Not an Ordinary Painting
At a prestigious auction house.
"Huh…?"
"What is it? Something wrong?"
"J-just now… I think this painting moved."
"Amateur."
One of the managers snorted.
"No ordinary portrait ever ends up in this auction house. It was clearly some dungeon item."
"Ah…"
"They say it was discovered in the art storage of a closed school in Gangwon-do. With an unclear origin, the price is going to drop hard. It'll go out early in Part One, so get ready ahead of time."
"Yes, sir."
Even with his superior's reassuring words, the staffer's expression remained unsettled. He eyed the portrait in front of him with clear unease.
"……."
Just now.
He could have sworn their eyes had met.
"…Please let it not be a cursed item…"
It had already passed safety inspection, of course, but the world was wide and items were endlessly varied.
The very mystery of it—neither origin nor function properly identified even by appraisal skills—was what had brought it all the way to this auction house. And precisely because of that, the staffer felt a chill.
"Isn't this exactly how horror movies start? Some ominous artwork and people around it with zero sense of caution… textbook."
He could only pray he wouldn't be the first sacrificial victim.
"Ugh, scary."
"……."
And that entire scene was being watched, wordlessly, by Ji-oh's Portrait.
He closed his eyes.
Thirty-one years ago.
Earth fell.
When that worn-out opening line became reality, every sci-fi movie vanished from the planet overnight.
People being dragged into other dimensions and torn apart under absurd rules, or monsters crawling out of pitch-black rifts between worlds—it all felt far more visceral than any film.
"Insane…!"
"S-sorry, but are they filming a movie over there?"
"Does that look like a fucking movie?!"
And then, as if they had been waiting for their cue, the superhumans appeared.
"Uh… isn't this a game window?"
"Whoa, I got one too."
"What does yours say? Mine says I awakened as a Priest."
"I don't have anything like that… just a skill list. But if you're a Priest, do you have a religion?"
"Yeah, I go to church. Is that how it decides?"
"How would I know…?"
They rewrote the map of the world.
"Ah, DPS…! What the hell are you doing not putting out damage?!"
"Hyung, you're blocking the front—how am I supposed to deal damage…!"
"Are you kidding me?! Then is a tank supposed to block the rear instead of the front?!"
"Wow, this run is totally screwed…"
"Waaaah…!"
They hunted monsters as if they were truly playing a game.
This phenomenon, defined as "Awakening," manifested randomly in people. No amount of research ever uncovered any precise rules or criteria. The only common point was that the awakened saw system windows, just like in a game.
Of course, hunting monsters was nowhere near as light as playing a game.
"……."
"…Hey, grab his keepsakes. Even without a body, we still have to hold a funeral."
"Our team's DPS is gone… energy's draining out of me. How old did he say he was again?"
"Eighteen. Said with his own mouth he wanted to go back to high school."
"Dragging a kid who wants to study out of school—has the country gone mad?"
"What can you do? The moment they awaken, they work even ten-year-olds…"
"True. An eighteen-year-old DPS is practically lucky."
"……."
"This is fucking awful."
The so-called "Awakened," the "Hunters" who hunted monsters, were always a minority, so escaping overwork was nearly impossible. Before a world-scale upheaval still in its transitional phase, an individual's life was treated as nothing more than a number.
South Korea, however, was a nation that had rapidly suppressed the global chaos around three heroes. In the blink of an eye they rode wave after wave of upheaval and laid down a foundation.
"Honey, can you talk? Ye-rin awakened…"
And so even the citizens of cities that had gotten their systems in order began to find some breathing room.
"The teachers at kindergarten told me she awakened today."
"I don't know. According to Ye-rin she has no class and the skill is D-rank. We'll have to go to a Center to confirm for sure."
"I thought the same. Yeah, thanks. Talk later."
The dimensions were named "dungeons." Those who had merely awakened abilities were distinguished as "Awakened," while those whose profession was hunting monsters became "Hunters." Guilds, Centers, and the rest of the framework fell into place.
"Right. Just because a kid awakened doesn't mean she has to become a Hunter."
"Mom, do I have to catch monsters…? I'm scared… I don't want to do that."
