Chapter 4

The Painter Who Draws Dungeons — Chapter 4

A long, pale hand rummaging through neatly dried, light-sky-blue petals.

It was Gio.

“Hm.”

He was making medicine.

“This should be dry enough.”

It had been eleven days since he dried the baibameunil flowers that he’d thoroughly cooked atop the leaves of the dorongdorong tree.

The flowers, dried crisp under warm breezes and sunlight, gave off almost no scent.

It felt different from the deep fragrance that had flowed out when he first boiled them in water to draw out the toxins.

“Would the scent come back if I put them in water again.”

Muttering softly, Seo Gio packed the well-dried flowers one by one into a sterilized glass bottle.

“I’m not sure this will really make a good hemostatic medicine if I brew it into tea... no matter how kindly I look at it, isn’t this just flower tea?”

Gio’s eyes shifted to another tray.

It was the tray where he had been drying mangdung berries.

“...”

The mangdung berries that had dried down to the size of raisins in just eleven days had, strangely, turned a deep yellow color.

“It feels like the more you dry these, the stronger the scent gets.”

When it came to scent, mangdung berries and baibameunil were complete opposites.

Mangdung berries grew more fragrant the more you dried them, while baibameunil, conversely, grew less fragrant.

“...”

Gio’s eyes, calculating what he needed to do going forward, blinked twice in quick succession.

“...If I want them dried enough to grind into powder, there’s still a long way to go.”

You brat, you’re moist.

“You’re qualified to become my colleague, crispy outside and tender inside potato fries.”

He coolly gave up on the mangdung berries, took only the baibameunil, and went back into the cabin.

The system had explained that baibameunil medicinal tea would be a great help for hemostasis and immunity.

It just hadn’t told him exactly what temperature, or how much, he should take.

‘Does that mean I can figure it out myself?

This system friend seems to trust me too much—maybe it shouldn’t, if possible.

I’m just a fresh Gangwon potato...’

With that in mind, Gio decided to brew the tea however he liked.

Magnificent potato Seo Gio also had talent for the tea ceremony.

“...Mm...”

Gio set the glass bottle of flowers on the table and paused.

“...”

As if a computer were rebooting, he stood blankly for a moment, then opened his mouth.

“I don’t think there was any tea ware.”

Tea ware.

In simple terms, teacups.

“Right?”

More fully put, it meant a teapot and teacups.

Seo Gio, deeply interested in gourmet things, also knew well about the tea ware used to brew tea.

First there was a teapot for steeping leaves; then there were teacups to pour the brewed tea into, a cooling vessel to cool it, a discard vessel to pour out the tea and keep only the aroma—there were many kinds of tea ware.

Among them, Gio decided to make only a teapot and teacups.

“Let’s go to the studio.”

Fortunately, Gio had an ability to turn paintings into real objects.

“To think I’d get superpowers at this age... as expected, no matter how much of a jaded adult you are, if you keep a bit of childlike innocence in your heart, you can become a magical girl someday.”

So said a 29-year-old man.

“I, a potato—magnificent potato.”

Under the beautiful names of friendship and peace and love, Gio honorably ignored the noteworthy changes his life was undergoing.

‘The direction I go is the road.’

Even if it was a derailed roller coaster.

Perhaps in consideration of him living so thoughtlessly, this world helped Gio in many ways.

It was the same with the cabin’s structure, furniture, and household goods; reflecting Seo Gio’s tastes—who had continued drawing various works even after becoming a teacher—there was also a studio.

Gio went up to the second floor and headed straight for the studio that took up half the floor.

“Let’s see...”

He sat down in front of an easel with a canvas set on it.

There were various paints and brushes in forms familiar to Gio.

“What should I draw, and how.”

What Gio needed to draw was tea ware.

It would hold baibameunil flower tea brimming with a vanilla fragrance.

If you’re going to do it, you might as well do it well.

Since it didn’t cost more money to put in more effort, Gio thought quite hard.

“...”

And about ten minutes passed like that.

Then, after a long while, Gio opened his mouth before the canvas.

“...Since it’ll make a pretty-colored tea.”

His characteristic calm voice without much rise or fall flowed out as placidly as if he were soothing students.

“White porcelain would be best.”

What made good tea ware?

Gio, who had brewed tea seriously a few times before, knew the answer.

First, it had to please the eye.

“As white as drawing paper.”

Second, it had to be comfortable in the hand.

“So it feels stable...”

Third, it had to harmonize with the tea.

“It should bring out a clean color.”

Gio wasn’t some great master, but he enjoyed his modest gourmet world well enough.

Since it was a precious flower tea he’d struggled to make, he wanted, if possible, to brew it in excellent tea ware.

“...”

He chose a fine-grained white paint.

It was a dense color, like whipped cream beaten stiff.

