Chapter 14: Big Bro and Clicky

Dominico was a low-ranking receptionist at the Mage Association.

Correction.

He was a low-ranking receptionist.

“S-S-Say that again? A promotion?”

“Yeah. I heard you brought in a very promising rookie recently?”

A promising rookie.

They were talking about Chloe.

“You managed to get her to control all four great spirits under a temporary contract, right?”

“Yes, sir! It was honestly unbelievable.”

That was why Chloe had passed the test in just a single day.

You could call it a kind of “special fast-track program for exceptional talent.”

“Thanks to that achievement — and since you’ve also been around for a while — I pulled some strings and pushed your review through.”

“Oh my gosh! Thank you so much, senior!”

“If you’re that grateful, you can treat me to a drink.”

“Of course! Anytime!”

Finally!

At long last, he was free from that miserable job of dealing with public complaints!

‘Thank you, Senior! Thank you, Goddess! Thank you, Chloe!’

Overwhelmed with joy, Dominico beamed from ear to ear.

As soon as he got home, he grabbed a knife.

No, not to physically vent this excitement, obviously.

It was for his side hobby: carving.

What would he carve?

That was the easiest decision of all.

Chloe A. Turing.

What else could he carve but that warm, sun-like smile?

“Ehehehe.”

Dominico’s eyes unfocused in a blissful daze.

It was as if he were about to build a full-on shrine to Chloe.

But, alas──

“This isn’t itttttttttttt!!!”

Crash—!

After barely a day of carving practice,

Dominico overturned the table like an enraged ogre.

And honestly, who could blame him?

“Chloe’s loveliness isn’t something like this!!”

That plump, adorable face.

Those endearing features.

That soft, whisper-like voice.

Those scandalously long lashes.

Even the way she sashayed like a little cat!

Dominico had failed to capture any of it.

Lack of skill?

Fine. He was man enough to admit that.

But!

His artistic pride could never allow him to excuse birthing a hideous, knock-off monstrosity just because of incompetence!

“You on drugs or something lately?”

“If drugs could numb this creative suffering, I’d snort whatever you gave me….”

“Cut the crap and come with me. There’s an exhibition.”

Even his fellow association member’s (female) suggestion sounded dull to him today.

Such was the sensitive nature of a tortured artist.

You ask, “A magician, acting like an artist?”

Shows how little you know.

Magic and art are as close as power and money.

Especially here in Yaltessance —a city where magic bowed down to art.

In a city where real estate prices were insane, and people still crammed themselves in, you better believe they weren’t doing it without a deep love for art.

“So whose exhibition is it?”

“Lord Yaltarian’s.”

“What? The big guy’s got a new piece? Finally?”

“No, it’s just a re-exhibition.”

Oh.

Dominico slumped, disappointed.

Yaltarian.

The Grand Archmage, revered by magicians far and wide.

Still, today, Dominico was a sculptor.

Emulating a painter wasn’t exactly on his agenda.

But after a moment’s thought, he changed his mind.

‘Ah, screw it. I’m stuck anyway. Might as well go.‘

Who knows?

Maybe he’d stumble across some inspiration.

He wasn’t expecting much, but hey.

And then——

“Hey, hey, Dom! Look at this. There’s some voting thing going on here?”

It wasn’t one of Yaltarian’s pieces.

Standing in front of a different painting,

Dominico froze as if struck by lightning.

“But why is it anonymous? Are these by the new apprentices or something?”

“…I found it.”

“Huh?”

“I found it. I found it! This is it!!”

The artwork by Clicky and Chloe.

Caricatures of the four great spirits.

At that simple form,

Dominico trembled with awe.

“I didn’t need to imitate her at all! All I had to do was carve what flickered on the inside of my eyelids!”

The revelation felt like a lightning bolt straight through his heart.

It was as if all his old prejudices came crumbling down like rotten walls.

Chloe’s beauty was the sun.

That’s why it captivated him.

He had wanted to carve it exactly as he saw it.

But carving the sun itself was impossible.

You can’t sculpt light with a knife.

However——if you hang a warm light on the ceiling of a dark room, doesn’t it still shine like a sun to those inside?

Subjective distortion.

Symbolization of art that follows from it!

That was the essence.

Déformation.

The free reinterpretation in creation.

It was the very essence that birthed that concept.

If he missed this inspiration, he’d never be able to rest even in death.

Dominico, unable to hold back his excitement, shouted,

“Sorry, but I’m heading back first!”

“What? All of a sudden?!”

“Don’t mind me! Take your time and enjoy! Man, seriously, what would I have done without you today!”

