Defeat

Artua seized Vanessa’s wrist.

Breaking a taboo had been difficult only the first time; after that, it became incredibly easy.

He dragged Vanessa like a doll through various parts of the mansion.

Guards and slaves filled the exhibition hall, but because Artua knew the interior layout perfectly, he managed to reach the studio without running into anyone.

As he prepared to paint immediately, Artua thought,

It was truly a good idea to hold the exhibition here.

The location for this exhibition was a mansion on a cliff that Artua had purchased to keep Fren in check.

He could have rented a larger and more accessible place, but he insisted on holding exhibitions where his studio was.

He wanted to be able to paint or revise any time.

Arriving at the studio, Artua was about to take out his painting tools when he noticed something beneath the canvas.

It looked like one of the gifts he had received today, clearly placed there by someone.

What is this? I’ve never seen it before.

The idea that someone had trespassed into his studio made him furious, but he had no time to deal with it now.

Dropping the flat package at his feet, Artua finished his preparations smoothly and glanced at Vanessa.

Vanessa was bewildered by the sudden change in situation and looked lost.

Artua clicked his tongue and ordered,

“Stand there.”

“…I need to return to my master.”

“I’ll take care of the aftermath, so just stand there.”

Visibly relieved, Vanessa obeyed, but his posture was stiff.

Completely different from when he had been dipping his feet in the pond.

Eventually Artua had to adjust Vanessa’s posture himself, manipulating him like a doll.

A moment later, Vanessa lay slanted across the bed and asked,

“Is this position okay?”

“Yes. Don’t move at all.”

Artua began sketching rapidly.

With his mouth closed, Vanessa became perfect again.

Artua stared, unwilling to admit it, but he could not stop thinking that a god would look exactly like Vanessa’s beautiful body and face.

Yet he still was not completely satisfied.

As he began drawing Vanessa’s expression, he stopped and gave another command,

“Smile.”

Vanessa quickly lifted the corners of his mouth.

Artua raised his voice,

“Smile!”

Even with the corners pulled hard, Vanessa’s smile was unsatisfactory.

Artua got up again, intending to physically correct Vanessa’s expression like he had corrected his posture before.

“Smile more naturally!”

But the expression only grew more unnatural.

His fingertips tightened as he gripped Vanessa’s lips.

“Smile like when we first met! Like when you look at Fren!”

Vanessa had to smile that way.

Because when he smiled like that, he was truly the most beautiful being in the world.

It was shameful to think so after having praised him just moments ago, but Vanessa now was nowhere near as beautiful as when he had first appeared as Fren’s masterpiece.

Their bodies grew closer and closer.

Harsh breathing echoed through the room.

At some point, Artua had climbed on top of Vanessa.

Artua stared down at the powerless figure beneath him through bloodshot eyes and wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

The unknown heat and excitement left droplets forming.

Panting, almost begging, Artua whispered,

“Smile at me like that too.”

“……”

“Just once is fine. Give me the chance to beat him.”

That plea was meant for Vanessa and for himself.

Artua bowed his head for a moment, then looked up again.

Vanessa wore an expression of terror as if facing a madman.

Artua debated whether to lift those drooping lips again with his fingers but simply shook his head.

“Fine. This expression is new and good in its own way.”

He decided the title should be “The Terrified God.”

As if the chaos earlier had been a lie, Artua suddenly calmed and moved away before sitting again.

“Don’t move.”

With that, Artua focused on the painting.

In a studio filled with failed works and paint ingredients rolling like stones, his hand continued steadily.

Then abruptly he spoke,

“You know, I’ve loved gods since I was young.”

There was none of the dignity of royalty in his tone; it was like a child whining to a parent.

Vanessa remained silent, still terrified.

“Gods can do anything. Even we were created by gods.”

“……”

“That’s why I painted only gods. It was just a hobby at first, so I thought I could draw what I liked. But strangely, the more I painted, the more I began to care about others’ eyes. Damn ambition. If I was doing something, I wanted praise for it.”

If another elf saw him now, they would think he was distracted, chatting instead of painting.

But Artua was more focused than ever.

His earlier sensitivity and irritability were gone.

He lifted his hand to wipe sweat but paused when a clean handkerchief appeared and dabbed his forehead.

He turned his head.

Vanessa, who had been lying on the bed, had moved closer without him noticing, still wearing a terrified expression as he wiped Artua’s sweat.

“When did you come here? Go lie back down— Actually, never mind.”

Artua leaned briefly against Vanessa’s body, then resumed painting with renewed intensity.

Vanessa sat beside him, yet Artua could depict him better than before.

It felt as if another Vanessa still lay on the bed.

As he painted the folds of clothing, Artua continued,

“I just wanted to be the best. Even once, just once, I wanted to stand above everyone. But before I knew it, I was painting in ways others liked instead of ways I liked. Drawing became joyless. It became torture.”

Now only the face remained.

Gripping his tools firmly, he declared with determination,

“But I realized something. I brought you here because I wanted to draw what I like in the way I like. How stupid of me. I finally met someone whose face resembles a god more than anyone, yet instead of focusing on you, I was thinking about Fren again…”

If he continued like this, he would never seize any opportunity that came.

Artua smiled faintly.

“I’m stopping now. Chasing Fren.”

“……”

“I’m going to live like before—painting what I want in the way I want. I’m tired of everything. I want to enjoy painting again.”

He would rest from exhibitions until he could accept any evaluation calmly.

It was a difficult decision, but necessary.

Breathing slowly to steady himself, Artua made a proposal,

“So… why don’t you stay with me?”

“……”

“Staying beside Fren won’t end well for you.”

Artua leaned again on Vanessa.

“I’ll make you smile. I’m royalty, so I can give you everything. Fren is impressive, but he isn’t royalty.”

“……”

“One day, when you look at me, you’ll smile more beautifully than you ever smiled next to Fren.”

It was practically a confession that he was still conscious of Fren.

But immersed in his own sense of growth, he did not realize it.

Artua looked up at Vanessa and continued,

“Of course right now, no matter how much you look at me, you probably can only make an unpleasant expression…”

Suddenly, he stopped.

Vanessa was smiling.

Not like before—nothing loving—but definitely smiling at him.

Overwhelmed, Artua spread his arms to embrace him, but was unable to.

Vanessa began laughing aloud.

He giggled. Then burst into wild laughter.

Bending forward, laughing as if seeing the funniest thing in the world.

Artua, more serious than ever moments ago, flushed red with shame.

“What’s so funny?”

Vanessa only laughed harder.

“I asked you, what’s so funny?!”

In anger, Artua shoved Vanessa with both arms.

Vanessa fell awkwardly, dropping something he had been hiding behind him.

Artua grabbed the fallen object while fuming.

“When did you—”

He froze like stone.

It was a small canvas, painted with a portrait.

The Vanessa in the picture held a bouquet and smiled with deep affection.

Artua’s hands trembled.

Even with a glance, he could tell who the artist was.

That alone would have been tolerable.

But what Artua could not endure was that Fren had used Artua’s own favored method to paint it.

“This is impossible…”

The technique was the same, yet the result was completely different.

Fren’s work was flawless—impossibly perfect.

Staring blankly at Fren’s painting, Artua slowly turned to look at his own.

What he had believed moments ago to be a masterpiece now looked pathetically small.

Even a worthless s*ave could clearly see which painting was superior.

Once again, Artua had been defeated by Fren.