The Artist Who Paints Dungeon-Chapter 322
It was on a day when the sky was entirely red and black.
“Teacher.”
Jeong Hae-Woon asked a man,
“You’re not going anywhere, right?”
“Why would I go anywhere?”
“Wherever you go... I feel like you’d be fine.”
“How could I be? All my students are here—why would I go anywhere else?”
“...Like, what about your family...?”
“You know they’re gone.”
“......”
Strangely, he was a little grateful for that.
Jeong Hae-Woon knew it was a selfish, cruel thought. Still, he felt relieved. His teacher had always been someone deeply affectionate toward his family. If even one of them had survived, he surely would’ve left for them.
But now, with none left, he stayed with them...
“You’re having strange thoughts again.”
“Ah... No, not really. I wasn’t.”
“You’ve twisted yourself in a really bizarre way.”
“Well, the world’s twisted. I think I’m still pretty mild in comparison.”
“If you take it as nagging, I can’t help that... But I meant—don’t think like that.”
“Think like what?”
“‘This much is okay,’ that kind of thought.”
Even after the world had ended, he stayed the same.
“If it’s desire, maybe that’s inevitable. But I want us to keep living as the people we were. You as you, me as me. So we never change so much we can’t recognize each other.”
“Why would that even happen?”
“That kind of thing happened even before the world ended. Just because someone stays near you doesn’t mean they’ll stay the same person you once knew. Or, they might literally go far away.”
“And that’s enough to not recognize them?”
“It happens more often than you’d think. °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° People rely on memory. But memory isn’t something tangible—it’s like an illusion. So it’s easily distorted.”
“Then?”
“You stop recognizing them. They stop being the person you knew. But I get that this all sounds tedious. You don’t have to listen.”
He said,
“Like I said earlier—it’s all just my own selfishness. In times like this, staying the same might be seen as being left behind. I just don’t see it that way.”
“...Yeah, maybe. But honestly... I like what you say, Teacher.”
There were things he could say now that the world had ended. When you know death could come at any moment, you start speaking more honestly. He’d felt it over and over under that ominous sky. That death was always close.
“It’s good if nothing changes. So we can always recognize each other.”
“I’m not saying you have to live by my words. Like I always say, there’s no rule that says I’m right.”
“But you’re still you, Teacher.”
“Being a teacher doesn’t carry as much weight in a world like this. It never really did.”
“You were always nagging us, though.”
“So you did think of it as nagging, huh? Guess it wasn’t the kind of stuff that was fun to hear.”
He looked like he was smiling. His lips didn’t actually move at all, and yet Hae-Woon always thought they did. His teacher could embed emotion and meaning into his voice so clearly it created the illusion.
“Even after the world ended, I wanted us to hold onto our humanity. Not to torment life recklessly, not to tear down someone’s worth, and to give as much as we could from what we had.”
Then he nodded, as if he understood.
“Boring, right?”
“It’s not exciting, but... I don’t think it’s bad.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that.”
“Well, there you go.”
“I’ve been blessed with really good students.”
“......”
Well, that wasn’t exactly true. He’d simply sculpted his students himself, shaped them with care. And then he pretended to forget he’d done it at all.
To him, all the world’s hardships seemed easy. Surely there were moments he struggled, but he never looked it. In a world going mad, how could he remain so calmly sane?
“...Don’t go anywhere.”
“Why’re you so scared, Hae-Woon?”
“The Korean lit teacher ran away.”
“Yeah, I heard. The other kids are really scared, too.”
He said it like he understood it all. And Hae-Woon was grateful, not resentful. In a world where everything had changed, only this man had remained the same. It felt like he would always be right there.
His low, steady voice could calm even the most anxious heart.
“Maybe the Korean lit teacher was that scared. Scared enough to feel like they had to leave to survive.”
“...Still. They’re teachers. And they’re all running... Isn’t that cowardly?”
Sometimes it felt so unfair.
“You’re the one working so hard, Teacher, but everyone else is being irresponsible. You’re the one who’s suffering most, and they just... say awful things... whine...”
His teacher always understood too much. He never resented, never hated. He just absorbed the information, and calmly thought, “So, what can we do now?”
“So I’m the only one who gets mad again?”
“I can be angry with you.”
“Are you a Buddha or something? Did you come from a temple?”
“Is that where they come from? I wouldn’t know—I’m not religious.”
“No, I mean... Aren’t you even a little upset?”
“What would I be upset about?”
He was always like this.
“I just feel sorry.”
“...What do you have to be sorry for?”
“For making things even scarier for students who were already scared.”
“Why are you worrying about that? The ones who ran probably don’t even give it a second thought.”
“Hae-Woon, you really do worry in the strangest ways.”
