Chapter 14
Chapter 14
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 14
Chapter Title: Commission (2)
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As soon as we arrived at the art room, its distinctive musty smell greeted us.
Even with frequent ventilation, that odor from paints, pastels, paper, and so on never quite went away.
I sank into memories, recalling the days before my possession when I'd prepared for art school entrance exams.
It was the same smell as back then.
Of course, the place where I'd slaved away drawing wasn't the school art room but an art academy, but the canvases and white sheets of paper inside the classroom created the same atmosphere.
"Oh..."
Han Cheong-ah let out a soft exclamation as she looked around.
"The art room after hours feels so special."
Unlike during class, it was serene and quiet.
Piles of pristine watercolor paper stacked neatly.
Art supplies like paints, brushes, and pencils arranged in perfect order.
The landscape formed by all these art materials almost resembled the atelier of some nameless, obscure painter.
"It's different from how it looks during class, right? So, why don't you take a seat here?"
Han Cheong-ah sat down in a statue-like, perfectly still pose.
I observed her while fetching a trash bin and began sharpening pencils with a cutter knife.
"Even if you think I'm pretty, staring so intently is a problem, Do-hyun."
"I have to observe the model closely to draw it."
"Heh. A great excuse to legally ogle a beautiful girl."
"Keep sassing me, and I won't draw you."
"Sorry."
I gripped the pencil properly in a sketching pose.
This familiar, nostalgic feel was something I hadn't experienced since my entrance exam days.
After college, I'd been drawing with programs like Clip Studio or Photoshop on a tablet.
The thought of drawing someone on a blank canvas after so long made my heart race.
"Cheong-ah."
"Yes."
"Let's begin."
The technique I planned to use now was watercolor.
The art room only had watercolor paints, and since entrance exam students practiced watercolor obsessively—and I'd never learned oils—it was the most familiar method to me.
The biggest drawback was how quickly the paper turned to mush from the water, but fortunately, the art room's supply paper wasn't cheap pulp watercolor stock; it was high-quality cotton paper.
I began drawing lines on the drawing paper atop the canvas with my pencil.
Not too heavily, so the form lines wouldn't show through boldly.
Light enough that the paint colors could easily wash them away.
I started sketching Han Cheong-ah in a bright tone, adding shading naturally without stiffness.
Scratch, scratch... The only sound in the quiet art room was the busy movement of my pencil.
Facing her directly like this to draw felt like being a painter sketching a beautiful sculpture.
I'd designed her myself, but the living, breathing, dynamically moving girl before me wasn't just a creation of mine—she was a beautiful young woman in her own right.
By the time the black lines had gathered to form Han Cheong-ah's shape...
I voiced the question I'd been holding inside.
"Cheong-ah."
"Why do you call me, Do-hyun?"
"Can I ask you something I'm curious about?"
"Of course."
I kept my pencil moving busily as I spoke.
"What is it about my drawings that you like so much?"
"You mean the reason I like them?"
"Yeah. Thinking about it now, I wonder if they're really worth going to the trouble of requesting..."
I was confident I could draw Han Cheong-ah better than anyone in this world, but I sensed her attraction to my art stemmed from something else.
Artworks, especially paintings, gained value through collectors' perspectives and gazes.
A scribble meaningless to others could fetch hundreds of millions at auction because it held appeal for collectors.
I was curious what charm she'd found in my drawings from that angle.
All I'd given her were ten one-minute croquis sketches with just basic forms and faces.
"Hmm."
Han Cheong-ah seemed to ponder deeply.
I smirked.
"Just that it's a novel experience?"
"No, not that."
Han Cheong-ah slowly shook her head side to side.
"I was just choosing my words carefully. I owe a proper critique to someone who's drawing me so beautifully."
Her tone was more serious than ever.
The oddly subdued atmosphere made me seal my lips and continue with the pencil.
A moment later, she spoke.
"It made me feel alive."
"Huh?"
It was an incredibly abstract critique.
As I paused my pencil, Han Cheong-ah met my eyes clearly.
