Chapter 3: AI is good at drawing?

Turning back the clock a few weeks before the opening of the AI commission.

Moving day.

The attic room in Groomloc’s atelier.

Chloe was grappling with reality, a scavenged pencil and paper before her.

“What am I going to do?”

Chloe A. Turing.

A body merely eight years old.

Whether there’s an AI in her head or the mind of a 20-something adult, the reality is that physically, she’s weaker than her peers.

So even if she wanted to open a commission, she lacked the means to acquire canvases and paints.

Buying them was out of the question from the start.

‘If I had that kind of money, why would I open an AI commission?’

It was a struggle from the beginning.

No matter the world, it’s not easy for an 8-year-old to make a living.

However.

Again, Chloe isn’t just any 8-year-old.
Inside her head resides a seasoned member of society, and

[You’re talking about a way to subtly show your drawing skills to your uncle!]

There was also an AI perfect for consulting on such matters.

“Groomloc isn’t my uncle, but… whatever. Let’s say he is. So, what do you think? Any ideas?”

[Of course! I’ll suggest ways to naturally attract attention!]

What followed was the same as always.
The same as the past eight years.

Clicker unleashed a torrent of nonsense,
and Chloe rejected dozens of suggestions.

And then.

“This is the best option.”

She selected the most realistic future.

AI and human.

As the most amicable result of their discussion.

It was the moment Chloe took her first step in her struggle to survive in this world.

[The first step, the Nelsus Guild investment, was a failure! It’s more accurate to call this the second step! 😊]

“Will you shut up?”

You’re really annoying.

“Chloe, it’s Groomloc. Can I come in?”

Early evening.

Groomloc visited the room he provided for his friend’s daughter once again.

‘I should at least make sure she has a good first meal.’

Knocking politely on the door.

Even offering a proper meal instead of just black bread!

In Yaltesance, this was almost saintly behavior.

However, even this wasn’t entirely satisfactory to Groomloc.

Orcs were a race that practiced communal childcare.

‘But it’s difficult to openly give her special treatment.’

Groomloc is a renowned painter.
He’s also the head of an atelier.

For him to favor a newly arrived child, one who isn’t even planning to become a painter?

‘It would only cause discord.’

It’s difficult to even give her separate meals.
Human society is truly cruel and heartless.

So, what choice does he have?

He can only find opportunities like today to give her some meat.

“Chloe, I’m coming in? Hmm… she’s asleep.”

When he opened the door, Chloe was asleep.

Her blanket was half-off.

As if she had hurriedly lain down on the bed.

That childlike aspect brought a wry smile to his face.

“Sleeping without dinner, I guess she’s still tired from the journey.”

It seemed wrong to wake her up when she was sleeping so soundly.

He decided to feed her tomorrow.

It was when Groomloc was affectionately patting her silvery-gray hair.

That an unexpected sight caught his eye.

“Huh?”

A few scattered pieces of paper.

A single pencil.

Art supplies rolling on the floor.

‘Did she leave them out while cleaning the room?’

The attic was originally used as a storage room.

It wouldn’t be strange if some cleaning was left undone.

It wouldn’t be strange, but.

‘These are… sketches.’

A work that has passed through the hands of an artist would never be left neglected.

A work.

There was no other way to describe the drawings.

Delicate strokes in monochrome.

Even traces of dynamic movement captured in quick sketches.

However, as a painter, he could say the level of completion wasn’t high.

Oddly clumsy depictions here and there.
Drawings fatally lacking in aesthetic sense.
It was hard to understand why they were drawn this way.

If this were his apprentice’s work?

Even Groomloc, who was practically an orc saint, would have reprimanded her severely.

However.

Among the strange drawings, a very small portion, the landscapes drawn with meticulous care, evoked a poignant nostalgia even in Groomloc, a master painter.

Groomloc’s eyes widened.

‘Nostalgia?’

Feeling nostalgic means it’s a place he knows.

After glancing at a few more, he was certain.

‘…This is the road leading to Yaltesance?’

The City of Arts.

Groomloc’s second home, where he settled after leaving his hometown.

Sometimes by carriage, sometimes on foot, he observed, drew, and immersed himself in the scenery along the road –
Those memories were translated into an unfamiliar art style.

An unfamiliar art style.
In other words, a style Groomloc didn’t recognize.

Then who is the owner of these drawings?

Someone who recently saw the road to the city and was deeply impressed.
Someone whose style Groomloc, the head of the atelier, doesn’t recognize.

And above all.

‘Someone staying in this room.’

Groomloc lifted Chloe’s blanket hesitantly.
He felt the characteristic warmth of a child’s fingers.

And the pencil dust on those tiny fingertips.

“…No way.”

The painter’s intuition revealed the conclusion.

Groomloc realized with a dumbfounded expression.

“Did Chloe… draw all of this?”

The goosebumps rising on the back of his hand.

The realization that he had discovered another genius today.

‘Is it now?’

[Yes, right now!]

And precisely at that moment.

Chloe stealthily opened her eyes.

“Mmm… Uncle…?”

Waking up groggily and rubbing her face.
In other words, she stopped pretending to sleep.

‘I thought about shedding a tear and pretending to cry, ‘Daddy…’ but that’s a bit much, isn’t it?’

