Chapter 11
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 11
Gio stood silently in his studio.
His gaze swept over the countless drawers lining all four walls, his mind picturing the paint ingredients sleeping quietly inside them.
After a long moment, Gio finally moved.
“…Let’s go with what I used last time.”
He brought out the materials he had used to create the water birds. But that wasn’t all. He also retrieved gems resembling aquamarine and emerald, along with pebbles from a stream, as white and translucent as marble. He found a piece of an obsidian branch that had been hiding among the trees, pretending to be charred wood. He took out a strip of light green bark so full of life it looked as if sap would burst out if squeezed.
When he felt he had gathered enough, Gio stopped pulling materials from the drawers.
“It’s a pain to put leftovers back, so if I run short, I’ll just grab more later…”
Clack, clatter.
He placed the materials on his workbench.
“…Today’s project.”
Making his own paint.
“Nice.”
Essentially, making oil paint required three things: pigment for color, oil to bind it, and a glass plate and muller to grind them into a fine paste. A painting knife of a suitable size was also necessary for proper mixing.
Of those, Gio was currently focused on creating the pigment that would provide the color.
“First, let’s break these down a bit.”
The materials, fresh from their drawers, couldn’t be used to make proper paint in their current state. They all had to be turned into colored powder, which meant he first needed to crush them.
Gio prepared a sharp nail and a hammer. Staring intently at a translucent gem, he placed the nail on a specific spot and gave it a light tap!
The gem, struck precisely along its cleavage plane, split cleanly in two despite the lack of force.
Gio thought to himself with a smirk:
Damn, I’m good.
This backwoods prodigy knew exactly where a mineral would split just by looking at it.
I should have been a miner.
Gio continued his work.
Clatter.
…
Tap, crack.
Spliiit…!
…
Snap.
“…Right.”
Because he had identified the weakest grain and struck only there, the gem was quickly broken down into pieces smaller than his pinky nail.
“This should do.”
Gio crushed the finely fragmented gems with the hammer, swept the even smaller shards into a ceramic mortar, and began grinding them forcefully with a pestle.
At some point, the harsh, grating sound smoothed out into a soft noise like rolling glass marbles. The gems had been completely reduced to powder.
“…I wonder what the principle behind this is…”
A pigment with a subtle blend of blue and light green was now complete.
“This is troubling. Everything about me is so extraordinary; I just hope I don’t get dragged off to some research lab.”
The materials in his studio were all unique.
Normally, grinding a gemstone yields nothing but dull stone dust. The beautiful, transparent colors of most gems are a result of their molecular structure; grinding them destroys that transparency.
But the gems here were different.
Even when ground, their color and transparency remain perfectly intact.
They retained their original luster even after being processed by an amateur like him—he was truly benefiting from superb materials. When the finely ground powder clumped together, it radiated its characteristic, refreshing transparency.
Silently, Gio turned all the materials into pigment before slowly mixing them with the prepared oil.
Even though he was mixing raw stone dust, the oil and pigment did not separate. Normally, one would have to prepare an oil suited to the specific properties of the pigment, but the wax from his studio demonstrated excellent viscosity and compatibility.
“…And a little scent…”
Going beyond merely creating color, Gio added a matching fragrance. The oil, infused with the scent of flowers and fruits, blended wonderfully with the pigment.
“Grind it, and add it…”
He placed the pigment and scented oil on the glass plate and ground them together.
He worked until the paste felt like silk brushing against his hand.
Extremely fine.
*
The water birds Gio created were far more mischievous than he had expected.
“Kids.”
Clatter.
“You’re giving your dad the creeps.”
They were wriggling inside his collar, trying to build a nest.
They squeezed into his shirt collar, through the slightest gaps in his sleeves, down his pants, and into his jacket—wherever there was a space, the water birds forced themselves in.
Isn’t that uncomfortable?
They were like small water balloons, and the way they squeezed into his clothes, distorting their own shapes, made them look like neither balloons nor birds.
Watching them crumpled up while barely maintaining a round form, Gio stared at the ceiling for a moment.
