Deep behind thick stone walls where even the sound of rain outside couldn't reach, countless book spines held a heavy silence. Rows of bookshelves stretched toward the high ceiling. The scent of well-used leather and old paper, mixed with a faint aroma of tobacco and ink, filled the place with a unique, dense atmosphere. Through the stained glass carved into the large arched windows, the barely reaching outside light cast beautiful shadows of blue and red onto the carpeted floor. Every time the light of the gas lamps on the walls flickered slightly, the overlapping shadows of the books moved like living creatures.

This is the National Museum—a fortress standing at the brink of a world where time is being stolen and art is being lost.

Suddenly, from the end of the hallway, the sound of leather shoes clicking on the floor is heard. An artist who has just returned from the battlefield "inside the art" brushes dust off his coat while stifling a yawn. From the room next door, the sound of manuscript paper flipping, voices in debate exhaled with tobacco smoke, or the smell of warm steam drifting from the cafeteria can be heard.

In the outside world, a colorless malice that seeks to devour the very existence of literature is raging. Tomorrow, the culture and art left behind by someone might vanish from this world without a trace. That is why the time flowing in this museum is somehow poignant and beautiful. While it is a battlefield to stop the collapse of the world, it is also a peaceful garden of daily life where souls who loved art gather again, talk, and feel the reality of living.