It would have been better for gaining sympathy.

But she felt guilty, and more importantly.

‘Considering the personalities of the people here, it wouldn’t be surprising if they told me to be a man and slapped me.’

It would be an insult to Groomloc’s character.

Fortunately, it was an insult that went unnoticed by both parties.

It couldn’t be helped.

It was too embarrassing a situation for Groomloc.

An orc sneaking into a sleeping girl’s room, lifting her blanket, and touching her hand?
If Chloe were just a few years older, he’d be socially dead.

No, if the misunderstanding escalates, he could die even now!

He might be torn into three pieces, G/room/loc, by his wife and friend!

Had the saying “age doesn’t matter in love” ever been so dirty and terrifying!

“Uh, uh, uh, uh, uh…!”

The first statutory-honey trap of his life!
Famous painter Mr. G (40) felt dizzy!

Of course, Chloe didn’t intend to ruin her father’s friend.

That’s why she pretended to be startled and widened her eyes.

“Ah…! D-Did you see?”

For a moment, Groomloc almost retorted, “See? See what? My future behind bars?”
He barely managed to avoid the blunder, realizing she was talking about the drawings.

“Y-Yes! The drawings, the drawings are, uh, amazing, no, it might look like I snuck in, but it’s a misunderstanding.”

“Huh?”

“Ahem…!”

Suppressing his fear and regaining his composure.

Groomloc feigned calmness and asked as a painter,

“Th-These drawings. Did Chloe draw them?”

“Yes. The scenery on the way here was beautiful. But…”

Chloe said.
Intentionally pausing for a moment.

“I’m not satisfied with them.”

“…Not satisfied?”

With such small hands,
after drawing such pictures?

“Yes.”

Groomloc was almost speechless, but Chloe readily nodded.

This was all part of Chloe and Clicker’s plan.

“Something is lacking. I can’t explain it, but-“
“No, it’s okay. I think I understand.”

“Actually, I… Huh?”

You understand?

Understand what?

Chloe, who was just getting started, was dumbfounded.

She was planning to say she needed paints because pencils weren’t enough.

“Wait, wait a minute! Don’t go back to sleep!”

Groomloc made Chloe sit down and went down to the first floor.

His face was unusually bright.

Because Groomloc knew.

The name of the curse that held this genius girl back.

‘The wall of effort!’

Mediocre people often misunderstand.

That geniuses rise solely on talent.
That effort is a concept inferior to talent.

‘That’s wrong.’

Groomloc knows.

That geniuses value effort more than anyone else.

Only those with mediocre talent don’t put in the effort.

And understandably so.

How can one be satisfied with ‘mere’ talent?

‘When a higher level is within sight.’

When one’s own skill is unsatisfactory.
When one’s ability hasn’t reached its limit yet!

In this way, the wall of talent is usually an illusion.

It’s a sad self-portrait of mediocre people blaming themselves, saying geniuses don’t suffer because of talent, that if they were geniuses, they wouldn’t have to work so hard.

But is it because of a lack of talent that humans can’t fly?

The limits of ability.

Every living being has them.

But when a bird born with wings cannot soar through the sky.

What about the ‘wall of effort’ felt then?

The thirst for skills yet to be learned.

The pain of not being able to fully utilize one’s talent, not even knowing how to make an effort!

The frustration keenly felt at that moment.

That anguish.

That obsession is!

“Undeniable proof that Chloe is a genius!!”

“Eek?!”

Bang-!

Groomloc flung open the atelier door on the first floor.

His chief apprentice, who was alone, jumped in surprise.

She was carving a mixing stick with a stolen carving knife and cut her finger, her face crumpled in distress.

“What is it now! Why don’t you just break down the door?!”

“I’m sorry! It’s urgent, excuse me! Where are my art supplies?!”

“…Master’s art supplies? Just, just a moment. I’ll look for them!”

Jiksli, the chief apprentice, didn’t complain any further.

Instead, her expression changed completely, and she sprang into action.

‘Master is inspired by something!’

The appearance of a painter struck by inspiration was clear to anyone.

Anyone foolish enough to ask, “Art supplies? For what?” would be disqualified as a chief apprentice.

Managing the master’s art supplies is the chief apprentice’s right.

So, Jiksli quickly brought out the supplies, and

“Here, draw comfortably! Don’t feel pressured!”

Even when those supplies were placed in the hands of the attic-dwelling girl, she could endure and refrain from asking questions with superhuman patience.
Truly un-goblin-like self-control.

‘…This is getting bigger than I thought?’

Meanwhile, Chloe was breaking out in a cold sweat.

It felt like she was deceiving a medieval painter with AI art.

(It wasn’t just a feeling, it was the truth.)

Again.

Chloe does not consider AI creations to be art.

But now, the painters seemed to perceive this AI art as the work of an artistic genius!

Half guilt, half nervousness.

The pangs of conscience outweighed the joy of her plan working so well.

However, Chloe’s nervousness was meaningless.

‘Clicker, can you do it?’

[Of course! Let’s do our best!]

Because it wasn’t Chloe who was ‘creating’ the art.

Click.

When Chloe’s eyes lost their light as if a switch had been flipped.

‘What am I…’

‘…looking at?’

The god of mechanical devices descended upon the attic room.