Then heavy words flowed from her lips.
"This is a secret I've never told anyone but Miyuki, but... I suffer from amnesia."
"..."
I knew that already.
I recalled the original story in my head.
Han Cheong-ah was first discovered at age 15.
About three years ago—from now—the Fifth Wave, one of the greatest disasters in human history.
Rifts around the world became hyperactive, unleashing billions of Dimensional Beasts across the globe.
The sight of them pouring from the rifts resembled crashing ocean waves, so the catastrophe was officially named "Waves."
The Fifth Wave claimed countless hunters and civilians; even South Korea, considered the safest country, suffered hundreds of thousands of casualties in the worst disaster.
Han Cheong-ah was an unidentified girl found amid millions of Dimensional Beasts surging from a South Korean rift during the Fifth Wave.
"I have no memories before age 15."
She confided her secret to me.
"I don't remember my family, if I had friends, or even who I was. All I retained were basics like how to speak, breathe, or hold a spoon or chopsticks."
Han Cheong-ah wore her usual calm, expressionless face.
She spoke as casually as if recounting everyday trivia.
"Losing my memories is like losing myself. Realizing everything I'd built up in the past was gone left my life feeling empty. All my past efforts and joys were just illusions, after all."
"..."
"I'm afraid that someday—like the last fifteen years—this will vanish into illusion too. That it all means nothing, just like my forgotten past."
Her words brought the word "dream" to mind.
Dreams are volatile memories.
Upon waking, humans naturally forget dream contents.
The vivid emotions and events felt in dreams all vanish from the brain.
Not a single tearful sorrow or joyful laugh remains.
Even their forms crumble to dust without trace.
Han Cheong-ah's story felt like that of someone trapped in a dream.
Fear seeped through her composed tone.
"But."
Han Cheong-ah gazed at me with a gentle smile.
"Your drawings give me the strength to resist that fear."
She placed a hand over her chest.
"Watching myself as seen through your eyes beautifully take shape on the white paper makes me realize I'm no illusion..."
It tells her the present holds meaning, a message to herself.
Even if she loses her memories again, seeing the drawings would let her remember this moment.
It feels like leaving faint traces in this world, and that makes her happy.
That was Han Cheong-ah's confession to me.
The sky was smeared scarlet, like painted with pastels.
The setting sun, that intense source, dyed everything in its hue.
Even the art room in some sprawling academy city school was bathed in crimson.
Her pink hair sparkled in the sunset glow, swaying in the soft breeze.
Han Cheong-ah brushed her hair back with her hand so it wouldn't cover her face.
The scene looked just like a frame from a movie...
"So, from now on, I want to keep asking you to draw me lots and lots. Drawing a beautiful girl like me must be enjoyable for you too, right?"
As a bonus, she'd pay a nice commission fee, she added.
I averted my gaze from Han Cheong-ah's eyes and turned my head slightly.
Being praised for my art always felt good, but...
I hadn't expected my drawings to hold such profound meaning for someone.
Feeling strangely embarrassed, I couldn't meet her eyes properly.
"Shall we take a break?"
"Sure."
I set down my pencil.
I owed a proper reward to my first customer who'd given such a great response.
"I don't do portraits."
At my abrupt words, Han Cheong-ah looked at me quizzically.
"People have countless expressions, and their impressions change endlessly with outfits and settings, so defining one person's image with a single portrait is incredibly arrogant."
"What does that..."
"It's a favorite quote of mine."
It was from an art textbook.
I couldn't recall who said it after all this time, but the content had stuck with me vividly.
"The painter who said it probably meant they refused to do portraits... but I interpreted it differently."
I smiled as I spoke.
"It means people are such wonderful models that you could draw them endlessly."
"So..."
"I'll capture your image on this paper from now on. As much as you want."
For the first time, Han Cheong-ah smiled brightly.
Her smile bloomed like a sunflower in a garden.
To think a person's smile could be this beautiful.
I had to draw this moment.
I resolved myself.