I’ll let it slide. It’s too ridiculous not to.
“…Maybe they like squeezing into tight spaces because they’re doing it to me, their creator? Or do they just like to hide?”
Water birds had a habit of flocking together. Otherwise, they preferred to pool somewhere. Sometimes, when he stepped outside the cabin, he’d be surprised by puddles of water even though it hadn’t rained.
They’re definitely different from ordinary puddles, so they’re easy to spot.
The puddles where they gathered had a faint blue tint, were strangely transparent, and had various trinkets rolling around inside them. It was ironic, considering they didn’t feel viscous at all when they clumped together in their usual round bird forms.
“They look just like regular water, though.”
Rustle.
“If you keep making a fuss, I might just stick a straw in you and drink you.”
Rustle, rustle.
“I was joking. I won’t drink you. Even I think that sounded creepy.”
Living water—how could anyone drink such a thing?
“Eating something alive, drinking paint, or consuming the children I created… all of that is physiologically impossible for me.”
Clatter?
“Your filial piety is touching, but the thought of you offering your bodies if your father is thirsty is just terrifying. You’d better restrain yourselves.”
Gio, having this nonsensical conversation with his children—now numbering in the hundreds—was sitting in his studio.
“I need to make you a home.”
At first, he hadn’t thought much of it, but having living, moving water wandering around the house was becoming quite distracting. If they just quietly clumped together, it wouldn’t matter, but they often came into the house to cause trouble or steal things. Gio could overlook that as cute, but they also occasionally hid in the stream.
“I’ve said this before, but I really don’t want to drink you. It was a slip of the tongue, kids.”
Ssh.
“No, stop. Don’t make your dad out to be some kind of creep. I just wanted to drink some water.”
He had almost actually swallowed a water bird.
“Do you have any idea how shocked I was when you popped out of my mouth? Yes, you—the one with nothing in your belly right now.”
The only way to distinguish a water bird was by its faint glow and the trinkets inside it. When one completely assimilated with the stream water without carrying any items, it was impossible to tell it apart. Gio’s heart had dropped when he felt the water wriggling in his mouth. The culprits themselves didn’t seem to mind—in fact, they surprisingly seemed to like it—but Gio had no such merciless tastes.
“You guys need a home, too.”
Clatter, clack?
“You need your own habitat.”
It wasn’t like they lacked money, time, or land. Why should they be freeloading in this vast, abundant world?
“And…”
He also had his own reasons.
“I’m planning to decorate this place, bit by bit.”
Tap, tap, snap!
“Because right now, it’s too monotonous.”
A single cabin, a vast forest, and a beautiful spring. That alone was not enough.
“I should make a fishing spot.”
There was a reason the popularity of open-world RPGs varied so wildly. A map shouldn’t just be vast; it had to be rich with things to enjoy.
“Not that this place is a game, but I still need to develop it further. It’s the same principle.”
Right now, Gio’s outdoor activities were limited to gathering and farming at best. He had to expand the available content one by one so he wouldn’t get bored without even having to leave the painting.
“For some reason, I can’t bring myself to like the outside world right now.”
Vrr.
“Maybe it’s because it’s not the world I remember…”
Vr.
“I don’t want to live there.”
Gio liked it inside the painting.
“Besides, the unemployed life is great.”
Actually, that was the best part.
“…Now, get out.”
Clack! Click!
“I don’t mind you watching me paint, but it’s distracting when you’re inside my clothes. My poor shirt looks like it’s about to burst.”
Clatter…
“Do you think your dad is doing this for himself, kids? Remember, this is all to build you a home.”
Fortunately, the water birds obediently crawled out of Gio’s clothes.
Thanks to his children, who actually listened when spoken to, Gio was finally able to hold his brush.
He spoke his thoughts aloud.
“If I’m going to fish…”
A large lake would be nice.
“Let’s make it a lake.”
A lake where the trees and water meet perfectly. Fish would live beneath its surface—tiny minnows that flowed in from the stream, and flatfish hiding buried in the sand at the bottom.
“Nice.”