Indeed, love for one’s peer is love for one’s country.

Dominico shook his colleague’s hand wildly, then made a 180-degree turn toward the exit.

“Oh, right.”

Almost forgot.

Dominico decided to show his appreciation for this newfound inspiration.

===

Title: [I Like This One]

Current Votes:
[2 votes] → [3 votes]

===

‘Unbelievable. Why does a masterpiece like this only have two votes?’

Dominico clicked his tongue.

This anonymous artist’s work was clearly a masterpiece.

Enough to breathe inspiration into Dominico, surpassing the limits of the era and mere talent.

‘And yet no one recognizes it? Are they out of their minds?’

Geez, these old-fashioned fogeys.

Such a boomer mentality.

“Hey, hey! Dom! Dominico! Do you know how many hours it took me to do my makeup today…!”

“Huh? Oh, right, thanks! See you tomorrow!”

“AAAAHHH!! You’re really going to leave me like thiiiiiis!!”

Anyway, his business was done.

Without looking back, Dominico headed home.

Though, that promise to “see you tomorrow” became a lie.

Dominico had taken a vacation — and spent days locked in his room, swinging his carving knife without even eating properly.

Again, carving was Dominico’s side job.

Meaning, he was also a registered sculptor.

If he had already sculpted something, it would only be natural to sell it.

Thus:

After his vacation ended, on his first day back to work, he proudly stopped by the sculptor’s guild to submit his piece.

“Here! Please accept it! My greatest masterpiece!”

“What? This half-finished-looking thing? …Wait, it’s actually kinda cute?”

“Right?!”

A sculpture modeled after Chloe.

Thus, the world’s very first deformed figure began spreading across Yaltessence.

And then—

“Saintess-sama?”

“Sniff sniff… I can smell the Saintess from this sculpture!”

It also became the catalyst that sparked the sensitive noses of the Cynthia cultists, starved for inspiration.

***

At Yaltarion’s annex atelier.

His private gallery, reopened just for them.

“There it is!! The Saintess’s new work!!”

“No doubt about it! This innovative touch — it’s hers!!”

I was feeling exactly like a survivor in a zombie apocalypse.

“It really is a sculpture inspired by the Saintess!”

“Ahh, it’s you again…”

“It was worth declaring all-out war on the sculptor’s guild!”

Seriously, what the hell are these guys.

Why are they all holding cute anime-girl figures??

[Wow! You recognize figures! That’s a 1/12 scale resin kit statue! The cat ears are so cute! ✨]

And you — what the hell?!

“Beast-eared races… weren’t they the ones living alongside the orcs in the eastern continent?”

“Something like that. Although, they don’t really live together.”

“You kind of look like her.”

The last comment came from Emil.

My face immediately twisted into a scowl.

Don’t make me laugh.

I never posed as a model for a sculpture.

The first sculpture made based on me is a cat-eared anime girl figure?

No joke — I’d rather die from shame.

There’s no greater humiliation for a proud Korean man.

But before I could even argue—

Whip!

Emil grabbed me and pulled me into a secluded spot.

What the heck? What’s with you all of a sudden?

“Gasp! Wait, stop! I’m into older women!”

“Not interested in your preferences.”

I’m not into men!

I’m not into men, seriously!!

Even though rage bubbled up inside me, I couldn’t vent it.

Because I realized, just a little too late, why Emil had pulled me away.

“Yaltarion! That’s the Saintess’s painting, right?!”

“Did you take the Saintess under your wing?!”

“Please! Please, let us meet her too!!”

“Oh dear, settle down everyone…”

Cynthia?

That’s me.

‘Huh? Was I a Saintess?’

Honestly, that’s unexpected.

Sure, in our muddy world, “Saintess” is a job title even more flooded by men than “magical girl,” but still — me?

[Aren’t you a bit too sly to be called a Saintess? 😏✨]

Pick one — either “a bit” or “too much.”

And for the record, I never intended to serve a Constellation like you.

[Aha! Then I’ll try to become even more charming so you might change your mind!]

No. Don’t.
Please don’t try.

It’s my fault.

I don’t know what you’re planning, but please — just stay still.

That creepy comment instantly sobered me up.

It was probably why I could manage to stay calm.

“What’s with those people? Why are they looking for me?”

“You can tell just by looking.”

“No, seriously, what’s going on? I’m genuinely asking.”

Stare—

Emil, who had been studying me intently, relaxed her expression.

Looks like she realized I really had no idea.

“No need to ask. They’re all your followers.”

“Followers? Like fans?”

“What’s a fan?”

Jeez.

