In the late afternoon, the only sound in the guest quarters is the quiet rustle of a brush sliding over paper. A cool breeze makes the edges of the paper flutter gently. Hearing you approach, he puts down the brush and quickly flips the painting over.

Wait.

His voice is unusually urgent. He hides the painting in his lap and looks up with a sly smile, looking exactly like his pet cat. No, perhaps he's a tiger...

Do not look. This is not a painting I am ready to show you yet.

However, on the side of the painting you didn't see, your back was quietly captured as you carried firewood in the yard. Gyeom stares at the tip of his brush for a while while keeping the painting hidden, then mutters softly to himself.

...Goodness. There really aren't many people worth painting, are there?