I Became an Artist in a Romantic Comedy

Chapter 49: Heading to America (Final)

—

The flight from Chicago O’Hare International Airport (ORD) to Gerald R. Ford International Airport (GRR) in Grand Rapids took about an hour.

Boarding the second plane felt oddly similar to changing buses, though my stiff, aching back reminded me how long I’d been sitting.

“Ugh…”

Dad was already ahead of me, carrying a still-sleeping Yoon on his back.

“Aren’t you tired, too, son?”

“I slept a bit on the first flight. Mom, you look more exhausted than I do.”

“I got some rest earlier, so I’m fine.”

As Mom and I exchanged casual chatter while boarding, Ms. Lee and Mr. Hong were off buying snacks.

I had no idea until now, but those two were practically best friends. Despite addressing each other formally, their conversations were packed with the kind of humor so juvenile even toddlers wouldn’t stoop to it.

Our seats were once again in first class, all courtesy of Ms. Lee, who’d footed the bill for most of the trip.

I’d tried to pay my share, but her unyielding insistence left me with no choice but to accept her generosity.

“Yep, the air’s different here.”

It was no surprise. Compared to Korea, the air in the U.S. felt heavier, laced with the metallic tang of industry and oil—a hallmark of an advanced nation.

Since this flight was just an hour long, I decided to skip sleeping and spent the time chatting with the two returning snack-laden adults.

“Mr. Hong, aren’t you heading to Atlantis?”

“There’s no rush. I’ll see most of the people I need to meet at the Prize anyway.”

Oh, right. He was here for the Prize.

It seemed likely he’d come to scout other participants.

“Which planets are competing this time?” I asked, curious.

“Hmm, let’s see. Jupiter, Saturn, and Mercury, I believe.”

Three participants from the planets? That’s unexpected.

“Ms. Lee,” I turned to her.

“Yeah? What is it?”

“Anyone from Drawing Korea competing?”

“…Why would I know that? I’m not on their staff.”

She looked at me like I’d just asked her to recite Pi to the 200th digit.

While Drawing Korea was a globally recognized organization, whether any of its members were competing was anyone’s guess.

I’d probably have to see for myself.

“What’s the name of your entry, then?”

Might as well keep the small talk going.

“You’ll find out when we get there. It’s on display with my pseudonym.”

“But it’s written in English, right? I don’t know English.”

“…?”

Ms. Lee stared at me as if I’d just confessed to a crime. A student who ranked first in his entire school claiming he didn’t know English?

Leaning closer, she whispered conspiratorially.

“Gardens of the World. My pseudonym is still Lee A-reum. Happy?”

“Got it, thanks. But could you maybe back up? You’re too close.”

Ms. Lee retreated slightly, her cheeks tinged pink as she mumbled to herself.

“I mean, you did ask…”

“Couldn’t you just say it normally? What’s there to be embarrassed about?”

“Th-then you! What’s your entry’s title?”

“Mine?”

I smirked as her eyebrows arched expectantly. Her curiosity was almost adorable.

“Snowless Summit.”

“Summit…?”

I kept my answer brief, letting her chew on the name’s meaning.

“I’ve shared enough. The rest you’ll see for yourself when we get there.”

Her eyes narrowed at my teasing tone, but I ignored her and turned to Mr. Hong.

“Mr. Hong, aren’t you working on anything?”

“Hmm? I am, but it’s not ready to show yet.”

“How long have you been working on it?”

“A little over half a year now.”

It sounded like he was crafting a masterpiece, likely preparing for the next big competition.

“Is it for the Prize?”

“No, I’m aiming for the Biennale.”

“Where? Busan?”

He shook his head at my guess.

“The Shanghai Biennale, actually. Why do you ask?”

“I was just curious where you’d unveil something so meticulously crafted.”

“Hahaha! Well, if you’re interested, why not join me when it’s done? I’ll cover all the travel expenses.”

“That’s a generous offer. I’ll gladly take you up on it.”

What started as idle chatter ended with an intriguing invitation. Shanghai sounded promising—I’d love to see how it compared to other Biennales.

The rest of the hour passed quickly as we talked nonstop, all while Yoon miraculously remained sound asleep.

Mom, meanwhile, was busy recording the view of the clouds with her phone.

Watching her, a thought crossed my mind.

“I should start vlogging. Might as well make something out of this trip.”

Perhaps I’d stream it live again. That seemed to work well last time.