"No, it's okay. Our Ye-rin doesn't have to catch any monsters."
At some point, the Awakened began taking other jobs.
Awakened, whose power was qualitatively different from ordinary people, had once been under the nation's strict management. But in a mere thirty-one years, after countless incidents and dozens of changes of government, treatment of the Awakened improved.
For those C-rank and below, the range of career choices grew far wider.
"Whoa, that guy must be a Hunter."
"Definitely—he's wearing a guild emblem, so yeah, Hunter."
"Crazy… Who is he? Never seen him before—a rookie? Have you seen him on TV?"
"Those black wings are seriously cool. Yeah, that's a real Hunter."
"I heard flight-type skills are that rare…"
"That guy hit the life lottery."
And in equal measure, the envy directed at Hunters only grew.
"If I awaken, I want to be a Hunter."
"Eh, I'm not big on dangerous work."
"But it's cool, right? Makes a ton of money, and you're popular."
In the end they were treated almost like celebrities.
"……."
"Uh… hey, hey, I think he heard us. Cut it out, let's go."
"I-I just thought he looked cool. I'm sorry…"
Whether the Hunters themselves wanted it or not, that was the flow of the world.
"…Haa…"
Some Hunters grew weary of the excessive attention.
"Are we soldiers or idols…? Why are there so many people coming up asking for photos? At this rate we'll be dancing on stage. In any other country this would be unthinkable."
"Last time a stalker got into our rookie's room. Is that even allowed? I mean, aren't they worried about getting their throat cut by a Hunter? Hunters hunt monsters—we're not in the fan-management business."
"Popularity is one thing, but isn't this obstruction of duty? It's too distracting. I came here to kill monsters, not perform for the public. Korea's perception of Hunters is way too frivolous. This needs fixing."
There were opposing opinions as well.
"Huh? I like it, though. And 'perform'… are you looking down on entertainers?"
"That's not what I meant."
"Alright, alright, no fighting. Still, better to have popularity than none. I'm not defending stalkers or obstruction, but once the system settles, the inconveniences will decrease."
"Yeah, the Association will handle that part. If it bothers you that much, file a complaint or something."
And so the image of Hunters had traveled past superhumans, monsters, and soldiers all the way to celebrities.
Time passed, the perception calcified, and at least for city people, monsters and dungeons dropped to roughly the level of a natural disaster—something comparable to a fire that firefighters could put out.
And among the three major guilds that rose in that South Korea—
"Guildmaster."
"Yes, go ahead."
"I know our name is 'Collector,' but…"
The third-ranked guild in the country: the Collector Guild.
"Isn't this one a bit much?"
"Telling a collector not to collect—isn't that rather insulting?"
"Do you even know how much money went out for this portrait?"
"I'm spending my own money on my own item. What's the problem?"
Its guildmaster, the "Collector" Bi Sa-beol.
A middle-aged man smiled thinly. It was the refined smile of a courteous gentleman, yet left a faintly unclean aftertaste.
"This is a piece even the Association President coveted. Surprising, isn't it?"
"The Association President himself? That is certainly surprising."
"A man whose only hobby is raising monsters, not collecting, bid all the way up to two thousand for it."
"Two thousand…"
Here, "two thousand" did not mean twenty million won. It meant two hundred billion. Not quite in the trillions, but nowhere near a trivial sum.
"…My appraisal skill is too crude to grasp this piece's true worth. I apologize for my hasty judgment."
"A collector got scolded for collecting a little, but if you don't know the situation, of course you'd react that way."
"Your ocean-like understanding is appreciated. Then what function does this portrait possess?"
"I don't know either."
"That's absurd…"
When evaluating a Hunter, three major factors were considered.
The "Class," whose very existence could interfere with the world's rules.
The "Aptitude Skill" that one was basically born with at the moment of Awakening, like drawing a first birthday grab-item.
And the "Level" that indicated proficiency in both class and every skill.
If one wanted a detailed explanation of one's class and additional learnable skills, the Centers could help. But a Hunter's rank was comprehensively evaluated from those three and displayed by the so-called "System."
And…
Bi Sa-beol was a man who had become an S-rank Hunter solely with his single aptitude skill: Appraisal.
