The Clear-Eyed Madman

My ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠third brother, Denma Lothringen, ran a cultural foundation.

He loved art with all his heart. Enough that he had stepped forward to take over a foundation that made no money at all. The allowance he gave me was nothing to write home about, but… he was the brother who had played with me the most when I was little.

Which meant we were really close.

Of course, I got along fine with all my siblings, but still.

"Otto. I've been hearing your name a lot these days."

"Ugh. Tell me about it. Living is hard…"

Denma knew full well that I hated work.

He snickered and dipped his head.

"Sorry, sorry. I wasn't actually planning to call you in, but… well, it's official business, and you were selected as Cultural Figure of the Year this time, right? That title carries some serious weight."

"What's a Cultural Figure of the Year?"

Isn't that just some kind of Citizen of Courage award?

"Ah. You wouldn't know. Hmm. Simply put… it's a kind of medal. Given to the person who contributed the most to the empire's cultural development."

"A medal?"

In other words, I had contributed so much to the empire's cultural progress through my "cultural heritage excavations" that the empire itself had decided to pin a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠medal on me and publicly praise my merits.

If I had simply focused on making money, I never would have received a medal… but after the vitality tonic, I had deliberately steered my businesses toward unprofitable public works and cultural projects.

Approaching things purely as business always seemed to trigger another jackpot. Public projects weren't free, of course—there were tax breaks, priority selection for support programs, and various other perks—but I figured it was better to take a few benefits and call it a day.

"So the empire is holding an art auction, and with the Cultural Figure of the Year medal, you can attend as a VVIP. That's why I wanted you to participate under our foundation's name."

"There's an auction where the Lothringen name alone doesn't get VVIP treatment?"

That's even weirder.

"The empire is the country of the emperor and the central nobility. Especially at events the empire itself runs, they still place more weight on a noble house's history and tradition."

"Ahh."

So the Lothringens are still treated like nouveau riche.

Well, even back on Earth in my previous life, inner circles had existed.

"Well, if that's all it is…"

"Thanks, Otto."

The Imperial Art Auction.

Artifacts excavated through public works, seized goods secured by customs or the tax office, items once owned by noble houses or merchant groups wiped out for high treason—and so on.

It was an auction where the empire sold off all the artworks it had acquired by various means.

Thanks to that, you could buy pieces cheaper than at ordinary auctions, but without the proper qualifications you couldn't even get through the door. In that sense it was very much a class society. This world might have been a relatively modern fantasy, but the society itself was still a long way from the one I remembered.

Which was why I had been dragged here.

"Well then, shall we take a look at my little brother's eye?"

"I don't have any kind of eye."

"Pick something you like, Otto. You've always had better taste than me."

"Uhhh…"

At this rate I might end up stuck with the cultural projects too.

A thoroughly ominous feeling settled over me.

"I heard you showed exceptional taste at the auction. You'll take charge of the art merchant company."

"Aaaargh! No!"

That scenario wouldn't be strange at all.

This time, for real, I would only buy things that looked completely worthless…

…No. Wait. What if I buy something and it becomes a huge hit again?

Everything that had happened so far had been one long string of cosmic bad luck. There was no guarantee something similar wouldn't happen again.

"That broken porcelain was actually a sacred relic of the Uga Kingdom?!"

"That painting is a hidden posthumous work by the genius painter Davinci!"

"That statue was actually the key to opening an ancient ruin!"

Fuck. Just imagining it is choking ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠me.

Suddenly the entire auction looked like a minefield.

I'm not buying anything.

Ahh. This was what they called a work slowdown.

There was no way I could profit from this.

"Otto. What do you think about bidding on that one?"

"Hmm. Doesn't seem great."

"Really? Then how about this?"

"Not interested."

"Ah, isn't this one nice?"

"Doesn't do it for me."

"Otto! You saved us!"

"What."

"You could tell they were all forgeries, right? The people who won lots that day are tangled up in penalty fees and insurance claims and all sorts of chaos. Even the secondary appraisals by the merchant groups and foundations came back as authentic, and a lot of pieces had already changed hands again."

No. Why is this happening?

This is actual cosmic bad luck.

"Especially for cultural foundations like ours, prestige matters. If word got out that we'd been fooled into buying forgeries, our image would take a hit. High-nosed painters prefer selling their work to people with real taste, not mere merchants. If it weren't for you, we would have been publicly humiliated."

