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Chapter 93 Part 2 - The Mysterious Art Museum

A street artist's life changed when he ended up at a mysterious art museum. DBT,Korean,Novel,Translation,Art,Artist,Slice of life,Poor to Rich,Mystery

A painting in a visually impaired person's room.

It might seem like an odd choice.

But this painting isn't for viewing; it's to remind my brother that he's a member of this family, that he belongs in this home.

I unwrap the painting and place it on the sofa, then guide my brother's hand.

"Start from here."

My brother, with his unseeing eyes, turns towards the painting and cautiously touches it with the tips of his fingers.

"Is this... our house?"

"Touch it all."

"The house, a tree, and three family members in the lower left corner. One with long hair is a woman, and the other two are men, both taller than her."

"It's our family, after all."

His unfocused eyes widen.

After hearing my words, he hesitates momentarily and then starts touching the painting with both hands.

"Ah... Ahh."

"Cool, right? It's our house, brother. This is what our home looks like."


Tears flow from my brother's eyes.

He has lived in this house and memorized its interior structure.

But he only knows how nice and beautiful it is from what our mother has told him. He has no idea what the exterior looks like, as it’s impossible for him to feel the entire building.

"Our house is built with rough bricks, but it looks warm overall because of the colors. It's not too big, nor too small."

It's not that big, apparently.

I've been spoiled by visiting places like W Tree Hotel for business, describing this palatial house as such. It’s actually more than six times larger than our previous home.

Mom brings in juice, pauses upon seeing my brother touching the painting in tears, then looks at me and signals with her eyes that she'll leave the juice and quietly heads to the main bedroom.

But I saw it.

Mom was also in tears. But it's okay, not because she's sad, but because she's happy.

My brother can't speak for a while, just muttering exclamations in awe and crying. Then, with a choked voice, he asks,

"Is this the swing you described to me?"


"Does it look like the swing at our school?"

"Yes, pretty similar."

"So the swing at our school looks like this."

He touches the painting for a while longer, then hugs it tightly, as if handling a precious treasure, cradling it with the warmest part of his body, his belly. He strokes the frame and says,

"So this is our precious home, it’s so nice."

If I had known how happy and treasured he would feel, I would have gifted it to him earlier.

'No, if I hadn't met Henri in my dreams, I would have been too busy living to spare a moment for this.'

The legend of Moulin Rouge, the small giant of Moulin Rouge, Henri, painted the marginalized.

If a painter keeps painting the same thing, there must be a reason in his life.

There are elements in my life too. But I was too busy escaping from them, ignoring the pain, and pretending that taking care of my family by working hard and earning money was my real duty.

What my family really needed was this kind of attention and love.

It took just one day. The time it took to paint this picture.

Of course, it took a few days to dry the bundle of newspapers and to make it safe to touch, but that was not my effort; it was the work of the sun and the natural wind.

'I could have given such great joy with just one day of effort, what have I been doing all this time?'

If I hadn’t encountered the art museum.

If I hadn’t met Alphonse Mucha, Gustav Klimt, and Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec.

I would still be turning away from reality, ignoring and escaping, living like that.


My brother's voice brings me out of my thoughts.


"Thank you."

"It’s natural between brothers."

"No, I mean it. Thank you. I can’t do anything for you, so I should at least express my gratitude."

"If you’re grateful, then get married."


"Remember, there were pretty girls at school."


"Shall I tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"Listen. Do you remember where you sit at school?"


"Three seats to the left from there, and one row forward. There’s a girl sitting there. Wow, she’s really pretty?"


"The girl sitting four seats ahead of you is cute too."

"What are you talking about?"

"I want to see my niece or nephew too."


"I have a lot of money, right? I can give a lot of pocket money to my nieces and nephews?"


"Why, not confident?"

I said it on purpose.

After saying it, I felt sorry, as if I had told him to only find a partner among people in similar situations. Did my brother understand my feelings?

My brother snorts, as if provoked, and clenches his fist.

"Joking? It's just that I haven't tried yet, but once I get going, I'm like a wild boar."


"Plus, all the students showed interest in me today, so my chances have gone up."

"Wow! Who do you have to thank for that?"

"My brother, Ban Jung-hoon!"


"Haha! Alright, tomorrow at school, I'll talk to the girls sitting in the seats you mentioned."

"Wow! Go for it, Jung-hoon, the wild boar! Charge ahead!"


My brother raises his fist in triumph.

I smile at him.

Hoping he goes to school with a happy heart, even if he doesn't like it.

Hoping he makes friends, even if he doesn't bring home a sister-in-law.

Hoping he doesn't project himself onto others in similar situations like I did, but instead understands and keeps people close.

Tonight turns out to be a night of many prayers.

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