The cabin’s studio, like an old apothecary, had all sorts of materials hidden in little drawers.

Among them were seashells with a porcelain-like white sheen, and Gio had ground them finely to make paint.

Paint made from seashells that ought to be by the water.

Snow-white tea ware painted with that paint.

And light-sky-blue petals steeped in that tea ware...

“Yeah.”

Nice.

“I think it’ll be good.”

He liked it.

“It’ll look like a pond held in the roots of a spring.

That should do.”

His hand moved.

And with each motion, Gio’s eyes moved over the canvas as if licking it.

“...”

Since it would hold blue tea, the color should be warm rather than cool.

What warms the body is influenced by both actual temperature and visual temperature.

He wanted to drink warm tea.

“...”

This tea ware would have been made with hands as fine as silk.

In white clay full of moisture, hands so refined they wouldn’t leave even a fingerprint would have moved softly and slowly, turning the wheel while humming on a spring day soaked in ease.

Wouldn’t the one shaping the clay have worn a kindly smile, warm enough to reassure whoever watched?

“...”

Since it would be lifted with a light, gentle heart, the handle is weighty and smooth.

The handle, stretched straight out to the side for an easy grip, is like ivory.

It gives off such a warm light.

Round off the end.

Round the body as well.

Smooth the surface until you can’t find a single sharp corner.

Gently stroke the moist clay, tidy its inside, and fire it in a hot kiln.

What will you call yourself.

“...”

You are a clean sheet of drawing paper, without a single line or contour.

For holding tea, that would be best.

The glaze resembles clear streamwater without a flaw.

Cover the snow-white porcelain carefully with a radiant glaze, as if dipping it into that clean water a hundred times and pulling it out, as if melting and coating it with transparent stars.

And my round tea ware, fired once more in the kiln...

“...”

The moment you paint in the shadow and give it weight.

“...”

With a soft thud.

It falls onto Gio’s knees.

“...”

Clink.

A light, transparent sound.

‘It’s hard, but...’

He, having set down the brush, gripped the tea ware in his hand.

The texture wrapping around his palm is wistful, like a child searching for their father.

“Yeah.”

And so, in the end, what was light as a cloud and soft as cotton—he truly liked it.

* * *

Being able to make paintings real was a very good thing.

‘It’s convenient, too.’

Gio enjoyed tea at his leisure.

The tea ware shaped from paint instead of clay and glaze satisfied Gio.

It matched extremely well with the blue tea that flowed faintly out from baibameunil.

‘Maybe because it’s such a dense white, it also harmonizes with the flower’s creamy-soft scent.’

The grip he felt in the hand holding it was stable, too.

Unless someone came charging like a bull and threw a soccer kick, it didn’t seem like he’d drop it.

“Nice.”

It was a nutty tea, not sweet at all, but its scent was sweet to the point of being barefaced, and he thought it would go well with cookies later.

‘What if I add fruit and sugar and make iced tea.

Or it would go really well as milk tea too, since the creamy scent is strong...’

There wasn’t an oven, but there was a hearth, and there was flour in the storage, so he should try cookies someday too.

Since ancient times, they said the more food, the better.

‘If this helps a lot with hemostasis and immunity, it doesn’t feel all that convincing.’

Gio found it a little strange.

“Did my body change.”

Originally, Seo Gio was the sort of person who felt strong effects from the benefits of ingredients that went into his mouth.

It was commonly known that blueberries were good for the eyes, but unlike people who didn’t feel much change even if they ate them, Seo Gio would feel his eyes grow refreshed after just a few.

But even though he was drinking medicinal tea acknowledged by the system, he couldn’t feel any change...

“...”

Gio blinked twice.

‘If we’re talking about that, I should start by calling this body strange, since it has no bodily functions at all.’

Before he could even get to the “g” of “worry,” Gio stopped.

A magnificent potato understood perfectly well on his own.

He could eat and sleep, but he didn’t get unusually cold or unusually hot.

He’d never sweated, and in the same vein, he never had to rely on a toilet.

Separate from the fact that there was a bathroom in the cabin.

‘Let’s say I’ve evolved in some exceptional way.

Now that I’ve even become a haunted portrait, I don’t know why I’m worrying about something so useless.’

Well, as long as it was funny, it was fine.

Thinking that, Gio took another sip of baibameunil tea.

“...”

It was tasty.

“Teacher?”

“...”

“You have no answer again today—what a very sad thing.

If you’re alone in there, aren’t you bored?

I can be a really good conversational partner...”

“...”

“Teacher, are you sleeping?

Knock, knock, knock?

Is it because you aren’t responding to Korean?

No, that’s not it—none of the 27 languages got any reaction...”

It’s tasty, but it feels like it’ll sit heavy.

