I Became an Artist in a Romantic Comedy Chapter 85

It was my first ti truly venturing into the library, not just peeking inside.

I never had a reason to co here before. During my first year, I mostly stayed in the classroom.

‘But I didn’t expect to find a doodle here.’

Not that I could’ve known since I’d never been here.

Even though seeing the doodle didn’t trigger anything unusual, I thought I’d take a nap to relax—but, as always, my unease proved correct.

‘What the hell is this…?’

I wasn’t in the library or even the school anymore.

I found myself in a dimly lit room with no windows to gauge the ti or weather outside.

Despite the 18 years that had passed, the place felt eerily familiar.

"Of all the mories, it had to be this one," I muttered.

Though it wasn’t my mory, it must have been the mont my ntor visited—back in my old studio.

The room was cluttered with various paintings, including masterpieces like [Seiren] and [Gumiho], leaning haphazardly against the walls.

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 ss, I hadn’t let go of my brush back then.

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

"But why is no one here?"

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

The room was empty except for 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 and my ntor.

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 ntor and I had also parted ways.

I spent so ti 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 sigh.

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

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

This was why one’s environnt was so important.

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

"I have no intention of doing so."

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

Watching the fragnts of the past, mories I’d long forgotten ca 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 mories, but I could vaguely recall deciding to run away from ho the mont I got this studio.

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

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

At the ti, I had nowhere else to go.

‘I just wish soone had reached out to stop .’

But by the ti my ntor realized how lost I was, it was too late.

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

And that final work marked the end of that drive.

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

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 overco 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 sneered at my ntor’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 once."

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

‘What a hopeless brat.’

Though I often cursed my ntor 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 over the years.

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

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

But he couldn’t save from the abyss.

No ntor 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 to reconsider.

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

‘Poor ntor. Of all the students, he had to choose soone like .’

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

After watching the young 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 sothing significant this ti, but it was the sa as before—

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

‘Wait, why isn’t it ending?’

The previous two mories had ended shortly after my ntor left.

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

I also noticed sothing strange.

I frowned and looked at the younger .

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

‘What’s wrong with this guy? Shifting bla to soone else like that?’

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

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

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

It wasn’t part of my mory.

Was this so sort of prank my ntor had devised?

"The first ti I t my ntor, it was kind of fun," the younger 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 , seated in front of a massive canvas, turned and looked directly at .

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

"Say sothing. Didn’t you co here because you had questions?"

"Uh… Can you see ?"

"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 ntor’s intention?"

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

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

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

"Where is my ntor now?"

"The National Art Museum in Beijing, China."

"And [Angel]? Where is it?"

"The Louvre Museum in Paris, sa 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 and [Angel]?

To my surprise, the younger 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 ti I’d learned about my ntor’s whereabouts or the effects [Angel] had on .

The painting, a representation of pride and the final piece in the series, had been ticulously 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 ntor had reincarnated , why he’d brought the masterpieces here, and how he’d managed it in the first place.

The younger seed to know everything, as if the final doodle contained all of my ntor’s mories.

‘I knew sothing felt off the mont he could see .’

It was fascinating, even if slightly unsettling.

"How did you get in here?"

"How else? I ca 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 seed trustworthy enough.

The younger 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 ssy-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 ntor can answer. I doubt you could tell ."

"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 ti looking at every single one."

"Well, you’re supposed to."

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

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

"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.