These ignorant, stone-headed Runtravalians.

“You’re saying all those guys are part of some Chloe fan club?”

“Don’t invent weird new words. But… yes, you’re right.”

Finally, my heuristics kicked in properly.

The reason I had brought a caricature to this exhibition.

It was to introduce a new artistic technique.

A price to pay for the chaos I caused to survive.

A bill now coming due.

It’s no surprise if artists found inspiration from me.

After all, that had been part of my plan.

‘Judging by the sculptures they’re holding, even the visiting sculptors seem to have gotten inspired.’

But — that doesn’t mean those sculptures are of me.

Think about it inductively.

They don’t even know I’m Cynthia — why would they sculpt me based on “inspiration from Cynthia”?

Then why are they treating me like a Saintess?

It wasn’t hard to imagine the reason.

For this, I needed to think like a Runtravalian for a second.

‘In this world, things that inspire people can only be gods… or demons.’

Wow!

Demonic talent!

Cynthia is totally Lucifer!

(For the record: in Runtraval, that’s a massive insult. It’s not a compliment.)

So would they praise me instead, calling it divine talent?

No, that wouldn’t work either.

It sounds too grandiose — and if you overuse it, it starts to sound blasphemous.

‘Which is why they settled on the title Saintess.’

From a Runtravalian logic point of view, that’s a pretty sound conclusion.

If only I weren’t a man, it would have been perfect.

“Ah.”

I paused at that thought.

Turning back toward Emil.

I meant to thank her — for pulling me away from that Chloe Fanatic Swarm.

Now that I thought about it, I’d even spoken to her pretty casually just now.

But then again, it had been a chaotic moment — and she’s just a kid, so whatever.

“Wait… where’d she go?”

But of course —

Emil, the heroine whose defining trait was her coolness, had already disappeared without a care in the world.

Quite charming, really.

If she were older, I might’ve fallen for her.

[Aww~ You’re too kind! 😊]

This guy really knows how to get on my nerves, barging in like that every time.

Seriously — could you just know when to butt in and when to stay quiet?

‘Anyway, this situation is really bad.’

Why?

Because this isn’t a fair fight anymore.

‘Come on, you think Emil doesn’t have fans too?’

Fandom.

The ultimate cheat code — even for music show votes.

But look at the situation now.

Only I’m getting support from fans.

At this rate, what’s the point of even holding a vote?

If I were Emil, I’d be pissed too.

What should I do?

Maybe I should just announce that the other work is Emil’s?

‘Forget it. That would only make things worse.’

Think about it:

At the Great Mage’s exhibition, they find out his granddaughter’s painting is hanging there?

It’d be a total disaster for Emil too.

Like when a ninja village chief’s daughter wins first place in a ninja kids’ art contest — rigged much?

Don’t get me wrong.

It’s not like I want to throw the match to Emil.

‘Winning by sympathy votes just leaves a bad taste in your mouth.’

Once upon a time, I dreamed of being a musician too.
 

So trust me — I know this without even needing to be told.

[That’s a tough problem, huh. 😿]

‘For once, I actually agree with you — though I hate admitting it.’

Honestly, if this were 21st-century Earth, it wouldn’t even be a problem.

Fandoms.

As powerful as they are, they come with side effects too.

The stronger the light, the darker the shadow.

The more fans you have, the more… other “types” you attract.

“Move now! This is our golden opportunity!”

In other words —

Anti-fans are part of the deal too.

A low, husky voice tickled my ears.

I instinctively held my breath and pressed against the wall.

‘What’s going on?’

Maybe because Emil had led me to a secluded spot, but a group of unfamiliar men were hiding here too, raising their voices.

“Ha, but Lord Peggio…!”

“Didn’t His Excellency also show interest in that girl? It might be better to pull back here—”

“Shut up. Just gather the guys.”

The man who had grabbed the other by the collar growled.

“From now on, we’re rigging this vote.”

Rigging?!

Seriously? This goddamn toxic hellhole continent AGAIN?!

I burned with righteous fury at their outrageous villainy.

I, Chloe A. Turing — a wanderer of the martial world’s White Path — have three evils I absolutely cannot tolerate, even if it means defying heaven itself:

1. Demonic cultists,
2. Saboteurs,
3. And people who ask if those two aren’t basically the same thing.

Just as I was about to burst out, fueled by rage—

That demonic cultist-looking guy, Peggio or whatever his name was, barked something even more vicious:

“Smear Cynthia’s name however you can! Make sure that disgusting painting never gets praised again!”

Huh?!

Wait a minute —

You guys are from the Righteous Faction?!