He would also make a bridge to fish from. A wooden bridge spanning the middle of the lake. Maybe the color was a bit too light? A soft, pale color like freshly baked bread would be nice. The lake water, peeking through the wooden planks, would sparkle in the sunlight.
What would it look like in the evening?
Every time the wind blew, the water’s surface would glow like a soft lantern.
When night fell and it grew dark, he wanted the depths to be clearly visible. He wanted to see all the way to the bottom. It would be a bright yet gentle glow, like a glow-in-the-dark bracelet from childhood, admired under a thick blanket where only he could see it.
“…It would also be nice if the color changed depending on your mood.”
Rustle.
“Gold on good days, red on bad days, blue on sad or gloomy days… and green on ordinary, peaceful days.”
Rustle, rustle.
“Since you don’t have vocal cords, you can’t cry out.”
If he couldn’t hear them, he would make it so he could see them.
“That way, I can talk to you, too.”
Although Gio was the creator of the water birds, he couldn’t control them at will. He didn’t know what they were thinking. Their forms were faint and they were silent, making it impossible to know where they were unless he listened closely.
I almost swallowed one for a reason. I have to prevent that from ever happening again.
If not for their mischievous and communicative nature, Gio would never have been able to find them.
That felt a little sad.
“I’ll visit you when night falls. We can talk then.”
Ssh.
“If you glow like that in the dark, I’ll be able to see you even from the cabin. Yes, that’ll work. I’ll watch you from the veranda, so you can tell me whatever you want to say.”
Ssh, ssh.
“Right.”
Gio moved his brush again.
“Let’s do that.”
The lake he painted held the night within it.
“…I like it.”
The lake didn’t have just one color. The water birds liked to clump together, but the treasures they kept inside themselves were all different. Their personalities were different. Their speech, thoughts, and actions were bound to be entirely distinct.
So the complaints or boasts they whisper every night will all be different, too.
With his brush, he placed their clusters of light one by one.
“It looks just like pointillism.”
Up close, I’ll be able to tell which of you is struggling or hurting, and which is joyful and happy.
From afar, I’ll be able to see what all of you are trying to tell me, and when I should come over to comfort and talk to you.
“Nice.”
It even looked like a flower bed blooming on the water’s surface. Perhaps because it was painted with handmade paint, it felt inexplicably fresh, despite clearly being water.
“Good.”
Or perhaps like fireflies, or the forest butterflies resembling sunlight and moonlight that fluttered around here. Or maybe it resembled the sparkle of clear lights reflected in a windowpane.
By the time Gio finished painting all of their emotions, the lake was dyed in golden light.
“…I think it’s good.”
The thrill of bringing something from his imagination into reality was indescribable.
This lake would be situated a bit far from the cabin, clearly separated from the spring. The trees standing at its very edge would remain lush and green.
“During the day, it will be blue.”
If you scooped up the water, it would be as clear as if it held the sky. Its depths would be a cold blue like the sea, and the glistening ripples where the sunlight touched would look almost white. And wouldn’t his many water birds hide and move around in there, occasionally popping their heads out to play when they got bored?
“At night, you’ll sparkle however you want…”
Sparkle like water made of mist.
“Scattering light.”
Like infants giggling at the slightest breeze, you will shine brightly.
Imagining it made him feel wonderful.
Tap.
When he tapped the canvas, the painting vanished.
Perhaps it was just his imagination, but the scent of water drifted in from afar. It was a subtle fragrance, so soothing that the mere smell of it made him want to lie down on the moss and fall asleep.
Scented water with nothing in it… is it similar to the White Tree Spring Water?
Sensing the new fragrance, the bird on his shoulder shifted, and the one perched on the canvas fluttered its wings.
Flap-flap-flap—!
Chirp, chirp!
Rustle-rustle-rustle—.
Click, click!
Splash…!
The countless birds that had been hanging from the light fixture flew out through the open window. Their energetic wingbeats, like migratory birds returning to their homeland, felt as refreshing as a breeze blowing in from the seashore.
Gio smiled.
As expected, he liked it.
And the water birds surely would, too.