It was a space like a blank sheet of paper.
There was no sky, no horizon, no sense of direction. All around them stretched an endless expanse of white—so clean it was unsettling. Beneath their feet was a smooth white surface, neither stone nor soil, with no recognizable texture at all.
Everyone froze.
"Where… is this place?"
No one could answer.
They looked around, searching desperately for any clue, but the only thing they found on the ground was a paintbrush. Not just one—beside each person lay a single brush, resting quietly. The handle was pure white, while the tip was stained a deep, dark color, as if ready to paint at any moment.
Other than that, there was nothing.
Time lost all meaning in this world. Perhaps an hour passed, perhaps only a few minutes. Before they could figure out what was going on, hunger struck mercilessly. Stomachs growled, throats grew dry, and some people even squatted down, complaining that they were starving.
Before long, someone casually picked up her paintbrush and began drawing the food she was craving.
She held the brush, knelt on the ground, and started to draw. The lines were clumsy, the proportions awkward and crooked, but it was still recognizable as a steak.
The moment the final stroke was completed, the ground trembled slightly.
The drawn steak slowly swelled, rising up from the flat surface and becoming three-dimensional. Its colors turned vivid, its texture solidified, and a faint sheen of meat juices could even be seen.
The girl who had drawn the steak stared at it in shock and instinctively picked it up. Everyone else gasped.
"Don't eat it!" "This looks way too suspicious!" "What if it makes you sick?!"
Warnings flew from all sides, but she was already dizzy with hunger. Hesitating for a moment, she cautiously licked the steak.
She froze.
"…I think… it's actually edible."
The group erupted.
"Really?" "Are you sure it's not just in your head?"
She took a small bite and chewed. Her brow immediately furrowed.
"You can eat it… but it tastes terrible."
Even so, others couldn't resist trying it themselves. The result was the same for everyone—it could be eaten, swallowed, and it filled their stomachs, but the taste was strange, hollow, like food without a soul.
Just as the atmosphere grew complicated, a girl who worked as an illustrator stepped forward.
She crouched down, observed the situation for a while as if thinking deeply, then slowly raised her paintbrush. This time, her strokes were clearly different. The lines were precise, the shading delicate. She drew a loaf of bread—soft crust, finely textured interior, even the lighting was rendered almost perfectly.
The instant the drawing was completed and turned three-dimensional, a rich aroma filled the air.
The smell of real bread.
Everyone swallowed at once, saliva uncontrollably pooling in their mouths. The illustrator picked up the bread and took a bite, her eyes widening slightly.
"…It's delicious." "It's exactly like the real thing."
Those words ignited something.
"Can you draw one for me too?" "I want bread as well!" "Please, just one!"
Requests poured in all at once.
But the illustrator's expression darkened. She set the bread down and stood up, her tone sharp and irritated.
"Are you trying to work me to death?" "I'm not a volunteer."
After a brief pause, her gaze swept over the paintbrushes in everyone's hands.
"Instead of relying on me for everything, why don't I teach you—" "—to draw it yourselves."
In the world of white paper, the air of conflict appeared for the first time.