"Ah. Right. That's… fortunate."

My brother grabbed my hands, practically vibrating with excitement.

Denma was that sincere about art.

From childhood he had cared more about painting than running the merchant group. Father had even supported that dream of his.

"Father. Just give me the cultural foundation."

"Mm. If that's your wish, I'll support you."

Thanks to that, my brother had never inherited the merchant group.

No. Hold on. Was this fair?

Denma had gotten one foundation and that was the end of it. Why were they trying to force the entire merchant group onto me?

Maybe I should have picked up a hobby too.

Why did no one support my dream?

I just wanted to be a resting youth!

Why did only my brother's dream get support?!

This was discrimination!

Sob. I hate a world that discriminates even against dreams.

"Ah, this painting is a gift, so take it ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠with you when you leave. Hanging a picture on the wall brightens up a house, doesn't it?"

"Ah, sure. Thanks. Is this an expensive piece?"

"Not particularly. Just a work by a new painter our foundation has been pushing lately. We run a support program for emerging artists, after all."

"Ahh."

What he handed me was a lavish historical painting.

Pretty enough, but a bit much. I'd hang it at the merchant group headquarters.

"If I'd had talent like yours, Otto, I would have painted myself."

"I keep telling you I don't have any talent."

"No. You're a genius, Otto."

"I'm not."

For the record, my brother was under the firm delusion that I was an artistic genius.

All I had done was attend an art academy for a few years in my previous life. Apparently the drawings I had made as a child had looked impressive enough to him. After seeing them, he had broken his own brush.

Instead, he had started sponsoring talented artists.

"Otto. How about properly studying painting, even now?"

"That's a bit…"

Going pro in the arts is insanely hard. I just want to loaf around and eat.

"Shame. Ah, and one more favor?"

"It won't take long, right?"

"Mm. Actually, we're expanding the emerging artists support program this time, but finding suitable artists has been difficult. I wanted the help of your eye."

"I keep telling you I don't have an eye."

"Haha. Always so modest."

"It's not modesty…"

He didn't even wait for my answer before bringing over a few documents. Portfolios and résumés of several painters.

So I just had to pick who to support from among them.

Well, it wasn't a hard request.

I roughly selected one person I liked and handed the papers back to him.

"Hm? Gogh? This man has hand tremors and yellow-tinted vision, so he can't paint finely and can't even see colors properly. You want to sponsor him?"

"Uh-huh."

I didn't look that carefully.

I just picked him because the sunflower painting was pretty.

"Well, art isn't a business. Supporting an artist who doesn't lose his passion even under such harsh conditions is exactly the role of a foundation like ours. As expected, you're different, Otto."

"What."

No. You're forcing a positive spin even on this?

Well, at least it didn't look like it would make money, so that was a relief. No performance pressure made things feel lighter. Though… was "performance pressure" even the right word? Why did the world seem to be running backwards?

Was being a resting youth really this hard?

"Then I'll put this one under your name as the sponsor."

"Do you have to?"

"Haha. You picked him, after all. Besides, we're sponsoring plenty of others. The artists I originally had in mind were different people."

"Well, whatever."

If that was the case, why even ask me?

I wasted time staying at my brother's cultural foundation.

Mmm. This was rest.

Secondment is the best.

Life at the foundation suited me surprisingly well. All I did was go to auctions with my brother and then rest at the hotel when they were over. Ah, I didn't want to go back to the merchant group. I wished I could just keep resting like this forever.

"Otto!"

"Oh, hyung. Another auction we need to—"

"As expected! You're a genius!"

"Huh?"

He thrust a newspaper magic tool at me.

What is this.

Something like this had happened before. Anxiety surged through me all at once.

No. Seriously, what?

I hadn't actually done anything this time, had I?

"What on earth is this."

Excuse me? What exactly did I do?

"Otto, your eye is on a completely different level from mine."

Denma's eyes flashed with pure madness.

"So I'm spinning off the foundation's emerging artists support program and putting you in char—"

"I don't want to."

"I already told Father."

"What?"

"The paperwork's already finished, so I'm counting on you from now on."

"What?"

This art-obsessed maniac was serious.

Why did he keep dumping work on me?!