The Mysterious Art Museum
Chapter 4 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

Ah, since the Eiffel Tower was built in 1889 as a monument for the centennial of the French Revolution, it must be some time after that. It’s funny to say I've "come" here. More accurately, I'm dreaming of being here.

Paris, France.

A place I've always wanted to visit, even in a dream.

Should I be glad to see it in a dream, considering that a trip abroad is unthinkable given my family’s financial situation?

When I was in high school, there was a school trip to Japan.

However, I couldn't join. We couldn’t afford the trip fees. Although my teacher offered to pay for me, I refused. The only thing left in my teenage pride was not wanting to beg for sympathy.

So, even now at twenty-eight, I still haven’t been abroad.

I plan to enjoy the luck I've found in my dreams.

But... even in a dream, does the weather need to be this realistic?

I quickly put my frozen hands in my pockets and looked around.

I can't tell the time, but it's definitely night.

There are only two places lit up within sight.

One is the Christmas shop I saw earlier, and the other is a place with lights on but I can't tell what it is, though the door is open.

I walked towards the Christmas shop first.

Through the glass, I could see trees, various dolls, gifts displayed, and a high-nosed woman, seemingly an employee, organizing things and turning off the lights. It looks like the shop is just closing.

Worried about loitering in front and being mistaken for a suspicious person, I quickly moved away and walked towards the last lit place.

It doesn’t look like a shop on closer inspection.

A place like a warehouse with its door open on this cold day. I peeked inside against the wall.

Hmm, there are large machines. It seems like a print shop given the large papers and inks.

Someone is inside. Sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ NʘvᴇlFire.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of nøvels early and in the highest quality.

A young man, only visible from the back, is hunched over in a chair, working on something.

I moved slightly to see what he was doing.

‘A painting?’

The man is drawing. In the middle of the night, when the streets are deserted, in a print shop rather than a studio.

What kind of person is he? My gaze then shifted to a calendar hanging on the wall.

‘December 24, 1894?’

If it's December 24, it’s Christmas Eve. I heard that Europeans back then never worked on Christmas Eve. Was that information wrong? Oh, right, this is a dream.

I leaned out into the street again.

Seeing that this is the only lit shop, it seems the custom of not working on Christmas is right. But why is this person working in my dream when everyone else is resting?

Just watching the back of someone engrossed in something is a bit boring.

I came out in front of the print shop and looked around the street. Then, I spotted a signpost.

“57th Street.”

Knowing the street number doesn't change anything, but just so.

I stepped back a few paces and looked at the sign of the print shop.

‘Lemercier? Seems like the name of the print shop. But isn't that a person's name?’

Thinking it sounded familiar, I recalled - it's the name of a famous medieval French architect, Jacques Lemercier.

Then I heard the sound of a door opening inside the print shop.

I looked down to see a plump middle-aged man coming out of an inner door. Is he also working on Christmas?

The plump man looks at the young man absorbed in his work and says,

"Alphonse. Even if it's a favor for a friend, why work on Christmas Eve? That friend really has no conscience. Asking for such a favor on a day everyone else is resting."

I widened my eyes at the plump man’s words. Alphonse? I furrowed my brows and pieced together the puzzle.

‘The person working is named Alphonse...? Then that man... is Alphonse Mucha from 1894.’

Am I dreaming this because I fell asleep at his exhibition? What a strange dream.

Anyway, Alphonse Mucha would have been around 34 years old at this time. Mucha at this time was completely unknown.

Mucha, with short hair and a mustache, smiles kindly and lifts his head.

“Mr. Brunhoff, the office manager. I'm fine, it's a paid job even if it's a friend's request. I need to earn a living.”

The man called Brunhoff drags a chair over, sits down, and glances at the painting Mucha is working on.

“What are you doing?”

“Proofreading work.”

“Tsk, tsk, money's good but you should take a break during the Christmas season. Go see your family.”

“Haha, I came to Paris alone anyway. I have nothing to do even if I go home.”

Brunhoff clicks his tongue and shakes his head.

“My wife is driving me crazy with her nagging. Standing guard duty during Christmas season. If I were her, I couldn’t stand it either. Damn boss.”

“Haha, if Mr. Lemercier hears, you’ll be fired?”

“He's not here, right? It's okay to curse when he's not around.”

As I thought, Lemercier was a person's name. The owner of this printing house must have that name.

Brunoff asked.

"Don't you have any friends? Don't you have anyone to meet on Christmas holidays?"

"I do, I'm going to have dinner with Marold and Makovsky at the restaurant on the 26th."

"Hmm, well, I'm glad you're not stuck at home all holiday."

Then, I heard someone's urgent footsteps in my ears, who was listening to the conversation outside the printing house.

I stuck my head out and looked to the side, and saw someone running down the alley, seeing the light coming out of the printing house, blushing and running faster.

Uh, uh.

Is he coming straight to me?

Doesn't he see me?

I didn't know how to react, so I just stood there awkwardly and couldn't avoid him until the man came right in front of me.

Just before the man hit me, I reflexively raised my hands and feet to protect myself.

"Huh!"

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