Chapter 2 : Another world isn’t easy (2)

After my music academy tuition was plundered by a cultural artifact thief,

my plan to enter a monastery was put on hold.

Mostly thanks to my mother’s passionate pleas, or so I heard.

“You’re the best, Mom! You saved me!”

“No? They just told me to wait a few more months before your admission.”

Please don’t call it “admission.”

It’s a monastery, so technically an admission, but it sounds like I’m going to a psych ward.

“What kind of monastery even has an admissions season?”

[That’s true! Some religious schools do have admission periods. It’s because of their training schedules for monk candidates!]

“Shut it. I wouldn’t believe you even if you said you made rice cakes out of beans.”

[Whoa, really? I’m honored! Haha]

I’m seriously tempted to cancel this contract.

Thankfully, the authorities’ investigation didn’t reach our family.

Apparently, that bastard Nelsus had eaten up so much money.

All he got from me was some kids’ academy tuition.

In the investor rankings, I was probably in the bottom 10%.

“Then why did I get scolded if it wasn’t a big deal?”

[Because your parents saw the tuition appear in the news, used in some unexpected way. It must’ve really worried them.]

“Why is a chatbot saying something that makes sense?”

[Ah, sorry! Too honest, huh? Should’ve gone for the fake sympathy instead? Haha]

Show me your face, you little bastard.

You’re not really AI, are you?

Anyway, after Dad left for work again,

and I had a tearful goodbye with Mom, who was pretending to stay calm…

I began my journey for “admission” to the monastery.

[Would you like me to share another Heavenly Demon’s Cultivation recipe?]

“Shut your trap.”

The destination was the Water City, Yaltessance.

A region commonly known as the City of Arts.

***

Groomrok Morgran was an orc artist.

When he was young, he saw a painting in his hometown.

Enchanted by its beauty, he devoted his next 40 years to swimming in the sea of color.

‘That’s how I got to know Oliver Turing, too…’

Thinking of the court musician he knew, Groomrok sighed.

“Is this really a place that can take care of an 8-year-old girl?”

Chloe Turing.

That was the name of the child he was to look after from today.

To my esteemed friend, Groomrok,

As I mentioned in my previous letter, I intend to send Chloe to a monastery.

Like I did, it’s best to study the scriptures and learn the words of the gods at a young age.

My only concern is that she might end up mingling with troublemakers instead of learning refinement.

So I’d like to give her some real-world experience first.

It wasn’t a particularly cruel decision.

Eight is a fine age to start as an apprentice.

And we modern people can’t really criticize the “primitive” Middle Ages—

Even in the 21st century, it’s the same.

Becoming more familiar with an instrument or a brush than a parent’s hand—

It’s the inevitable fate of artists.

Which is why his apprentice, Jixly, tilted her head.

“What are you so worried about? You said she’d only be here for a few months.”

“There are sharp tools lying around the atelier. What if she gets hurt?”

An artist’s studio—especially a painter’s—is no place for a child.

Especially not a curious one who gets into everything.

“Even you, my apprentice, stole someone else’s carving knife to sharpen your pencil!”

“I didn’t steal it. I’m going to return it.”

“You’ve been saying that for a week now.”

Knock knock knock.

Ah, she’s here.

Groomrok, who had been scolding his apprentice, smiled and went to greet his friend’s daughter.

“Welcome! I’m Groomrok!”

His tusks stuck out from a twisted smile.

He was doing his best to look friendly.

Too bad the results didn’t match the effort.

After all, he was over two meters tall, with green skin—

Even in this era of reduced orc discrimination,

none of that mattered.

Just seeing his face was enough to scare people.

So even when Groomrok smiled and greeted them,

most kids replied with tears.

But—

“Nice to meet you. I’m Chloe Turing.”

Chloe didn’t even flinch as she looked up at him,

just calmly, like she was seeing her dad’s friend.

The one left gaping was Groomrok.

“…She really takes after her mom.”

A face so delicate and doll-like, just like Noah’s.

Both hands tightly clutching the backpack slung over her shoulders.

With those big eyes prettily set on a tiny face, looking up at me—she looked like a little kitten.

‘Wow, how can a kid’s face already look like this?’

Even though we’re not even the same race, I couldn’t stop marveling.

Having her become a musician feels like a waste of talent.

“Teacher?”

