Chapter 11
Chapter 11
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 11
Chapter Title: Ep 3. Mistaken for a Monstrous Genius Artist Right Off the Bat
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11.
I woke up in the morning to the sound of rain.
Plip-plop, plip-plop.
Not a light drizzle.
A fierce downpour that suited the expression shooooaaaah much better.
"No wonder my knee was hurting."
The knee I'd had surgery on after an accident in the military always throbbed and ached whenever it rained. I gently wrapped my hand around the knee that felt hot to the touch, then slipped on the knee protector I'd brought from Seoul.
Then, carefully, I opened the door.
"Whoa, the rain's way heavier than I thought."
A downpour even fiercer than I'd imagined greeted me. With visibility reduced to zero by the raging rain, I stepped out of the room and shut the door.
With rain like this, I wouldn't be able to get anything done today.
Painting on a rainy day meant the paints wouldn't dry properly, and cleaning felt stuffy and unpleasant. No helping it.
Today would have to be a play day.
"Ah, seriously. I was planning to deep clean today, too."
I'd planned to clean up and paint the walls to decorate the studio. But with the rain, there was nothing for it. Feeling a deep pang of regret, I headed to the kitchen.
I pulled out the kimchi my mom had given me, chopped it up finely for easy eating, then added just a touch of sugar, along with some pancake mix, water, kimchi juice, and spicy chili powder. Mixed it all up into kimchi jeon batter.
Grabbing the batter along with some oil, a burner, a frying pan, and a handful of shaved pork belly, I dashed to the pavilion where I'd set up the tent.
"Rainy days call for kimchi jeon."
I set the pan on the burner hooked up to the gas, poured in a generous amount of oil, and ladled in the batter. First batch plain, no meat.
I fried up the kimchi jeon crispy on the outside and moist on the inside, then popped a piece into my mouth.
Kimchi jeon enjoyed to the sound of falling rain.
"Ah, I can't hold back."
I got up, braved the rain back to the kitchen, and came out with makgeolli and a cup. On a rainy day like this, eating delicious kimchi jeon without makgeolli? That'd be a crime.
I gave the makgeolli a light shake to mix it, poured some into the cup, and took a sip.
"Kuuuuh."
Perfection.
Maybe it was because it'd been so long since my last drink, but my tongue was tingling. A sip of makgeolli followed by a bite of crispy kimchi jeon. Now this was art—what else could be?
I demolished one jeon in seconds, then tossed some shaved pork belly into the pan, let it sizzle a bit, and poured more batter on top.
Plain kimchi jeon was good, squid kimchi jeon was good too. But in my opinion, the best was the one I was making right now: meat-filled kimchi jeon.
Kimchi fried in pork belly fat was already so tasty.
How much better would the jeon be, fried in that same fat?
"Kuuuuh, killer."
I shoved a bite of the finished pork belly kimchi jeon into my mouth and let out a sigh of admiration. Compared to the plain one earlier, this was on another level—nutty, oily perfection.
And with makgeolli to wash it down? I couldn't just sit there.
I pushed through the rain to my room, grabbed my guitar, brought it back, and started playing.
Someone might think, rainy day, kimchi jeon, makgeolli—what's with the guitar? But that's exactly when you need music.
Where's the romance otherwise?
Well, it might look more like drunken nonsense than romance. But to me, the line between crazy antics and pure romance was paper-thin.
With the art festival in full swing...
The hottest spot on Namhae Island had to be...
The house with the murals, no contest.
The house with the wall depicting a massive whale shark gliding through the night sky and another where the wall crumbled into the deep sea. Promoted by Baek Sang-yeon and featured by a famous travel YouTuber, those murals had become an essential stop on the art festival circuit.
"Ah, I'm not really into murals. I went to that mural village last time—super lame."
"This is different from those places. Right?"
"...Yeah, it is."
A distinctive art style.
Colors that stuck in your memory after one glance.
Unlike other mural villages, these were one-of-a-kind, viewable only here. Even people prejudiced against murals from those other spots dropped their biases to admire them or snap photos in front.
And that held true even on rainy days.
"Whoa, people here despite this rain."
Not a light sprinkle—an outright downpour heavy enough to make umbrellas sag—yet a few folks had gathered in front of the mural wall.
"Guessed wrong on the crowd dodge?"
"Nah, still way fewer than yesterday."
Figuring no weirdos would brave the rain for photos, the two had ditched their other plans to head for the wall. They adjusted their umbrellas and approached slowly.
'Huh?'
But something odd caught their eye.
A female student crouched between the wall and the iron gate. She didn't look like she was there to take photos—more like waiting for something. Glancing around, the two realized...
'Why's everyone like that?'
She wasn't the only one.
Not a single person gathered at the wall seemed interested in posing for photos. They were just standing there quietly or chatting softly, as if appreciating something.
"What's going on?"
Curiosity piqued, the two drew a little closer.
And soon, they heard it.
"The coming season.
The season without you."
A song voice drifting from beyond the wall.
Guitar mingled with the patter of rain. A voice so clear and powerful it cut through the playing. A new song they'd never heard before, with an old-school vibe.
There was a word: anemoia.
Not a song title. If nostalgia was longing for childhood scents and real memories, anemoia was feeling imagery and memories for times you'd never lived through.
