Chapter 68: Omen (5)

“…A painter, you said?”

“Yes. Though I’m still nameless for now.”

Hitler’s bright, eager eyes reflected the images of the paintings he had poured himself into.

Eva, freshly bathed and curled under a blanket, listened intently to his words.

“I’ll go make some hot cocoa. Please wait a moment.”

“Okay…”

While Hitler got up to prepare the cocoa, Eva studied the drawings he’d left behind.

‘Crude and realistic.’

Eva had once been the daughter of a noble house in Innsbruck.

From a young age, she’d been part of high society and had seen her share of priceless artworks.

With her trained eye, Hitler struck her as little more than “an average person who could draw decently.”

But—

He did seem to have talent.

Not just in art itself, but more importantly, in effort.

Compared to any man she’d met, his tenacity stood out the most.

Detailed depictions of cathedral spires, little brooks and cottages, the Madonna and Child, and countless buildings across Vienna held her gaze.

If he kept refining that talent by drawing the same buildings over and over…

One day—

He might really become a painter.

His techniques were outdated and didn’t match current trends, but even that couldn’t diminish his potential.

‘…He’s a diligent boy.’

As Eva was examining his work, her eyes caught a portrait of a stern-looking man with a thick moustache—
a face that resembled Hitler’s.

“That’s my father,” Hitler said, handing her a teacup.

“Your father…?”

“He was against me becoming a painter. I ended up moving to the city despite his protests.”

Her father.

Eva had one too.

A father she had killed with her own hands when she lost control of her magical powers.

“I’ll make him proud of me. If I go to him with my paintings and a diploma from the Vienna Academy of Fine Arts, wouldn’t he be happy?”

“…A diploma? Not just an acceptance letter?”

“A diploma is far more valuable, isn’t it? Especially for someone as strict as my father. Earning his approval would take years.”

“I see…”

Eva glanced around slowly.

The boarding house where Adolf lived was a cramped two-story home on the outskirts of Vienna.

Though tidy, likely thanks to Hitler’s habits, the place was too small to even hang a proper painting.

‘…So poor.’

Eva made a mistake.

She assumed Hitler—born with a silver spoon—was poor.

‘Then maybe… he should try getting support from his father now?’

If he demonstrated his passion and got proper recognition, his father might fund his education—
maybe even give him a private studio.

“Adolf, right? I’ve got a decent eye for art. Your work isn’t bad at all.”

“Really…?”

“I’m not just saying that. It’s not trendy, sure… but for your age? You’ve definitely got talent.”

Eva picked up a couple of paintings.

“Take this snowy cathedral and that one of the boy on the hill to your father.

He might not acknowledge you as a painter right away, but as a promising student? He just might.

And if he does, he might support you in all sorts of ways.”

It wasn’t an exaggeration—Hitler’s work genuinely wasn’t bad.

Eva saw clear potential in it.

Having assisted her father and seen numerous expensive artworks over the years, she was confident in her judgment.

He wouldn’t become a classicist like Kaufmann or an impressionist like Olga Wisinger-Florian,
but he might still grow into a successful painter.

“…But I can’t go see him now.”

Was he lacking confidence?

No.

Eva saw it—there was both madness and confidence in his eyes.

So then why…?

She looked closer at his expression.

The excited, talkative boy from moments ago was gone.

He now looked a bit melancholic.

“He passed away.”

“What…?”

“He’s dead. That’s how I was finally able to leave home.

But going to see the father who’s with the Lord now… that’s not for today.

Or tomorrow.

Only after I’ve become a great painter, admired by the world, will I finish everything and go to be with him and the Lord.”

Hitler fell into thought as he looked at the portrait of his father.

Eva, realizing her blunder, anxiously watched his reaction.

“It’s all right. Really, I’m fine.”

“…I’m sorry.”

Another silence fell between them.

“…It’s gotten late already. Miss Eva, I’m going to head out.
I think inspiration might strike.
Please feel free to rest here as long as you like.”

“Ah, wait…!”

As Hitler readied his canvas and sketch tools to leave,
Eva hastily grabbed his arm.

“Miss Eva?”

“…Can I come with you?”

Hitler blinked, wide-eyed, at Eva.

Then blushed and looked away.

“Miss Eva, your clothes…”

“Ah…”

In her rush to stop him, the blanket had slipped off, revealing her bare body.

Hitler had never been with a woman.

Sensitive, introverted, and shy, he’d never dared get close to the opposite s*x.

This brief contact left young Hitler completely flustered.

‘…I know it’s dangerous.’

If she stayed with Hitler, he’d inevitably become a target for the witches chasing her.

And yet, Eva still held onto his arm.

She didn’t know what she was feeling—
but every time she looked into those sparkling eyes, something stirred.

His tireless pursuit of a clear dream was beautiful.

She wanted to keep watching Adolf Hitler.

“If it’s a bother, feel free to say no… I’m just personally curious.
I want to see how painters work.”

“A-ah, no! It’s fine.
I’d be honoured to have a… a beautiful woman like you with me—ah, sorry! I didn’t mean anything by that!
It’s just, you’re very lovely…”

“Pfft… Adolf, you compliment just as well as you paint.”

Eva playfully pinched Hitler’s cheek.

It felt like having a much younger little brother.

“C-could you, uh, get dressed now… Miss Eva…?”

“Oh—sorry…!”

Blushing, Eva hurriedly dressed.

By midday, the two had departed for downtown Vienna.

***

Vienna, capital of the Austro-Hungarian Empire.

At its heart stood the Vienna Academy of Fine Arts, near Schiller Park and the Hofburg Palace.

Adolf Hitler had applied there twice—only to be rejected both times.

Now, across from the academy in Schiller Park—built to honor the playwright Friedrich Schiller—

Hitler and Eva sat facing each other.

“…Like this?”

“Yes, that’s perfect. I’ll draw a splendid portrait.”

Hitler had developed some skill in portraiture.

Though architecture was his true passion,
he’d practiced by sketching strangers in Vienna’s night streets.

He now carefully drew Eva’s pale skin, sharp nose, and elegantly tied blonde hair.

Even as he glanced back and forth between her face and the page, he didn’t pause.

Her beauty—like a valkyrie out of myth—only inspired him more.

Her large emerald eyes seemed to contain an entire sea.

Hitler poured all his focus into the drawing.

“…Is this really me?”

“I gave it everything I had. Do you like it, Miss Eva?”

“Of course I do! Adolf! With this much talent, how on earth did you not get into the academy? Was it a conspiracy or something?”

“…It was entirely my own lack of skill. The judging was fair. Probably.”

Clutching the finished portrait, Eva blushed and bounced with joy.

Her entire body melted with emotion she couldn’t voice.

She kissed Hitler gently on the cheek.

Smack.

“M-Miss Eva…?”

“Ah, um, it’s because I’m grateful!

Where I’m from—in Innsbruck—we show thanks this way!
Also, it’s close to Bavaria! You know how Bavarian women are!

My mother was Bavarian, you see…!”

Flustered, Eva fumbled for words.

Hitler, meanwhile, dazedly touched his blushing cheek where her lips had brushed.

Both of them, red-faced, fell back into silence, watching the ducks in the central lake of the park.

It was the only way to endure the awkwardness.

“…Adolf?”

Then—
a familiar voice rang in Hitler’s ears, breaking the silence.

To escape the mood, he looked toward the sound.

“I told you never to show your face near the academy again, loser.”

A dark-haired woman wearing glasses sneered at Hitler, holding a canvas under her arm.