-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: penny
Chapter: 5
Chapter Title: Episode 2: Mural
-----------------------------------------------------------------
There was a time when "mural villages" were all the rage.
One artist donated his talents to paint murals in a village, and they became famous. Suddenly, hordes of tourists flocked to that unremarkable rural spot just to snap photos.
Hearing about it, other villages scrambled to attract visitors the same way, painting murals left and right like mushrooms after a rain.
And Namhae Island was no exception.
The island has several villages that invested public funds to create their own mural villages. But they just threw money at it without proper upkeep. Most ended up as eyesores or faded into obscurity due to lack of promotion.
On top of that, the murals all followed the same tired style—old folks in hanbok, half-hearted waves, flower crabs, seafood. You name it.
Typical desk-jockey decisions that ignored the village's unique charm. The mass-produced mural villages diluted the whole concept's appeal until people forgot about them.
So when I first painted mine, I figured it wouldn't draw much attention.
"Should we take one more?"
"People are waiting behind us."
"Aw, too bad."
"Let's eat first and come back for sunset. It's stunning here then."
"Oh, I've seen those pics."
I never imagined people lining up to take photos.
Well, the line wasn't that long.
About Instagram cafe level? No, more like the wait at a neighborhood eatery. Still, seeing my paintings appreciated felt amazing. Like gazing at an audience enjoying my songs from the stage—different context, same thrill.
Just one question nagging me, though.
"Where'd all these people even come from?"
How did they know about my murals? From the chatter, it sounded like Instagram photos led them here.
Did some big influencer post about it?
"Excuse me."
"Yes?"
"Sorry to bother you, but could you take a photo for me? I'm here alone, and I want one from far away with that mural in the back."
I was debating asking the line myself when a high school girl in uniform thrust her phone at me.
She was solo, no one to snap pics for her, huh?
"Sure, hand it over."
Not a tough request, so I nodded and took the phone. I eyed her through the lens and slowly adjusted my stance.
Let's see.
To make legs look longer, shoot from low angle looking up. But not too low or it gets weird—gotta balance it. Then step back to widen the shot...
Click.
"There you go."
"Let me see—wow! What? You take amazing photos, oppa."
"Like it?"
"Yeah. First time I've gotten a shot like this. Total life pic."
I handed it back, and she beamed with pure joy. I nodded smugly. Yeah, yeah. All that selfie training back in trainee days wasn't for nothing.
"Glad you like it."
"Are you a pro? Like a photographer?"
"Nah, not that level."
Even I thought it came out great, but pro photographer? Nah. Still, the praise made me grin as I waved it off.
"Oh, can I ask you something?"
"Sure. What? My Insta handle?"
"No, not that."
I didn't have one anyway.
"...You're firm about it."
"I don't do SNS. Anyway, that mural—is it famous? Like an Insta hot spot?"
"Ah, got it! Thought you were brushing me off. Hurt feelings averted. Oh, the mural? Nah, not blowing up SNS-wide. More like famous around this village?"
"Village famous?"
"Yeah, this influencer noona, Lee Hye-jin. She got big posting pics of it. Whole school's buzzing. Look—my friend shot here, got 900 likes."
"...I see."
That explained the teens and twenties dominating the crowd. Still, they were mindful of it being private property—whispering politely as they snapped away. I rubbed the back of my neck.
Eh, it'll fizzle out soon enough.
No need to make a fuss.
Just in case, I'll stick up a quiet-private-property sign.
"Want me to take one of you? Not as good as you, but I'm decent."
"No thanks."
"Huh? Weren't you waiting to get your photo?"
"Yeah."
"Then why are you..."
She eyed me puzzled, so I pointed beside the photo crowd—to the door I'd painted myself.
"That's my house."
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
If my house had one redeeming feature,
it was zero noise worries.
Not sure if that's a perk or just sad. Nobody lives nearby. Houses exist, but all vacant.
No "people."
The village isn't deserted overall. Head to town or the beach, and folks are around.
But this road to the beach where I live? Empty. Makes sense—my parents tried selling this place before giving up.
Thanks to that, I can play instruments day or night, no interruptions. Back in Seoul, impossible outside a studio.
"Think this chord progression works?"
Under the bright lantern lighting the porch, I strummed my guitar and murmured.
House has two instruments total.
A synth that handles composing, arranging, and playing. I doubled as band keyboardist sometimes, so I scraped together settlement cash and part-time wages for that pricey beast.
This acoustic? A no-name gift from Grandmother in my kid days. Bought in Europe on a filial piety tour from my parents.
I love the sound—clear, pristine. Like crystal water or a glimpse into clear depths. Subtle depth too. My prized treasure.
Every composition so far, done on this.
"La la la la."
I played its unique tone, humming a melody that floated in my head by the sea earlier.
Added a touch of my voice, then hit play on the recorder.
"Hm."
Why's this song so good?
Better than expected?
Commercial hit or flop, who knows. But it nails my taste, fits my voice perfectly.
Worth fleshing out?
Not flawless, but solid enough. Not starting now, though.
Because...
"Ah. Sun's up already."
Outside, day had broken.
I scratched my head at the risen sun, work derailed. Tried fixing my schedule post-move, but back to square one.
Really.
"Good thing I bought blackout curtains."
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
[3:21 PM]
Woke up to full afternoon outside.
Crashed at 6 AM, so...
"About 9 hours?"
A bit much? Docs say 8+ is ideal, so one extra's fine.
Feels refreshing, anyway.
"Yawnnn."
I stretched with a yell-ish sigh, yanked open the blackout curtains, aired out the windows, then headed to the entrance.
The tent and paints I'd ordered had arrived. Perfect timing. Dragged the big boxes inside, scratched my belly.
"Hungry."
Oh yeah, groceries too.
Ugh, hassle. Delivery today? (Surprisingly, they do some here.) Devil's temptation hit as I showered quick.
Nah, delivery's a ripoff.
Never finish it, always waste, overpriced. That cash buys 2-3 home meals easy.
Changed my mind, washed up fast, grabbed phone and scooter from the yard, and headed out.
Click, click.
"Ah, sorry, excuse us."
More photo folks now, absent earlier. They'd seen my sign—super quiet. They paused awkwardly as I emerged, so I nodded hello, locked up, hopped on the scooter.
Rode my sea-blue scooter to town.
Tiny compared to Seoul's Hongdae, but lively. Way busier than my hood.
"Groceries first."
Usually buy a day or two's worth for excuses to go out. But murals mean stocking 5 days at once.
Good, shopping done.
Before home...
"One hot dog, please."
Grab a snack.
Ordered from the stand I'd eyed with Hyun-jun hyung last time. I cook most things home, but frying? Nightmare.
Oil mess, post-clean hell. Skimp on oil, no vendor crunch.
So I buy fried stuff.
Easier on the gut.
"Here you go."
"Thanks."
Paid, took the hot dog.
Munched as I wandered the market. Crispy bun, salty snap of taut sausage.
Irresistible.
Then a big banner caught my eye.
[Summer Art Festival.]
...Art festival?
What is it? A festival?