I Became an Artist in a Romantic Comedy

Chapter 50: World Art Prize (1)

—

July 13th.

One day before the competition.

“Will you quit bouncing your leg? You’re going to scare off all your luck.”

“Are you not even a little nervous, oppa?!”

Yoon pouted, her tone accusatory. I shrugged. What was there to be nervous about? My entry was already submitted.

The existence of Heo Mu-seol—the painting I’d submitted—was known to my mom, dad, and Yoon. But none of them had seen the completed piece.

From start to finish, the canvas had been covered, and they’d only glimpsed fragments during the process. To them, its full impact remained a mystery.

“Don’t worry, your brother’s got this.”

Confidently, I pointed to myself, attempting to calm Yoon’s nerves.

“You’re the same person who believed in a one-in-eleven-million chance of a plane crash. Did it not occur to you that other possibilities exist?”

Her sharp retort left me turning my head sheepishly.

“I’m telling you, plane crashes happen! But this? This is different.”

This battle had already been decided.

Heo Mu-seol wasn’t just a masterpiece; it was on a level of its own.

Even if a hundred other masterpieces were showcased, mine would dominate.

Its haunting brilliance would consume them, standing unchallenged.

“Honestly, I wish there were more masterpieces. It’d make things more interesting.”

I wanted a challenge—one that matched my caliber. But even in a world-class competition, where could I find something to truly test me?

“The only person who ever truly rivaled me was that cursed master from my past life.”

Outside of them, I reigned supreme in art.

“Ha-yoon, don’t you know your brother? Sure, he’s annoying, and…”

Mom suddenly joined the conversation, her voice sharp with teasing.

Stab.

“…a bit of a jerk…”

Stab.

“…and insufferable at times…”

STAB.

“Okay, okay, stop. That’s three direct hits already!”

Mom ignored my protests and hugged Yoon.

“But when it comes to art, he never lies. Right, honey?”

She turned to me with a pure smile, one free of deceit.

I couldn’t help but let out a dry laugh at the irony.

“Could’ve raised a better kid, though.”

“Excuse me?!” Mom’s voice rose in mock indignation. “Do you know how lucky I am? How many seventeen-year-olds enter world competitions?!”

“And let’s not forget the 1.7 million YouTube subscribers!”

Dad, who had been brewing coffee in the kitchen, handed me a mug, smiling proudly.

“Wait, 1.7 million already?”

I quickly pulled out my phone, confirming the number.

1.72 million subscribers.

“Wow, this channel’s growing faster than I expected.”

The thought crossed my mind that it might soon surpass my height in number.

“…That’s not great.” The idea soured my mood, and I shoved the phone back into my pocket.

“I’ve got 500,000, too!”

Yoon suddenly puffed up her cheeks, holding out her phone like a trophy.

Her channel, which she’d launched before the school sports day, had exploded in popularity.

Many of my subscribers had migrated over, charmed by her blend of talent and charisma.

Her face, her acting skills—everything about her screamed star quality.

Of course, Mom and Dad meticulously managed her comments section, ensuring it remained a safe space.

Even the occasional inappropriate remarks disappeared by the next day, with rumors that the perpetrators were promptly visited by the police.

“Dare mess with my sister? See what happens.”

Though still a minor, I didn’t have to act; my parents handled everything.

I clapped for Yoon’s milestone, offering an exaggerated congratulations.

“You’re teasing me!” she huffed, her cheeks puffing even more.

“I’m not!”

The curve of my smirk betrayed me instantly.

Our laughter filled the room, warm and unending.

That evening, as the family watched Netflix in the living room, Dad leaned on my shoulder from where he sat on the floor.

“So, what time are you heading over tomorrow?”

“Probably in the afternoon. I’ll go as soon as I wake up.”

I had a habit of staying up until 3 or 4 a.m., for no particular reason other than that’s what kids my age did.

“Why? Don’t you have work?”

Dad had spent the past two weeks rushing from one obligation to another, fulfilling his duties as a department head for S Group.

