I Became the Master of the Villain

Who would’ve thought that the man I mistook for a vagrant was actually a painter?
I had no issue with him wanting to use Kian as his model. But there was one thing that worried me.

Modeling is harder than it looks. Holding the same pose for long periods of time is quite taxing.
So when I hesitated to give permission, the nameless painter pleaded.
“Please, I beg you. I must paint that young man. He’s the perfect model I’ve been searching for!”

His eyes were brimming with emotion and rapture, as if to prove he wasn’t lying. He spoke with fervent passion.
“I swear, that young man is the most beautiful creature I’ve ever laid eyes on.”
“…!”

How did he know?
I couldn’t help but admire the painter’s insight. The most beautiful being in this world—it wasn’t an exaggeration, but fact. After all, Kian was officially recognized by the author as the most beautiful character in this novel.
That the painter recognized Kian’s true worth…

With a slightly excited voice, I turned to Kian.
“Kian, what do you want to do?”
There was a hint of pity in Kian’s eyes as he looked at the painter.

“If you allow it, Master, I’d like to do as he asked.”
It seemed he felt sympathy for the painter, who looked like a beggar.
If Kian wanted to do it, I had no reason to refuse.

“Alright. I’ll allow it.”
“Haha! A wise decision!”
The painter leapt with joy and set up his easel on one side of the street.

He had Kian pose, then picked up a palette in one hand and a brush in the other and began his work.
With delicate strokes, the painter began to depict Kian. He simplified the background and carefully rendered Kian’s face—his clear, sky-blue eyes, smooth nose bridge, peach-pink lips, sparkling silver hair, and graceful jawline.
Even when giving Kian breaks, he didn’t put down his brush. Like all artists consumed by their passion, he painted with tremendous focus.
I stood a few steps back, quietly watching the scene. His skill was astounding—enough to make my eyes go wide.

When the painter finally set down his brush, a gasp escaped my lips on its own.
The Kian in the painting looked like he was about to say, “Master,” to me. That’s how lifelike the portrait was.
Could this man be a genius? A famous painter I didn’t recognize?

With that thought, I asked for his name. The painter gave a cryptic smile and replied,
“I’m just a lowly man scraping by on meager talent.”
The vague answer made me doubt if that was really the case.

I considered pressing further but decided against it—I wanted to let Kian rest, as he must be tired from modeling.
And since he’d been exposed to the riverside wind for a while, ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) I worried he might catch a cold. I called for the carriage, thinking we should return to the estate.
“Thank you. Being able to paint you was the greatest fortune of my life.”

The painter said to Kian before we boarded.
If Kian had been a woman, I had no doubt he would’ve kissed the back of his hand.
Kian gave an awkward smile, and I quietly closed the carriage curtain.

Honestly, our protagonist’s looks are so universally effective, it’s practically a problem.
***
“An Imperial Art Exhibition?”

Invited to the Duchess of Wedgwood’s residence, I sipped the subtly fragrant tea and repeated her words.
“Yes. Aren’t you excited as well, Lady?”
The duchess’s eyes sparkled with anticipation. As expected from an art fanatic...
The , hosted annually by the Royal Academy of Art, was essentially a gateway for aspiring painters.

If an artist caught the judges’ attention at the exhibition, their future as a painter was secured.
They gained fame, their works sold at high prices, and many who longed for wealth and recognition submitted pieces to the exhibition.
Once the event concluded, the displayed paintings were sold to the public—the higher the judges’ scores, the higher the price.

So for me, attending and checking the painting rankings was important as well.
“You’ll accompany me to the exhibition, won’t you?”
The duchess asked with a friendly smile. Perhaps because we shared a mutual interest, she had grown quite warm toward me. I smiled in return.

“I’d be delighted, Duchess.”
Since it wasn’t entirely unrelated to business, I readily accepted.
“Lady Olivia, over here!”

As soon as I stepped out of the carriage, the Duchess of Wedgwood called out to me in a cheerful voice. I made my way through the crowd toward her.
The exhibition hall that hosted the Imperial Art Exhibition was packed every year. The massive crowd alone was proof of the public’s intense interest in the event.
Careful not to step on anyone’s dress, I entered the hall.

“Now then… Shall we begin from the entrance?”
The duchess said enthusiastically as she gazed at the walls lined with paintings.
This year’s exhibition showcased a staggering 3,000 pieces. Due to the sheer volume, some were hung so high they nearly touched the ceiling.

