"Ah, muggle discrimination is seriously the worst."
Ever since the day he started what could only be called drawing rehab or practice, those tools that were supposed to help when drawing with magic power had been taunting him right in front of his eyes.
He'd even bought a black pen on a whim, thinking maybe it would work, but of course it hadn't budged.
Staring at a pile of ordinary tools—supposedly for beginners learning to draw or weirdos who liked the crude feel—he had no choice but to stew over it.
"They said maybe I'd discover some latent magic talent and be able to use them... Yeah, fat chance."
But he couldn't just give up on drawing, so the only option was to stick with regular tools.
At least the paints and other materials were the same as what he knew—that was a small mercy.
He'd felt something similar once before: back when the drawing program he used forced him to rely almost solely on the basic brush.
Of course, that time it happened because he'd tried drawing on a tablet computer he'd bought and then shelved. The brush he wanted didn't work on the tablet app version due to compatibility issues.
His main drawing tablet had broken, leaving him no alternatives, so he'd suffered through it like that until he could get it fixed.
Maybe because it was the same frustration of having tools but not being able to use them properly, it brought back a flood of memories from that era.
"Ugh... The sketch looked decent enough. But inking is a total headache."
He'd done the sketch with a graphite stick called a napil, which was basically like a pencil.
Honestly, it didn't feel all that different from sketching back in the modern world.
But tracing over that sketch? That was where the headaches piled up one after another.
When drawing digitally, you layer multiple transparent canvases called layers.
Normally, you'd create a new layer over the sketch, trace the lines there, then just toggle off the sketch layer's visibility, and boom—inking done.
Here, though? Draw with the napil, then trace over it with a quill pen.
Finally, erase all the napil marks with an eraser in a tedious process.
But what if the ink from the quill lifts off along with the graphite while erasing?
Then comes round two: twisting your body into pretzels to naturally fill in the blank ink spots.
Truth be told, this was only manageable because of high-quality erasers and special canvases they worked on. Without those? He didn't even want to imagine.
'Layers are one thing, but...'
The sketch could be erased, sure. But once you laid down lines with the quill and ink? No undoing that.
If a line went even slightly off? Back to square one.
He wasn't even someone who spammed Ctrl+Z that much normally, but now he felt its absence in his bones.
"Ah, shit..."
The one silver lining? The quills and ink were top-notch quality.
After a bit of practice, he could ink stable lines without thickness issues.
So, pretty please, couldn't someone just invent an undo function for this stuff?
But analog drawing making that possible? Dream on.
A surge of respect welled up for the painters of this world—not to mention the comic artists and illustrators from before digital tools went mainstream.
The level of effort and care they put in was on a whole different plane.
"Argh!"
And part of it was just needing time to adapt to the new tools.
Parts he never messed up before felt off with these, leading to constant mistakes.
Every time he botched a line beyond repair, he felt like offing himself.
"Poured the whole day into this, and not a single successful inking."
Feeling utterly deflated, he roughly packed away the tools and headed to bed.
A short nap, then tackle the rest tomorrow—it wouldn't be too late.
Ever since starting to draw, that frantic sense of being chased by time had eased up, letting him think that way.
Rozaria might take it the wrong way, but honestly, now it finally felt like he was living.
He'd just been ranting about wanting to die from frustration, but that was pure bullshit born of aggravation.
Deep down, he was still the type who found meaning in life through drawing.
Others might call him crazy for saying that.
But what could he do? That was just who Kim Siwoo was.
"Oh? Oh, oh...!"
After a solid night's sleep, the next day he dumped all his time into drawing again, naturally.
And thanks to that, he finally nailed a perfect inking for the first time.
He'd actually finished it a bit earlier, but paranoia made him double-check, wondering if he was just blind to the flaws.
After so many failures, success felt suspicious.
"Whoa, is inking seriously this tough...?"
He wondered how he'd ever manage full comics later.
Right now he was thrilled with the inking success, but even for black-and-white, he needed more details here.
And if he went color? Coloring—the ultimate monster—awaited.
"First goal was a color illustration anyway, so time to color."
Obviously, this being his first try, he'd probably botch it big time.
But he didn't need results right this second.
This was all practice and rehab to recreate his style with analog tools.
"Oil paint for now, then..."
He'd initially planned watercolors—they dried fast.
Oils used oil, so drying took forever and felt stifling.
But watercolors muddied up on overpainting, making clean lines tough. Oils were the better bet.
"Ah, damn it..."
But oils weren't cooperating either.
Fixing mistakes wasn't as easy as hoped, and even overpainting needed drying time—way too slow.
And even painting super thin, heavy fixes built up weirdly, creating unintended 3D effects.
"Used that super-fast-drying additive, and this one's already eaten two weeks."
He'd practiced inking or started new sketches while it dried, sure.
But two weeks in, and this was the state of things? Reality hit hard.
Still, drying in a day? Way more convenient than the oils he knew.
Honestly, less the materials, more his skill level at fault.
If overpainting ruined it, just don't overpaint, right?
And he was still clumsy at mixing desired colors anyway.
"At least I'm nailing that multi-layer feel now."
That was his biggest worry, and it was working out—relief.
Oils had this glazing technique: semi-transparent paint over fully dried layers.
It mimicked new layers with opacity tweaks or translucent brushes.
Sadly, no erasing once painted—a single layer limitation.
But that boiled down to skill: don't screw up.
Best bet now? Grind till oils felt natural.
...That resolution? Felt like months ago.
"Thought I bought tons of canvas, but it's already running low."
No results he deemed "good enough" yet, but canvases and some paints were dwindling.
He'd even repurposed failed inkings with oil overpaints for practice.
If this last one flopped too, he'd have zilch complete—off to buy more. So he poured everything into perfecting it.
Please, just one solid result.
"Oh... Now just glaze the details, and it's done."
First time the base colors came out this clean pre-glazing.
Honestly, quality-wise, it rivaled his digital work—no huge gap.
Almost no mistakes meant the flat feel he wanted was spot-on.
This piece? The protagonist of that new comic he'd prepped but never started.
Obviously, he'd tweaked details to fit this world.
But as a fantasy story at core, not much compromise needed.
"Silvery-white hair captured perfectly, those jewel-like sparkling golden eyes. Nailed the vibe."
A fresh-out-of-teens beauty like him or Rozaria—his fan-service points shone through crystal clear.
Obviously lavished care on the character, but the dreamy lake background details got love too.
Seeing his vision manifest exactly? Pure ecstasy.
His signature style reborn on canvas—chest swelled more with every glance.
Beginner's luck on the first finish, huh?
Glazing hands moved flawlessly, colors hit precisely, boosting completion perfectly.
Hell, past near-mistakes even enhanced details now.
"Whoa, this came out insanely good."
When he finally set the brush down, there it was: a canvas bearing 'Illustrator Siu's' flawless work, unbelievable as oil paint.