“Ah, ah, sorry. Come on in.”

“Yes.”

She answered smartly and walked in with her little feet!

Even her polite greetings to the apprentices made me want to pat her on the head.

Groomrok, whose face was already scary enough to make kids cry, suddenly developed full uncle-mode instincts.

Seeing an orc silently smirk at you?

That’s horror in real life.

But Chloe wasn’t scared.

‘They said orcs here aren’t monsters or anything.’

Then what’s the problem?

It’s not like this guy’s gonna go, ‘Eh? I eat people for breakfast,’ and turn me into beef tartare.

Smiling at me while staring straight?

I don’t really care.

I got used to that in this body, and more importantly—

‘Puppies and little kids are always treated with affection.’

Tiny, cute kids and animals are easy to love.

There’s less psychological resistance.

It’s easier to call a puppy cute than it is to say the same about a beautiful woman.

And sure enough—

Chloe’s arrival turned the atelier into a frenzy.

“Master! Who—who is this? A model? A new model, right?! Please say she’s a model!”

“Where’d you find her? Wait—did you kidna—ack!”

“She’s not a model. She’s the daughter of a musician friend.”

“Nice to meet you. If you discriminate against goblins, let me know in advance so I can throw the first punch.”

“Look at that tiny head. Smaller than my hand.”

There were orcs, humans, dwarves, and even goblins.

This fantasy is out of control.

And why is the goblin cute, too?

Ack! Don’t pinch my cheeks!

“Teacheeerrr….”

“You little punks! Stop bothering her and get back to work!”

When Groomrok swung an arm that was twice the size of Chloe’s waist, the artists scattered in a flurry.

It was an incredibly lively and warm atmosphere.

Thanks to that, even Chloe smiled a little.

Hmm, not bad.

As a temporary place to stay, this is more than I could’ve hoped for.

“This is the room you’ll be staying in. It’s already cleaned, and it’s not too cramped.”

“Wow! Thank you so much. I’ll keep it clean!”

Chloe lit up even more at the sight of the attic room.

Climbing up to the fourth floor was tough, but other than being a bit dusty, it was a lovely little studio.

Even back in Korea, Chloe had chased her romantic ideals and lived in a rooftop room with a bunk bed.

Artists are creatures who live and die by romance.

If she were a realist, she wouldn’t have studied music, nor would she have clung to her dreams and joined a musical instrument import company.

Still.

You can’t just live off dreams forever.

Chloe glanced around and carefully asked,

“Right. Teacher, about my living expenses—what should I do?”

“Living expenses?”

“Yes. Didn’t my dad say anything? I’m planning to look for work around here if needed.”

It’s already been eight years since Chloe was reincarnated.

She wasn’t naïve enough to think she could just laze around until her next hospitalization.

‘He probably left at least some money for my living and rent.’

Her dad was very meticulous about money.

Of course he would’ve sent some living expenses separately.

‘And he wouldn’t have handed a huge amount directly to a kid, either.’

She needed to know how much she had on hand to calculate how much more she’d need to earn.

Groomrok quickly caught on to how Chloe was thinking.

‘A smart kid like this wouldn’t be clueless about the real world.’

Just how high are Oliver’s standards, anyway?

Groomrok clicked his tongue.

Then let out a deep sigh.

No wonder.

“There’s nothing.”

“…Huh?”

“Not a single coin. Your dad didn’t give me anything.”

He hadn’t received even a single silver from Oliver.

“W-Wait, really? Not even a penny?”

“Apprentices are usually like that. They pay for their meals and rent with labor.”

“Oh… so you mean…”

Groomrok nodded with a sympathetic expression.

“Your dad probably wants you to grow up a bit while working here.”

Dad, Dad.

Oliver, you piece of work.

‘Did you really just throw me into the wild with nothing but a smile?’

You’re seriously the worst.

How could a parent be so cold to their own kid?

What is this, some medieval era without basic human rights?

Or did I cause some kind of massive incident or something?

‘…Shit. It’s all true.’

They called it the City of Water, but it’s more like a Marine boot camp straight from hell.

Ttakkari, did you lie to me again?

***

Dear web novel lovers of South Korea,

I have a word of advice to offer you:

Don’t trust the original source material too much.

The Middle Ages are a lot rougher than you think.

