Chapter 130 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

Chapter 130 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

I'm pretending to be calm, but right now, I'm quite flustered.

They came all the way here to the most remote part of southern Italy to cover me? And it's not just one magazine but so many people? Not Korean journalists, but local Italian ones?

But right now, I have to finish my painting.

This isn't a studio; it's outdoors.

The light changes outside. Even as I paint, the reflection of light on the cathedral and other backgrounds is subtly shifting.

If it were me before I met Monet, I would have asked the model for understanding and postponed the painting since the background would remain the same anyway. But not now.

The shouting of the journalists disrupts my concentration.

"Van! It's ICON Magazine. We flew here from Rome to meet you."

"Quiet! There aren't any magazines based outside Rome. Van! It's Quid Magazine, the number one magazine in the art world. Let's start with us."

"That's a lie! The number one art magazine in sales is Article Writer!"

The competing journalists.

I glance at them briefly. I could entertain each one, but why are they so fiercely arguing over who goes first?Follow the latest novels at novelhall.com

"Please wait, I'll be done soon."

Yona and Meloni, who have also attracted the journalists' attention because of me, look extremely uncomfortable.

I hurry to finish the painting and, after signing at the bottom right corner of the canvas, I hang the pen on its edge and pass it to Yona.

"Don't touch the painting; it's still wet. Can you take it to your house and then come back here?"

"Huh? Oh, okay."

Yona first hands the painting to his wife and then whispers to me.

"Will you be okay alone?"

"They're just journalists; it'll take some time because of their number. Take your time."

"Are you a very famous painter?"

"No! No, I definitely won't sell it!"

"Hurry and go."

"Okay! Honey, let's go!"

Meloni, almost dragged to the taxi. From her conversation with her husband, it seems like she's questioning if it's right to receive something like this for an 80 euro taxi fare.

It's surprising to me that my portrait is priced so high, but compared to the painting I made for Mrs. Kang in Paju, it's a drop in the bucket.

As I pack up my art supplies, I say,

"Well, then, who shall we start with?"

The journalists eagerly raise their hands. I glance at them. They look like concubines seeking the king's favor.

I find it a bit amusing, but I can't play with people's hearts. They're all earnestly doing their jobs.

Then, Isabella, who first spoke to me, raises her hand and shouts.

"I know Lea!"

What?

Lea? Is she talking about the little angel I know?

My eyes widen in surprise, and the tall man with her shows me his camera screen.

Indeed, there's Lea's face, smiling brightly in front of the mural at her house. It's been a while since I left the village, and I feel a deep longing.

After staring at the camera for a while, I smile and speak.

"You go first."

"Oh! Thank you!"

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