A piece that even someone like him can't read—what kind of tasteless joke is this?
Whether or not he noticed the considerable dismay of his staffer, the Collector simply laughed as if thoroughly enjoying himself.
"That's exactly why I want it more."
A peculiar trait of the Collector Guild, one of Korea's three major guilds, was that every single guild member possessed an appraisal skill. And their leader Bi Sa-beol's appraisal was so outstanding it could fairly be called the best in the world.
For even that Bi Sa-beol to be unable to determine the exact function…
"I think I understand why the Association President bid two thousand."
It was almost eerie.
…Is it just me, or does the atmosphere of the piece feel a little heavy too? It's only a portrait of a single person, and yet…
The office staffer nodded.
"It looks more suited to research than appreciation, though."
"Isn't that why the Association President wanted it so badly? In the end I won, of course."
"If you've said everything you wanted to say, I'll take my leave. Getting crushed between fighting whales is not my hobby."
"Why are all our guild members so uniformly dry, I wonder."
"I consider it the karmic reward of the guildmaster who gathered only people like this."
"How sad."
With a face that looked not the least bit sad, Bi Sa-beol beamed; the guild member grimaced and left the office looking as if he'd been ambushed while simply delivering documents.
"……."
Alone, Bi Sa-beol lifted the portrait with telekinesis and headed for the hidden elevator in his office.
"……."
Clunk.
The elevator, barely wide enough for three people, descended a very long way down.
Straight into the Collector Guild's warehouse—designated a forbidden zone (禁地) at the government level. No one without authorized staff or client clearance could enter or leave.
In short, it was a gallery for Bi Sa-beol alone.
"……."
And so he arrived at the warehouse.
"Haaaah…"
Bi Sa-beol released a deep, overwhelmed sigh of emotion. The thick veins on the large hand gripping his entire jaw stood out with pure thrill and satisfaction.
"Good."
His snake-like bright yellow eyes glittered with fanatical obsession.
Bi Sa-beol's collection warehouse was his personal space. It did not simply display items guild members brought back from dungeons or overseas; the guildmaster himself purchased them and then put them on display.
That collection warehouse of his was packed with dangerous artworks and items.
"Very good."
Bi Sa-beol, who could never abandon art, had done his utmost to install every possible safety measure. Recognizing his effort and results, the government often entrusted him with problematic goods as well.
"This spot should suit it."
The same was true of the "Ji-oh's Portrait" Bi Sa-beol had purchased this time.
Click.
"Excellent."
It was a painting of a man.
Pale skin that matched his blunt, gloomy expression perfectly. Pitch-black hair that seemed to hold not a single speck of light.
And yet, rather than merely hanging limp and gloomy, there was a cool, angular atmosphere and a restrained arrogance…
Even the peaceful forest landscape that harmonized with him so well.
"Who did they paint?"
It was a portrait that made one curious about both the painter who created it and the model who became the work.
"If this is purely human technique, it's remarkable. Even if it isn't, the same applies. It really feels as if a living human being was placed inside…"
In that instant.
"……."
"……."
The man before his eyes.
The pale portrait opened its eyes and looked at Bi Sa-beol.
"……."
Bi Sa-beol stopped breathing.
"……."
As if even his organs and every muscle had been seized by something vast, he could not utter a word.
"……."
…What was this?
What is this?
It was black.
Black, entirely.
Even though white and black were divided, the boundary between them could not be distinguished at all—an abyss with no bottom.
Its center was so deep it could not be fathomed. It was shadow. And the night sky. And…
"……."
Did it resemble the cosmos?
Black.
Deep.
Multicolored.
It resembled life itself, where warmth and cold coexisted.
"……."
The blood vessels and threads of connection densely spread within it.
When Bi Sa-beol, without realizing it, reached a hand toward the pitch-black eyes of the man in the painting…
"……."
"……."
Presently the portrait.
"…Oh."
Closed its eyes.
"Good heavens."
In that moment Bi Sa-beol instinctively knew an unexpected jackpot had exploded.
"So it's not an ordinary painting, is it?"
His mood was excellent.
"……."
Meanwhile, the man inside the painting—Ji-oh—
was terrified.