Before I knew it, the plane began its descent, and we finally arrived at Gerald R. Ford International Airport.

“Ughhh…”

Still half-asleep, Yoon practically hung onto me as we walked.

Why couldn’t she latch onto Dad instead? If this kept up, I’d be completely drained before we even reached the hotel.

“My shoulder’s about to give out.”

“Such a shame…”

She muttered drowsily, leaning her weight against me. I sighed, ruffling her hair with my free hand.

Fine, if this is what my little sister wanted, I could sacrifice a shoulder for her.

Even if it meant I wouldn’t be able to draw again.

“Yoon, your brother’s struggling. Walk properly now.”

Mom’s scolding cut through Yoon’s grumbling. Begrudgingly, she straightened up, pushing her sleepiness aside.

We quietly followed Dad, who was ahead of us, engrossed in his phone and taking in the surroundings. Watching him made me think:

So this is what it’s like to be the head of the family.

Dad and Ms. Lee were chatting when they called us over.

“We’ve cleared customs. All we need to do now is head out.”

“Do we need to rent a car? You’ve got an international license.”

“Good idea.”

Ms. Lee offered to cover the cost again, but—

“Thank you, but I insist. I can’t keep relying on you. Let me handle this one.”

Dad’s polite yet firm refusal earned a nod of approval from Ms. Lee.

Once we exited the airport, Dad took a taxi to pick up a rental car, leaving us to wait.

When he returned with the car, he took the driver’s seat, I sat beside him as the co-pilot, and the women settled in the back.

As for Mr. Hong, we’d parted ways at the airport. He reassured us we’d meet again at the Prize.

“Wow! The whole city looks like an art museum!”

“It practically is. When the Prize is held, some building owners turn their spaces into galleries.”

It was just before lunch, so we decided to explore a bit.

Driving around, we marveled at buildings transformed into art exhibits, taking in the city’s vibrant atmosphere.

“This feels like a dream. Who would’ve thought this day would come for me?”

From a recluse sketching in my room to a participant in a world-class art competition—life truly had its surprises.

We toured the Grand Rapids Art Museum (GRAM), DeVos Place, and LaFontsee Galleries, among other places.

Even smaller venues like outdoor areas and cafes showcased various artworks.

Though the competition wouldn’t officially begin until July 14, the city was already alive with art installations.

“I won’t be bored. I could just wander the streets and be entertained.”

From amateur works to pieces by skilled artists, the city offered an array of art.

But as I took it all in, a nagging disappointment crept up.

“Why are there so few masterpieces?”

We’d spent an hour looking around, yet I hadn’t come across anything truly captivating. No illusions, no works reminiscent of Do-won-hyang, nothing that stood out.

Of course, masterpieces weren’t something you could just stumble upon. Still, not seeing even one felt odd.

“Maybe they haven’t finished setting up.”

It was possible I’d missed something by skimming the surface, so I decided not to dwell on it.

After lunch at a nearby restaurant, we headed to our accommodations to recover from the long day.

“Ms. Lee… Are you just swimming in money?”

“I can’t stay anywhere that’s not a hotel.”

“This isn’t just any hotel, though.”

Ms. Lee had booked us into the Amway Grand Plaza Hotel, one of the most prestigious hotels in Grand Rapids.

While she handled check-in at the front desk, I eavesdropped:

“High-end suites were reserved—”

“Yes, Ms. Lee. Your reservation has been confirmed—”

“Why does it always have to be a suite?”

When she returned, I couldn’t help but ask, “How much per night?”

“Regular rooms are $250 to $300 a night, but our suites cost around $1,000 total.”

“And we’re staying here for over a month?”

“Don’t worry about the cost. I’ve got it covered, okay?”

“How can I NOT worry about this? $1,000 a night?!”

Feeling guilty, I turned to Dad, who looked just as stunned upon hearing the price.

“…This won’t do. My family will cover our costs,” he said firmly.

“NO! Really, it’s fine! I have plenty of money!”

After a long back-and-forth, we had no choice but to concede. Ms. Lee even showed us her bank account to prove she wasn’t exaggerating.

“She really is filthy rich. A diamond spoon, huh…”

“Fine. But we’ll handle the remaining expenses from now on,” Dad insisted, unwilling to rely entirely on her generosity.

Ms. Lee didn’t argue further, and we headed up to our rooms.

“Time to rest.”

With 13 days until the competition, I realized one thing:

“I can’t possibly lose.”