He patted Hae-Woon’s back lightly. It didn’t feel like encouragement or support—it felt like comfort, a quiet gesture saying don’t be sad anymore. That gentle, relaxed touch helped soothe his boiling gut.
His teacher always said boring things.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Why?”
Because you’re a teacher?
“Because I’m a teacher.”
“...If you weren’t, you’d run, right?”
“I think I’d still stay.”
“Why?”
“Maybe because I’m an adult?”
“But the other teachers ran away. They were adults, and teachers too.”
“That reason was enough for me, but I guess not for them.”
“What if you end up like that someday?”
“It’s hard to imagine...”
And then he said something comforting.
“Well then, maybe I’ll just take you kids and run away.”
“...Me? And Haera, and Seohee, and Eunhye too?”
“Let’s stop at just them.”
“...So you do play favorites, Teacher?”
“I’m only human. Of course I do.”
“......”
“...? Why so quiet all of a sudden?”
Jeong Hae-Woon hesitated, then replied.
“...Because you don’t feel human.”
And that scared him even more.
Even before the end of the world, his teacher had always been... too ideal. A good adult. A good teacher. Maybe that’s why the unease was so strong—because it wouldn’t be strange at all if he suddenly disappeared.
He’d once heard someone say:
“Good people die early because God wants them.”
His teacher was a good person. The end of the world had only made that clearer. And only then did he understand how valuable that was. And how many would want to take it.
There were many who wanted this person. Yet, his teacher remained with them. That was comforting... but terrifying too. He was so ideal, he didn’t feel real.
More unreal than the ruined world itself.
“......”
“I’m human.”
“...I know.”
“You all have a habit of idolizing me, you know that?”
“You say that all the time, Teacher.”
“I keep saying it because none of you listen.”
“But...”
It wasn’t idolization. There were just some people who could only be idols. And that was his teacher. He was perfect in every way, and at the same time, kind and warm.
“Jeong Hae-Woon.”
“I... I’m not the only one who thinks this way, you know. Isn’t it time you admitted it? Are you embarrassed?”
He was a little frustrated. That his teacher was this special was a source of pride. If only the teacher would admit it, that would be enough. That was all there was to it—it was simply true.
But his teacher never indulged that desire. He stayed calm and quiet.
“I’ve been worried lately. Something about the atmosphere feels off.”
“I don’t get why you deny it so much. Wouldn’t it be better if everyone admired you more?”
“You think I’m perfect.”
“You are, though. Even in this world...”
“I’m not.”
He should’ve listened to that part properly.
“I’m human.”
Why had he let it pass him by?
Even now, thinking back... it felt cowardly.
***
“......”
Error detected.
“...Ah...”
Error detected.
Error detected.
Error detected.
“Hold on.”
Abnormality detected.
Awaiting command.
Forcing: System will temporarily suspend.
“Wait, what the hell is this—?”
“Jeong Hae-Woon.”
“......”
He looked up—and saw pitch-black eyes.
They stared at him through the system window that was blinking with warnings. Eyes darker than darkness, their depth unknowable. Filled with fate, and its weight. The cycle of life and death. And humanity.
Soaked in cold sweat, Jeong Hae-Woon heard the Black Cloak ask:
“Is it too much for you?”
“...What are you talking about...?”
“Then let’s say it didn’t happen.”
“Didn’t happen...?”
“Maybe I got a little too excited.”
There was no hint of guilt. He simply spoke like an old man reflecting on his day—saying he’d gotten carried away, maybe gone too far. Asking if that had been too much for Hae-Woon.
Then he said something random.
“I like the safe path.”
He just listened.
“I don’t hate change, but I don’t exactly love it either. I prefer a life that’s stable and peaceful. Where I and those around me don’t suffer, where each day is modestly happy, and where we only cry once in a while.”
It was the same voice from the dream.
“But this time, I got greedy. I tried to ignore it, to forget it—but gardens with legs don’t like boring paths. I felt an adventurous spirit I didn’t have before. So I got excited. I thought this might be fun...”
Words like adventure, excited, fun—they sounded like illusions. That low, quiet voice pierced his ears and melted his brain.
“I know you. The way you keep returning to that burnt-out school, even after forgetting and forgetting again.”
“...The school?”
“You’ve been there many times. I tried to ease Haera’s exhaustion a few times. But still, you came back again.”
“I’ve... gone there? Not just once or twice?”
“You were a clever student. Still are. Even after speaking with Yoo Seong-Woon, you kept wondering why you hadn’t gone to the school. Over and over.”
“Did you erase my memories?”
“Not exactly. I restored the error. Closed the open hole. Probably me. Maybe. I’m not sure. But probably. I’m always here. So let’s just say it was me. Will you?”
“What the hell....”
“This time you even came to find me at the Collector’s Gallery. This time was different. So I thought... maybe I’d respond. With Mr. Jeorge’s help, of course—he’s a brave one.”
