I’d make the same choice.

At the time, I had nowhere else to go.

‘I just wish someone had reached out to stop me.’

But by the time my mentor realized how lost I was, it was too late.

The drive to complete my next painting had become my only purpose.

And that final work marked the end of that drive.

That’s why I couldn’t let go. If my long-formed plan to create seven pieces based on sins crumbled at the end, it would have been meaningless.

I’d conceived the idea of painting the seven deadly sins here in this studio.

When I painted [Gumiho], I’d already been wallowing in a sense of ennui.

Yet I hadn’t even tried to overcome it.

"...Are you really unwilling to reconsider?"

"It’s just a painting. What significance does it hold?"

"You think carving your past into your paintings is the right thing to do?"

"What nonsense are you spouting? Paintings can’t do that. You’ve been reading too many comics."

The younger me sneered at my mentor’s words, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Wu Hua looked at him with a troubled expression and asked, "When you finish all the paintings, reach out to me once."

"I’ll do so if I have time," he replied dismissively.

‘What a hopeless brat.’

Though I often cursed my mentor in my mind back then, it wasn’t out of genuine malice.

The habit of calling him “that guy” or “the old man” had stuck with me over the years.

‘...Maybe I should start calling him something else from now on.’

Truthfully, my mentor was the one who lifted me up and encouraged me.

But he couldn’t save me from the abyss.

No mentor could force their student to turn back if they were determined to walk into ruin.

All he could do was offer warnings and try to persuade me to reconsider.

If it had been anyone else in my position, they might have turned back immediately.

‘Poor mentor. Of all the students, he had to choose someone like me.’

What good was artistic talent if the student was so stubbornly single-minded?

After watching the young me for a while, Wu Hua sighed and left the studio.

‘…Looks like there’s nothing new in the [Angel] doodle either.’

I’d hoped there might be something significant this time, but it was the same as before—

"...If only my mentor had been my father, things might have turned out better," the younger me murmured.

‘Wait, why isn’t it ending?’

The previous two memories had ended shortly after my mentor left.

This time, however, several minutes passed without it ending.

I also noticed something strange.

I frowned and looked at the younger me.

"Damn it, mentor. You should’ve convinced me earlier," he muttered bitterly.

‘What’s wrong with this guy? Shifting blame to someone else like that?’

The unsettling part was that I didn’t remember ever saying such a thing.

At first, I thought it might’ve been an old memory I’d forgotten, but…

‘I’ve never said anything like that before.’

It wasn’t part of my memory.

Was this some sort of prank my mentor had devised?

"The first time I met my mentor, it was kind of fun," the younger me continued, "though we went through a lot of ridiculous situations after that."

Hearing my past self’s monologue felt cringeworthy.

"Don’t you agree, Lee Ha-Eun?"

"...?"

The younger me, seated in front of a massive canvas, turned and looked directly at me.

...Could he see me? That couldn’t be possible.

"Say something. Didn’t you come here because you had questions?"

"Uh… Can you see me?"

"Obviously, or I wouldn’t be asking," he replied, annoyed.

What a twisted personality. Even though it was my past self, I wanted to punch him.

"Since you’ve seen the final painting, [Angel], you should be able to find the other doodles, right?"

"Was that the mentor’s intention?"

"Think whatever you want. Just hurry up and ask your questions—I don’t have much time."

The younger me impatiently tapped his foot, making me wonder if he was going through withdrawal.

I sighed, realizing I’d better start asking while I could.

"Where is my mentor now?"

"The National Art Museum in Beijing, China."

"And [Angel]? Where is it?"

"The Louvre Museum in Paris, same floor as the Mona Lisa."

I asked more questions, ones I’d been curious about for years:

Why was [Angel] considered dangerous? Why did the other masterpieces avoid it? What was the connection between me and [Angel]?

To my surprise, the younger me answered them all.

‘Huh. I didn’t expect him to be this cooperative. That’s not like him.’

"Why are you even asking about those things? Didn’t you already see the painting?"

"I didn’t, though."

"...What?"

I hadn’t seen [Angel] yet.

I only knew it was in France but not its exact location.

And this was the first time I’d learned about my mentor’s whereabouts or the effects [Angel] had on me.

The painting, a representation of pride and the final piece in the series, had been meticulously crafted, but…

‘I’ll deal with it later when I can see it in person.’

For now, I still had many unanswered questions—why my mentor had reincarnated me, why he’d brought the masterpieces here, and how he’d managed it in the first place.

The younger me seemed to know everything, as if the final doodle contained all of my mentor’s memories.

‘I knew something felt off the moment he could see me.’

It was fascinating, even if slightly unsettling.

"How did you get in here?"

"How else? I came in because I could see it."

I hadn’t expected anything to happen when I looked at the doodle. I thought I’d just end up napping.

Then I woke up here, kidnapped by my own past self.

"...That shouldn’t be possible. You need to see all the paintings first."

Watching him mutter to himself, I stretched my arms with a yawn.

Most of my questions had been answered.

While I couldn’t verify everything, it seemed trustworthy enough.

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The younger me didn’t seem the type to lie.

"Anything else you’re curious about?" he asked, noticing I was preparing to leave.

"I’d rather not stick around with a messy-haired guy. Get a haircut, would you?"

"Wow, self-dissing, huh."

Lee Ha-Eun and Sanya were two different people now. We were strangers.

"There’s more, but those are things only my mentor can answer. I doubt you could tell me."

"Fair enough. But how long did it take you to find the doodles so far?"

"I’ve only seen two—[Fox] and [Fish]."

"...What?"

And there he went, breaking again. What was his problem?

"Aside from those two, I haven’t seen any others—or the paintings."

"Wait… that’s not right."

"What’s not right? I’m not going to waste time looking at every single one."

"Well, you’re supposed to."

"Then maybe the mentor should’ve picked better locations for them."

"Do you think I put them there? It was the mentor!"

"Anyway, thanks for the info."

"Ah, crap."

As soon as he muttered that, my vision went dark.

If only the doodles had been easier to find.