‘Then that person will be recorded in history as the only human who made a haunted portrait get indigestion while drinking tea.’

It had been eleven days since the gentleman named Bisabeol began his self-promotion in front of the front door.

‘Time flows however it wants in the painted world according to my mood or schedule, so it’s not exact, but anyway...’

It was impressive that he poured that much passion and sincerity into a portrait that had only exchanged a single glance with him.

“Is he someone who’s deeply into ghost stories.”

He could get excited over a mysterious painting that even opened its eyes on its own.

That was the charm of a haunted portrait.

But the fact that this man named Bisabeol was not someone so idle pushed Gio into a world of fear and madness.

“I heard he’s the chairman of one of Korea’s top three conglomerates...”

Mr. Chairman, why aren’t you working, and what are you doing.

The warehouse where Gio’s portrait hung was Bisabeol’s personal gallery, and Gio learned—through the conversations of other employees who visited the gallery from time to time—that he had an exceptionally strong desire to collect art.

‘Is it because there are so many things.’

This huge gallery wasn’t a scale Bisabeol could manage alone, so unavoidably, they said each work had one or more managers assigned.

‘For some reason they kept changing, but I had managers assigned to me too.’

Thanks to the conversations they shared, Gio was also able to learn a few things about Bisabeol.

‘A guy crazy about collecting.’

They said he was normally a gentleman with ordinary sensibilities, even if he could be playful, but if it was related to art, he became a madman who wouldn’t hesitate over means or methods.

‘Harmful.’

Even so, Gio didn’t hold bad feelings toward Bisabeol.

“...”

Gio’s gaze landed on the frame hanging on the tree.

The moment he saw Bisabeol trying to start a conversation yet again outside it, information that only Gio could see popped up over the frame’s smooth glass.

He blinked twice.

Safety ★★★★☆

“...”

To his surprise, that frame measured the danger level of the living creature loitering beyond the portrait.

Judging by the reactions of the people on the other side, that display seemed to be something only Gio himself could see.

“Teacher?

Teacher?

Do you truly have no intention of having a conversation with me?”

“...”

“If you would just tell me what sacrifice you desire, I can capture it alive and bring it.

Teacher?”

“...”

So the reason Gio was leaving Bisabeol like that wasn’t anything special.

‘The future I can’t handle is already visible from just one attempt to speak.’

It was openly burdensome.

Gio couldn’t become a vessel large enough to contain a human like Bisabeol.

‘A fresh Gangwon potato should be approached carefully so it doesn’t get bruised...’

His speech was quite polite and his actions were refined, but no matter what anyone said, a stranger pitching camp for fifteen hours in front of someone else’s front door was burdensome.

“...”

Since there didn’t seem to be malice and he didn’t seem like a bad person, it wasn’t that Gio disliked him.

“...More like I’m a bit wary.”

Even just listening one-sidedly, he was already tired, wasn’t he.

‘He’ll suck my energy dry.’

All Gio was doing was—

“...”

Waiting until he judged conversation was possible.

‘Surely he can’t keep doing that forever.

When he runs out of battery, I’ll try to interact.’

He didn’t want to get drained for no reason.

‘A scary person.’

At being able to avoid that scary person, Gio nodded.

“What a great place to live.”

Gio, who had already gone outside the portrait several times, knew.

Right now, what people could see was only the portrait with Gio himself painted on it.

What mattered was Gio’s own will.

When he had the will to interact with the outside, the “Gio” in the painting opened his eyes.

This was something he’d discovered after installing a mirror back when he was in the abandoned school.

‘So no matter how much I laze around inside, it won’t be seen outside.’

At least here, Gio’s complete freedom was guaranteed.

Whether it was some conglomerate chairman longing for his answer beyond the frame or whatever, it didn’t matter at all—he could rest in such peace.

Fortunately, after the busy red-haired middle-aged man, fitting for a conglomerate chairman, disappeared while foreshadowing another challenge, Gio was able to enjoy complete peace.

“...”

It’s somewhat nice that he talks like that, so I’ve been letting it be...

“...But I can’t just leave my only front door like this.”

He had to reclaim ownership.

After a brief 고민, his gaze turned toward the outside beyond the frame, where he could feel no presence at all.

“...”

Then Gio opened his mouth.

“Shall I go out once.”

His fate—automatically committing trespassing the moment he stepped out the front door—was lamentable, but just as all adults in the world did, Gio ultimately accepted his fate.

If you live, it’s possible you might end up trespassing.

“...”

And since he had been kidnapped, it was mutual.

It was hard to imagine someone asking a portrait’s opinion before buying it, but anyway, they too had hung him in a gallery without asking for Gio’s consent.

Then that would be a violation of portrait rights, too.

“...Ta-da.”

Gio’s ultimate positive mindset successfully finished rationalizing.

Fantasy, modern,