He kept talking.
“But Jeorge has a flaw. I like him, but to be honest—he lacks consideration. That speeds up the pace of change... but those caught inside might find it hard.”
“......”
“Even so, you lingered in my mind. I ignored the other kids. Pretended I didn’t see or hear them. Let them forget. But not you. Even if it was to control or understand the Black Cloak...”
“......”
“Still, I was glad. I like the present. But that doesn’t mean I reject the past. It may sound arrogant, but I always make choices I won’t regret.”
He said his life had always been joyful and meaningful.
“Did you have a scary dream?”
That blackness asked him. So Hae-Woon answered before he realized it.
“...Yes... it was scary...”
“Why?”
“...I think... I made a huge mistake...”
“And so?”
“......”
He fumbled for a long while before finally speaking.
“...I can’t...”
Not now.
“I can’t—not already.”
“Yes. It might be dangerous.”
“But... do I have to forget again?”
“I don’t get why you’re making such a big deal. It was just one dream. Why the drama? It wasn’t even that important.”
“I don’t want to forget...”
His trembling hand reached out. Beyond the alarm-filled system window, his hand grasped the Black Cloak’s collar. The soft fabric had been draped on a human all this time, and yet held no warmth—it gave him chills.
Even so, he gripped tighter. His shaking fingers slowly, forcefully pulled the cloak down. Like an old man clutching a cane to withstand a storm, his hands trembled.
The Black Cloak allowed himself to be pulled down without resistance.
“...T-Teacher...”
He had called him teacher.
“You... you said you wouldn’t leave...”
“I didn’t leave.”
“You said you wouldn’t abandon us...”
“I never did.”
“Then why... why does it feel so scary...?”
His breath trembled. His tears stung like needles. His chest ached.
“...Who the hell are you?”
“I’m your teacher, Sergio.”
“...What the fuck... what are you...!!!”
It hurt.
It was just a dream. Just one dream, like the Black Cloak said.
Then why did it hurt this much? Why was he so scared? His undamaged organs were screaming. Why was he crying?
It was all because of the Jeong Hae-Woon inside the dream. That version’s fear had consumed his mind. Even though he had reached out and pulled the Black Cloak close—he couldn’t feel safe.
He wanted to scream: Please don’t leave me. Even to someone already in his grasp.
An unexplainable impulse.
“I, I...”
“Shall I erase it again?”
“......”
“...Hmm.”
Suddenly, those pitch-black eyes turned into brilliant, gem-like ones.
“Guess it’s still too soon?”
“...Don’t go.”
“I wanted to stir you up more—but I can’t bring myself to. You look too pitiful. I’m actually pretty soft-hearted, you know.”
“Don’t go, please.”
“I’m always here, Hae-Woon.”
“You’re not him.”
“This is me too.”
The garden smiled like a crescent moon. It was the same smile he’d seen before falling asleep.
“You said people think too highly of me, remember...?”
With a gentle voice, almost coaxing, a pale hand covered Jeong Hae-Woon’s eyes.
“We know what’s right.”
“......”
“And we know what’s good.”
“......”
“So... shall we sleep a little more?”
It wasn’t a voice for a student. It was the tone you’d use to soothe a small child.
Restore system?
Yes / No
“Yes.”
“......”
“......”
“...Jeong Hae-Woon.”
Jeorge moved his hand away, revealing dazed eyes streaked with tears—and smiled.
“Beautiful dawn, isn’t it?”
“...Yes, it is.”
“Why are you crying?”
“...I don’t know...”
The hand clutching the Black Cloak’s collar lost its strength.
Eyes out of focus, Jeong Hae-Woon looked at the beaming smile of the garden before him.
And then, almost as if in a trance, he muttered:
“...Why was I crying?”
He couldn’t remember.
He had forgotten—again.
***
Inside the frame.
The darkened portrait murmured, puzzled.
“...Felt like I said a lot... How strange.”
He couldn’t remember.
Compatible Candidate List
Garden of Pleasure_JEORGE
Assimilation Rate: ???%
“Still such a troublemaker.”
It wasn’t surprising. After all, the portrait knew he was Gio. The garden’s intense antics didn’t scare him.
‘Maybe my translucent friend helped too...’
Whichever of them it was, Sergio still couldn’t recall anything. He knew it, and felt like he knew it—but chose to feign ignorance. All that remained was the ‘fact’ that he had become a portrait, moments away from burning.
So Gio merely responded to the gaze that reached him.
“I wonder if our father’s doing well after sending his precious son out to some godforsaken place...”
That slit pupil was all too familiar.
***
“......”
A hollow laugh escaped.
“Ah, honestly...”
From his office, Bisa Beul chuckled.
“You’re the best.”
That’s my son, alright.
His bright yellow eyes stared into empty space.
