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Chapter 142 Part 1 - 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

Wandering (5)

The public opinion wasn't initially aggressive towards me. At first, these articles appeared:

"Omniscient Single Life, Chilly Recording Ends. Why?"

"Staff Leaks Unedited Video!"

"Artist Syndrome Strikes Yong-Han? Criticism of an Arrogant Artist"

"Gentleman Ban Jung-Hoon's Anger, But Why?"

"The Rift Between Yong-Han and Ban Jung-Hoon, Where's the Truth?"

I saw the leaked video. It wasn't edited; it was just as recorded.

I thought I had expressed my thoughts in a softened manner, so I wasn't too concerned.

Sung-Cheol was worried, but I reassured him it was fine since public opinion wasn't on Yong-Han's side.

Honestly, whether I was affected by 'artist syndrome' or not, I thought it was a trivial matter.

But that bastard insulted my teachers. Later, I thought I should have cursed him out more strongly.

However, public opinion, a frightening monster, suddenly changed its face.

On my one rest day per month, I lay in bed until two in the afternoon.

Our house is in a quiet area a bit away from Paju city center. In the morning, only the sounds of birds and insects gently ring in this peaceful place. But not that day.

I heard voices through the second-floor window.

I couldn't make out exactly what they were saying. Sometimes I heard mom's voice, so it seemed she was talking with the neighbors.

In a half-asleep state, not sure if it was a dream or reality, I suddenly felt the voices getting louder and got up with a disheveled face.

After rubbing my eyes for a while, I opened the window with a tired face.

I couldn't see outside the gate due to the surrounding walls, but I could hear clearer voices.

"My brother didn't do anything wrong! Your son is better, huh?"

"No, it's okay to share your thoughts, but to humiliate someone on air. What's with your son?"

What's this about?

I heard my mom's voice as I woke up.

"I'm sorry, I'll talk to my son properly when he comes. Please go back, you're disturbing the neighbors. I'll apologize on his behalf."

"This is not something an apology can fix! My brother can't even appear on broadcasts now because of your son!"

Damn it.

I felt a vein in my head about to burst.

Like a spring, I jumped up, ran out the door in my messy hair, shorts, and slippers, and shouted.

"What are you doing?"

In front of the house, a group of late-teen and twenty-something women had surrounded my mom. Mom was bowing her head among them, guilty of nothing.

As I appeared, the teen female fans took out their phones to record. Seeing my mom, I lost it and smacked a phone out of a woman's hand.

"What are you doing, recording without permission? Put it away."

"Ah! Did you just hit me? Hey, did you get that?"

The phone dropped. Hmm, maybe I did something wrong.

I picked up the phone, returned it, and said.

"Even so, you should ask for permission to record. If there's any damage to the phone, let me know. I'll compensate. Mom, why are you standing there? It's not like you've committed a crime. Let's go inside."

Mom hesitated and looked around at the people. Then she earnestly spoke to one woman.

"My son might have done it unknowingly. I'll apologize instead, let it go, okay?"

I felt a vein in my temple about to burst again.

I pulled mom roughly and yelled.

"What are you talking about! Go inside."

I pushed mom inside and then faced the still glaring women.

"What do you want?"

A mid-twenties woman with glasses stepped forward, hands on her hips.

"We're Yong-Han's fan club. Do you know how much trouble you've caused him?"

Hah, what is this? Not wanting to deal with it, I waved them off and said.

“I don’t know how you found my house, but if you keep causing a scene, I’ll call the police. Leave now.”

I slammed the door shut roughly. But Yong-Han's fans didn’t leave and lingered in front of the house. When I went out late at night, seeing no one around, I found red spray paint graffiti on the gate.

‘Artist's disease is your chronic illness, idiot.’

My teeth clenched in anger, but I grabbed a sponge and scrubbed the gate clean. I barely restrained myself from immediately calling the police.

Then the phone rang. I thought it was a telemarketing call and almost didn’t answer, but it was a mobile number, and they called three times in a row, so I answered while cleaning the gate.


-Hello, is this the artist Ban Jeong-hoon?

"Yes, who is this?"

-This is Yong-Han.


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