Those were bad spots—barely visible unless you craned your neck. Such works hadn’t received good scores from the judges.
On the other hand, high-ranking pieces were displayed at eye level in prime locations.
In other words, the placement of a painting revealed its general standing in the competition.

The duchess examined the artworks with great care. I, meanwhile, took notes in my notebook on pieces by noteworthy artists—I planned to purchase them after the show.
We continued our tour together. That’s when a particular piece caught our attention—a painting that had drawn a notably large crowd.
It hung alone on a section of the wall, arranged in a way that forced viewers to focus solely on it.

With an excited voice, the duchess explained,
“That piece received unanimous top marks from the judges.”
Which meant it would be extremely expensive.

The duchess and I stepped closer to get a better look. And the moment the painting entered my view—
“…!”
I was too stunned to speak.

Because the young man in that painting was someone I knew all too well.
The most beautiful young man in this world—his face was there.
Next to the title , I quickly checked the name of the artist.

Nicholas Rossetti.
A strange encounter from a few days ago flashed through my mind.
To think the man I believed to be a penniless unknown was actually the young genius, Nicholas Rossetti…

As if struck in the back of the head, I let out a dry laugh without meaning to.
From beside me came the sound of sniffles.
Tears welled in the duchess’s warm eyes. She dabbed at the corners with a handkerchief and said in a slightly choked voice,

“Just by looking at the young man’s expression… you can feel how much suffering he’s endured.”
I agreed and looked back at the painting once more.
The realism was astonishing, as if the figure inside might start breathing any moment—but what truly made the painting exceptional was something else.

It made your heart ache.
The youth in the portrait looked sorrowful. His eyes held a quiet pain, as if he had endured tremendous hardship.
Whether it was intentional or not, the artist had emphasized a wistful and melancholic atmosphere around Kian’s image.

It left the impression that his life had never been easy.
Which, of course, was true—Kian’s life had been filled with thorns.
That must’ve been Nicholas’s first time seeing Kian, and yet he painted as though he had peered into his soul… Truly, the title of genius was no exaggeration.

I glanced around.
Perhaps because true art could move people’s hearts—red-rimmed eyes were not limited to the duchess.
“So beautiful…”

Everyone reacted differently. Some were moved by Kian’s stunning appearance more than anything else.
“100 billion gallons… No, would 200 billion be enough?”
“200 billion? That’s not nearly enough. It’ll take at least 500 billion!”

Some gentlemen were already busy speculating on the painting’s price.
While people took in the artwork in their own ways, the gallery suddenly grew noisy.
“Isn’t that Nicholas?”

“It is—Nicholas Rossetti!”
All eyes turned toward a tall, dashing man. He strode toward us confidently.
“We meet again, milady.”

Unlike his disheveled appearance when we met on the street, Nicholas now looked immaculate. He removed his hat and greeted me. Clean-shaven, he looked quite young—mid-thirties, perhaps?
Appearing publicly for the first time in five years, Nicholas instantly became the center of attention.
But he wore the confident smile of someone used to and enjoying the spotlight. With a pleasant grin, he asked,

“Do you like the painting?”
As if I had any right to judge—this was a piece that had satisfied even the notoriously strict exhibition judges.
And once the event ended, there would be a fierce competition to acquire it. I was already thinking of preparing for that when Nicholas suddenly said,

“I’m giving it to you as a gift.”
“…!”
His shocking declaration spread murmurs like ripples in water.

Giving away a painting that could sell for a fortune? Why?
Nicholas seemed to answer the question everyone had in mind.
“It’s a gift for the young man who modeled for me.”

The nobles who’d had their eyes on the piece looked completely aghast.
The Duchess of Wedgwood, who had been tearing up beside me, said,
“Do you know who the most enviable person in the world is right now?”

It’s you, of course…
Apparently, she had coveted the painting as well.
But the man who caused all this uproar—Nicholas—seemed utterly indifferent to the commotion. He kept scanning the crowd as if searching for someone.

I had a pretty good idea who that someone was.
“Mister Nicholas. Even if it’s a token of thanks to your model, isn’t that gift a bit excessive?”
At my question, Nicholas shrugged and replied,

“Excessive? Compared to that young man’s beauty, this painting is nothing.”
“Nothing,” he said—words that would’ve given any judge a heart attack.
He stroked his freshly shaven chin and said,

“So you didn’t bring him today.”
So he was looking for Kian.
With a mischievous smile, Nicholas added,

“Since you seem to think my gift is too much, Lady, may I ask a favor in return?”
I didn’t even need to ask what it was. I already knew.