"Mm…"
With a rare expression of utter disgust, he quietly retreated and stared at the frame hanging on the tree. It was none other than the frame he called the "front door."
Confirming that his only entrance had been blocked, Ji-oh muttered in a sense of disaster.
"I figure someone like me is a pretty ordinary painting."
He was just desperate enough that the excuse slipped out even though no one could hear it.
…So this is what they call a threat to one's life. I thought nothing like this would ever happen in this peaceful cabin, but of course the world never flows exactly as one expects. What a harsh world.
Before properly starting to make medicine, Ji-oh had wanted to check the outside world once. He had noticed that his frame was being moved somewhere. Checking now and then, it seemed to have been put up for some auction.
And the final place it arrived was none other than a vast warehouse…
…Or rather, should I call it a gallery or a museum?
Looking at the pure-white building and carefully arranged interior, it was clear that only carefully selected works were on display. It seemed to be a gallery that received its owner's abundant love.
And the more love that was poured into it, the more Ji-oh—who had lost his one and only front door—found himself in trouble.
"Now every time I go outside I'll be committing trespassing. Why is this happening to me, a model citizen of the New Country who goes to bed early and rises early? Is it because I went to sleep without brushing my teeth yesterday?"
As it was, Ji-oh had already startled some staffer somewhere just by wanting a quick look outside. He had never died even once, but he still did not want to be burned at the stake as a haunted portrait.
"And if the portrait is damaged, I don't even know what would happen to this painted world…"
Indeed, over thirty-one years Earth had clearly grown tougher. For the timid, frail new potato from Gangwon-do named Seo Ji-oh, it was an unbearably rough and harsh world in which to survive.
Outside the blanket is dangerous.
Ji-oh once again accepted his identity as a portrait and resolved to remain here.
On his honor as a haunted portrait, to survive in this harsh world he would have to be even more careful than before—he thought. And then, the very next day.
"Hello there."
"……."
Beyond the frame on the tree, the red-haired man he had seen yesterday was peering in.
Oh.
Truly, really, with absolutely no intent of discrimination or contempt—speaking purely and objectively as his own corneas reported it—those reptile-like bright yellow eyes were chilling.
For some reason he could not understand, they even glittered. Why on earth? But he did not want to understand. For Ji-oh, who had stepped out into the yard expecting only a refreshing morning, it was far too cruel a worry.
"A pleasure to meet you, sir. I do not know whether it is a good morning, a good afternoon, or a good evening, but for us humans it is a good morning. Did you sleep well, sir?"
"……."
"I believe I was far too rude yesterday. Might you be willing to speak with me? What is your name? My appraisal called it 'Ji-oh's Portrait,' so I assume the name is Ji-oh…"
"……."
"Sir? Are you listening? You open and close your eyes, which, for someone as parched for conversation as myself, is terribly tantalizing. You seem quite skilled at captivating people."
Damn heaven and earth and every god.
The first person to speak to me in thirty-one years looks like that, so clearly something good will happen tomorrow. But even accounting for that, a truly incomprehensible misfortune has struck.
Modern society, this terrifying child. Ji-oh desperately hoped the other party beyond the frame would maintain a proper distance and pour only an appropriate amount of interest.
…This is burdensome…
Country-potato Seo Ji-oh simply crumpled before the man who made no effort to hide his vast energy.
Of course, for this loner, having someone speak to him was something to be grateful for. Subjectively it might not have been a full thirty-one years, but still—it was the first chance to communicate in ages, wasn't it?
The fact that the other party also seems fairly well-disposed tells me this is a reasonably good situation.
But even so…
"Sir? Are you there? Sir? If I came empty-handed and that is the issue, I can prepare any item you desire to match your tastes."
"……."
"Hmm, so I do need to offer a sacrifice after all… In cases like this, what sacrifice does one usually receive? The most common would be a sin-laden human, or else a completely pure one… The latter is far too difficult to obtain…"
"……."
"I'll have to contact the prisons again after so long. In this day and age, getting sin-laden humans is as easy as pie. How many would be enough?"
Ugh.
This is hard.
Even for Ji-oh, the mountain-village idol, this was a conversation partner he could not yet steel himself to face.
(To be continued)