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Chapter 120 Part 2 - The Mysterious Art Museum

A familiar dizziness.

The sensation of being sucked into somewhere.

Having closed my eyes to minimize the dizziness, I opened them at the sound of Lea's voice in the dream.

“Ban, wake up.”

As I gently opened my eyes, I saw Lea holding my hand and looking around. And there we were, in a beautiful garden. There was a large pond, and the garden, orderly yet not losing the flavor of nature, belonged to someone.

Lea, examining our surroundings, said,

“It’s different from the forest.”

“Yes, this isn’t a forest.”


“It seems like someone’s garden. See over there? There’s a fence in the distance.”

“Really? Whose garden could it be?”


“Oh, that gentleman?”

“Yes, probably the garden in Giverny.”

Monet had lived in this house in his later years. So, the Monet we would meet in the dream today would be an old man.

As Lea and I walked through the garden, she said,

“He must be quite wealthy. Are all painters rich, Ban?”

“Hmm, most are poor, and they usually become famous after they die. But there are those who earn a lot of money during their lifetime.”

“Wow, that’s great. We don’t even have a garden at home.”

“Haha, this person also lived in great poverty.”

“In such a big house?”

“Well, when he first came here, he had no money and rented the place. Then, he saved up a bit to buy the house and gradually acquired the surrounding land. Over more than a decade, he kept saving and repeating this process until he finally owned such a large house with a garden.”

“Wow! Mom always says saving money is important.”

“Right, Lea should also save diligently, okay?”

“Okay! I’m going to live in a house like this too!”


Our last walk in the beautiful garden with the adorable child.

Normally, I would have eagerly looked for Monet, but I had something more important to do first.

After briefly holding Lea’s hand and admiring the beautiful pond, I spoke.




“I know.”


Lea looked up at me with her eyes trembling.

“Dad said so. Ban is leaving the village tomorrow.”


“Where to?”


“Will you come back after going there?”




“Where are you going then?”


“Is it far?”

“Yes, quite far.”

“How many nights will it take to get back?”

Suddenly, I felt overwhelmed.

The last night with my father. Tomorrow, he would board an ocean-going vessel, and I had begged my father the same question.

‘Dad, how many nights until you return?’

‘Oh, about sixty nights?’

‘Ugh, that’s too long. Can’t you come back sooner?’

‘Haha, I’ll try. But until I return, you have to draw a lot of pictures. When I come home and see the paintings drawn by our second child, all my fatigue disappears.’

‘Okay! I’ll draw lots and wait for you! Promise to come back a few nights earlier than sixty!’

‘Haha, I promise. I'll do that.’

As the memory of that last conversation with my dad came to mind, I turned my head to control my emotions.

After taking a moment, I forced a smile and said,

“I can’t promise when, but I’ll definitely come back.”


“Yes, I have to come back to see our cute Lea.”

“You promised.”

“Of course!”

“Pinky promise.”


I pinky promised with the child.

Lea stared into my eyes and snorted, as if to threaten that I’d be in trouble if I didn’t come back to see her.

“You promised, for sure.”

“I said I understand.”

“Then, it’s okay.”

Lea surprisingly did not cry.

I had worried she might, but her not crying somehow made me feel ironically disappointed.

As I was lost in these conflicting emotions, staring only at Lea, she tightly grabbed my hand.



“Look there.”

Turning my gaze where Lea gestured with her head, I saw an old man with sparse white hair and sunglasses.

Lea stammered, seemingly shocked.

"Is, is that old man the same person from before? He's aged so much?"

I smiled and stroked Lea's head.

"We are in a dream, remember? Time flows differently here."

Lea made a sad face.

"Then, could I suddenly become an old lady too?"

"Ha-ha, no, that won't happen."

"Thank goodness. But why is that man wearing sunglasses on a cloudy day?"

As Lea spoke, I looked up at the sky and, just like she said, it was overcast, with clouds thick enough to herald rain. I looked towards Monet sitting by the pond, painting, and said,

"Grandpa's eyes hurt, that's why."

Lea rubbed her own eyes and asked,

"Eyes? Why?"

"Well, he couldn't see well and even had surgery."


Lea looked sad.

The caring child gazed at Monet with eyes full of sympathy for his pain.

I stroked Lea's head and said,

"He painted outdoors too much. He looked directly into the sunlight for long periods."

"Why? Wouldn't that hurt his eyes? Why did he do that?"


I silently watched Monet, wearing sunglasses, repeatedly moving his brush, painting.

"The grandfather over there wanted to paint the light," I explained.

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