And this song—no, this voice—was exactly that.
Listening made you feel it. Something you'd clearly never experienced. Not from childhood. Never heard songs like this. First time here, for sure.
Yet an inexplicable longing welled up.
The fierce rain drumming on umbrellas, the scent of rain and summer, faint guitar strains, a voice evoking unknown longing and comfort.
The people stood dazed, listening to that voice.
And from that day, a strange rumor began circulating on Namhae Island.
"You hear the rumor?"
"What rumor?"
"That house with the murals. They say sometimes there's a performance at night."
The mural house.
A very peculiar rumor that performances happened there occasionally.
"For real."
"Around 9? I went. Whoa, the song was insane."
"Right?"
The originators were members of a dance team performing at the summer art festival. People dismissed it at first—no recording, no proof.
"I heard it too. The mural house, yeah?"
"Yep."
"Rainy day, heard it with a friend. So good."
"Yeah. Not just us—maybe 10 people?"
"Haaa, it was unreal."
The next day, more who'd heard it backed up the dance team members. It wasn't a lie—they'd heard an insanely captivating song.
Not one or two, but over ten people—even passersby—said so. Curiosity drew folks to the mural house wall at the rumored late hour.
To hear that song.
"...My head hurts."
The day after bingeing kimchi jeon and makgeolli.
I cradled my aching head.
This damn hangover.
I used to handle my liquor better.
Had I gotten weak from not drinking?
To kill the hangover that felt like it could split my skull, I mixed honey water with the honey rolling around the house, drank it, and lay down on the pavilion.
As if the rain had never happened, today's weather was brilliantly clear.
Wow, the weather's amazing.
Days like this call for a stroll.
But I couldn't. I'd done nothing yesterday—if I slacked today too, I'd keep putting off work. Plus, High New's concert was in two days.
"Can't have that."
No matter how unemployed I was, I couldn't devolve into a total lazy bum. Forcing my reluctant body up, I headed to the warehouse.
I picked up where I'd left off on cleaning and organizing. First, swept out all the trash and dust with a broom, then mopped with water, and wiped down perfectly dry.
Mold on the ceiling and in corners got scrubbed clean with mold remover. Then the studio supplies that'd arrived last night—I'd already moved them to the warehouse ahead of time.
I attached sound-absorbing panels to kill echoes and divided the space with partitions. The area with the one window became painting space; the windowless section split by pillars got the panels for music only.
Ideally, a full soundproof studio, but that was too pricey. So panels and thick blankets to muffle sound.
On the floor, soft kids' mats instead of tiles, and I hauled in the work computer, synthesizer, and all other necessities.
Music studio complete.
Now for the painting studio. Easy chair for drawing, table for paints, all the rest. Then, paints in hand, to the big wall by the window.
Unlike the opposite soundproofed wall, this one was blank—I'd fill it with my own art.
Not a huge mural like before, or the Ksee Enter commission. Smaller pictures, multiple ones. Starting with childhood fave animes sketched in chalk, impressive paintings I'd seen, album arts I loved—things I liked or that influenced me directly or indirectly.
"That's it for today."
I wanted to finish everything, but I was beat. Tomorrow for the rest. With that thought, I closed up the warehouse and headed to the pavilion with my guitar.
Like yesterday, some pre-bedtime song practice and work. Who knew when I'd record, or even release—but steady practice couldn't hurt.
"No lingering regrets.
That those words aren't true."
This time, a different song from yesterday—the other one that came while painting. No matter how hard I racked my brain, melodies wouldn't come before. But one painting session, and they flooded in.
Really something, huh.
Clap clap clap.
Lost in those thoughts while singing and practicing. Then clapping sounds. I blinked, set down the guitar.
What was that?
Misheard?
No, definitely claps. Prank? Or from mural sightseers?
I shook off the ridiculous thoughts popping up—ghosts, phantoms, whatever—and called practice done for the night.
Next morning.
I painted over the chalk base sketches to finish the mural. From morning till late evening. Dozens of small pictures filling the wall—I nodded in satisfaction.
"Looks good."
A bit different feel from the earlier mural or the Ksee Enter piece. But this vibe worked too.
A little rough in spots, sure.
But no one would see it.
"And done."
Beaming proudly at my handiwork—well, I hadn't done any real construction. Just decorating.—my studio.
From now on, make songs here, paint, edit YouTube vids, and goof off to my heart's content. Yeah, the point wasn't work—it was "playing."
Hobby life, not job.
Study weak spots too.
Song practice today? Studio's done—might as well try it here. Absolutely not because I got spooked by last night's claps.
For real.
Just testing the new space. Muttering that excuse to no one, I practiced late into the night in my finally completed studio.
And the next day.
To keep my promise with Kim Jin-gyu and catch High New's concert—the group handling the "super" in "super luxury casting"—I got ready to leave at 11 a.m.
Concert at 5, so early, but I'd sightsee the festival too. Realized I hadn't properly enjoyed it once during the whole run.
It's a festival—gotta see some, right?
"Excuse me."
All prepped, stepped out.
One of the mural viewers spoke up.
"Yes?"
"Any performance today, by chance?"
"???"
Performance?
What the hell?