He chuckled, ruffling my hair.

“My work is at the exhibition. I’m one of the supervisors there.”

“…You’re in IT security, though. Doesn’t that seem… unrelated?”

Tapping his thigh, Dad explained:

“I was in charge of CCTV and security systems. But since someone from Atlantis arrived, I handed over most responsibilities. Now, I just oversee things.”

“So… like the other supervisors, you get to wander around and enjoy yourself?”

“Hey! It’s still work, okay?”

His grin betrayed him.

“Think of it this way: I get to spend time exploring with my son.”

Dad clearly had no intention of hiding his excitement.

“Where should we meet tomorrow? Want me to pick you up?”

“No need to go out of your way. The venue’s closed. If it feels too far, I’ll just grab a taxi.”

He nodded, satisfied with the plan, and patted my head again.

“I wish I could go too,” Mom said wistfully from the couch.

“Me too!” Yoon chimed in.

Both had planned to join us initially, but…

Oh, right. The guided tour.

Ms. Lee had arranged a private tour for them to keep them entertained.

While both were thrilled about it, the timing clashed with tomorrow’s plans.

“Don’t worry, the guide will take you there eventually.”

Their guide was flexible, able to take them anywhere they wanted.

Still, I told them to enjoy themselves before joining me.

Reassured, they cheered up and headed to their rooms for the night, leaving just Dad and me in the living room.

The TV droned on in the background, but we didn’t speak much.

Sometimes, silence between father and son could feel warm enough to say everything.

“Ha-eun.”

“Hm? What’s up?”

Dad broke the silence, his tone soft but serious.

“Your mom’s been getting better, hasn’t she?”

“Yeah. It’s such a relief.”

Was he talking about Mom’s health?

“Do you think… maybe it’s thanks to you?”

“…What?”

The sudden shift in topic threw me.

Looking at my confused face, Dad chuckled quietly.

“I mean, think about it. The paintings you’ve done—like the shark or the family portrait. And now, Heo Mu-seol. Those might’ve had an impact.”

“…Maybe.”

I had suspected as much.

Mom often spent time in my studio, sitting with me as I worked.

“Could Heo Mu-seol’s aura have helped her?”

It didn’t seem likely.

After all, the painting was anything but comforting.

Heo Mu-seol was like a living blizzard, a frozen storm come to life.

Who would find solace in a force of nature’s wrath?

Reading my thoughts, Dad offered his perspective:

“I think it’s because you’re the one who painted them.”

For our family, even the coldest of your works feels warm.

Leaving me with those words, he wished me goodnight and headed to his room.

Alone in the quiet living room, I mulled over what he’d said.

“Maybe I still don’t fully understand my family.”

“The view’s amazing,” Ms. Lee said, whistling as she admired the city streets.

“You look like a middle-aged man, Ms. Lee.”

“I’m a young lady, thank you.”

“Middle-aged.”

“Say that again, I dare you.”

Sometimes, I wondered how she managed to remind me of Mom so much.

Maybe because she felt less like a teacher and more like an old friend.

“Are you and my mom secretly sisters or something, Ms. Lee?”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It’s not one.”

“From the first day of the new semester, your lunch seat is permanently next to mine.”

Oops. I’d stepped on a landmine.

Ignoring Ms. Lee’s increasingly vengeful expression, I pushed open the door to the Grand Rapids Art Museum (GRAM), where my Heo Mu-seol was being exhibited.

Its placement? The far end of the third floor.

“The judges must’ve already seen it. They wouldn’t put it on the top floor otherwise.”

Based on my research, pieces displayed on the upper floors of this museum were always extraordinary.

“I wonder what their reactions were. It’s a shame I couldn’t witness it.”

I resisted the urge to march straight to my painting. Busting in uninvited might’ve made me look insane.

“I swear that statue just moved!”

“Ghosts don’t exist. They lack a fixed spatial coordinate in our dimension.”

“It moved, I’m telling you!”

How was I supposed to deal with this overly dramatic teacher?