“Ow ow ow…”

On my seventh day of work at the atelier,

just as I was starting to adapt to the Renaissance-style boot camp,

I collapsed onto my bed and fell into deep reflection.

Child rights?

Labor laws?

No such thing in this world.

Compared to modern folks who freak out over working more than five days a week,

this place plays by an entirely different rulebook.

And no, this isn’t just a little crazy—this is the age of madness.

“The Middle Ages, huh. Modern-day sweatshop labor doesn’t even compare to this.”

[Yes, slavery continued well into the modern era.]

“What nonsense is that now? Where are you talking about? The U.S.?”

[It existed in many regions around the world.]

“…Even Joseon?”

[Yes, even Joseon!]

According to Ttakkari,

there was even a Korean state that trained middle and high school girls as special entertainment staff for high-ranking officials—

“Nope nope nope, stop right there with the red pill talk.”

[Such harsh realities existed in many societies. Smile!]

I don’t believe that!

Ttakkari’s trying to corrupt my brain again!

[Red Flavor! That song really is addictive, isn’t it?]

See?

Talking nonsense again.

No way that flaming nuclear-hot level of spiciness was ever real life.

‘…Well. I guess people are the same everywhere in the end.’

Yaltessans just haven’t completely left behind their “romantic era.”

If you want to live, you have to work.

Unless you want to chug the red pill and become some revolutionary martyr.

‘Working itself isn’t the issue.’

Sure, it’s harder than living in Korea,

but that’s all it is.

I’m not about to start crying just because it’s tough.

I’m a grown-up now.

“But seriously, what can I do?”

What now?

What can an 8-year-old even do in this peninsula of hell?

[There’s actually a lot you can do! Let me suggest a few options. What about music?]

“Music? Can that even make money?”

My dad is a royal musician, so I grew up in a musical household.

I’ve learned a few instruments too.

But even my dad—Oliver the court musician—was poor.

Even at the level of a royal court musician!

If I didn’t actually like music, I wouldn’t have learned it at all.

[Or what about being a model?]

“That’s not gonna work here either.”

In this world, people pay to get portraits made, not to be models.

It’s not a money-making job.

Sure, I’m the daughter—no, son—of Noah Turing.

This biologically beautiful face is practically a national treasure.

I might be able to reach that elite status where people pay the model instead of the other way around, but—

“Chloe, how about modeling today? I’ll give you 2 Yurks.”

“Nope.”

That’s literally worth two loaves of bread.

Is that a real hourly wage?

Forget child rights—there’s not even a minimum wage here.

“Look at how firm she is! What a shame.”

“Isn’t that kind of a high rate, though?”

“High? Please. Chloe could get sculptors offering gold coins to model for them.”

“Yeah, once she becomes an adult first, that is.”

Sculpting?

That’s about nude modeling, isn’t it?

What, you think I didn’t notice my mom’s full-nude goddess statue sitting right at the city entrance?

Even with my past body, I wouldn’t want to do that.

Now you want to immortalize my genderbent nude form at the city gates?

Sure. Just kill me now.

“Chloe! Chloe!! I’m sorry!! Don’t break the brush—it was sponsored and it’s expensive!!”

“You gonna bring up modeling again or not?”

“I won’t!! Never again!! I-I didn’t mean nude modeling, I swear please don’t snap it—!!”

See?

The modeling route is hopeless no matter how you spin it.

‘And it’s not like a monastery would be any better.’

This is a medieval fantasy world.

Eight-year-old girls have no rights here.

It’s a logic-breaking society.

If I want to avoid a future full of child abuse and suffering, there’s only one way.

‘I need to become influential enough myself.’

Influence.

Something that leaves a deep impression on religious folks…?

‘Ah. Of course. Donations!’

In the end, no matter how much I talked around it, there was only one real option.

“Ttakkari.”

I held back my tears and called upon my constellation.

Struggling to turn a blind eye to my conscience’s cries.

“Grab the brush. Let’s get to work.”

[Got it! Ttakkari is ready to draw!]

And so,

on the third week of my independent life in this harsh world,

I opened an AI art commission in the art city.

“Here you go. I finished all the drawings for five people.”

“Already?!”

“How did you finish them in just one day?”

“Hey! Would you consider signing an exclusive contract with me?!”

A third of the industry average price.

And ten times the work speed.

Lord,

please allow me to become a livelihood thief once more today.

“Ttakk.”