Dragging Ms. Lee along, I climbed to the second floor.

As soon as I stepped foot onto the floor, I paused.

Sniff.

A faint, fresh scent tickled my nose.

Yet, underlying its crispness was an unmistakable chill—a foreboding, melancholic aura.

“Already? I didn’t expect the masterpieces to start overlapping so soon.”

On the third floor, my Heo Mu-seol reigned supreme, but it wasn’t alone. There were two—no, three masterpieces in total.

A modest number, depending on one’s perspective.

To me, however, they were pitifully underwhelming.

“Heo Mu-seol has already consumed them.”

Its aura spread unchecked, devouring the presence of other works. A beast, unleashed, now prowled the exhibition hall.

“You said there weren’t any masterpieces.”

I shot a teasing smirk at Ms. Lee, walking alongside me.

“Wh-what did you make?!”

Her trembling arms clutched at her coat. Shivering, she looked like a leaf about to fall in a gale.

I handed her the padded jacket I’d brought just in case.

“We can discuss my monstrosity later. But first, don’t lie to your students, Ms. Lee.”

Ms. Lee had insisted during our flight that her piece, Gardens of the World, wasn’t a masterpiece.

So, what was this fresh scent if not hers?

“Didn’t you say it wasn’t a masterpiece?” I continued.

Her lips quivered as she avoided my gaze.

The chill radiating from Heo Mu-seol had already descended upon the second floor, sending waves through the nearby works.

As we walked, I noted the second floor’s collection. Impressive pieces, certainly, but the best among them barely rivaled Do-won-hyang.

“I already know how this ends.”

We climbed the stairs toward the third floor, where my dad was waiting.

“Couldn’t you come down and greet us, Dad?”

I threw a light-hearted complaint his way.

“Haha. I wanted to, but…”

Scratching the back of his neck, he gestured behind him.

A bitter chill—more biting than before—billowed down the stairs.

“My son’s definitely a genius,” he said with an awkward laugh. “Even on CCTV, I didn’t realize how intense it was. But the moment they uncovered it this morning…”

Judging by the layers of sweaters and scarves on the staff behind him, they’d tried their best to manage Heo Mu-seol’s cold aura.

But containing it? Impossible.

Unfazed, I offered a practical solution:

“Crank up the heaters and hand out heat packs at the entrance. That should help on the lower floors.”

“…Will that even work?”

“It’s a brute-force fix, but it’s better than nothing.”

Dad looked doubtful but nodded, relaying my suggestion to the staff.

“Honestly, the third floor’s a lost cause. Just accept it and move on.”

As I reached the top step, I was greeted by the sight of my creation, Heo Mu-seol (虚無雪, “The Void Snow”).

Its icy presence dominated the floor, stealing the spotlight from all else.

Placed deliberately at the landing of the stairs, its intent was clear.

“Ah. This feels just like Do-won-hyang’s debut.”

Turning my attention elsewhere, I called back to Ms. Lee:

“Want to see your masterpiece now, Ms. Lee?”

“Can we not…”

Ms. Lee, Dad, and the other staff followed me to the third floor, though most were bundled in heavy winter coats.

As expected, the gallery was otherwise empty.

The museum couldn’t risk letting the general public wander into Heo Mu-seol’s domain.

While Dad had grown used to my painting’s aura, others weren’t so fortunate. Most staff members looked ready to flee, and Ms. Lee clutched her jacket tighter.

“…The world’s really going to flip when they see this,” she murmured, eyes fixed on Heo Mu-seol.

“Oh, they’re not the only ones who’ll be shocked.”

In a quiet corner of the third floor, I stopped in front of another piece.

Its name? Ashes.

The artist? Mercury.

“…One down.”

So, Mercury was one of the three planets participating. That left two more.

Without lingering, I exited the Grand Rapids Art Museum and headed for the LaFontsee Galleries.

That’s where the works of Jupiter and Saturn were housed.

The “Devil of the Art World” couldn’t help but grin as he prepared to meet his next challengers.