Chapter Three Hundred and Twenty Nine Paintings Across the Sea
"... Haruhiko Oba... is dead?" Alves stood outside the door of the mansion that was under construction and repair, with a complicated expression.
In his hand, he held a completed painting.
"The funeral of Director Alande has already been held, didn't you know?" the construction worker looked at the sloppy-looking painter and said.
Of course he doesn't know.
He was still in a state of intoxication on the Ivisus cruise ship, known as the Sea Country.
When he finally finished the painting and wanted to send it to his creditor to pay off his debt, he realized that Haruhiko Oba had died a long time ago.
But……
His painting has not yet been handed over to its owner.
"Can I go in and have a look?" asked the sloppy-looking painter.
"Who are you?" The worker looked at him suspiciously.
"I am..." The painter picked up the painting tools.
"Mr. Haruhiko's friend." He walked into the mansion with ease.
"Mr. Haruhiko...do you still have such friends?" The worker looked at the back of the painter who was leaving in the distance with a confused tone.
Then he shook his head.
How could he know the thoughts of such a big shot...
Although……
Even a big shot is dead.
…
Painter Alves passed by the flowers quietly.
The white roses are still in full bloom.
Alves has visited this castle-like building many times.
Sometimes late at night, sometimes during the day.
Sometimes I'm sober, sometimes I'm drunk.
The owner of the castle never refused his visit.
Alves recalled his first visit.
In the dim candlelight of the castle, a gentle and elegant man came slowly in a wheelchair, holding a fragile and delicate boy.
"I need you to paint for Xiuji and me."
"Record the precious memories of my time with Shuji."
Since then, Alves has painted more than two paintings for them every year.
Haruhiko Oba is a man so gentle that people think he is like a god.
Only God can forgive everything so easily.
And that child...
The emptiness in his eyes is like the other side of God.
Whenever I paint for these two, there is always a steady stream of inspiration.
He even made him forget everything and paint without eating or drinking.
He walked past the sofa in the hall.
I thought of the figure who once sat there drinking tea.
Walk through the stairs.
He remembered that young man who stood on the stairs in his pajamas at night and looked at him condescendingly.
The paintings hanging on the walls have been taken down.
However, Alves could clearly recall which painting was originally placed in which position.
I can even remember what Haruhiko Oba said happily to the young master who was still a child when he got his first painting.
"This is the first documentary painting about us."
"There will be more to come."
"If possible, I really want someone to record every moment that Xiuji and I spend together..."
The gentle and elegant man who seemed not to care about anything said this with a pityful tone.
Now that I think about it...
Haruhiko Oba may have long been prepared to be separated from the children he raised one day.
But……
Did Oba Haruhiko really think about how he would leave?
Holes in the wall.
fragments.
as well as……
Bloodstains that have not yet been wiped away.
Alves had already thought about the accident that happened that day.
Haruhiko Oba left.
What about the children he raised?
The young master at that time...
Have you ever watched a loved one die with your own eyes?
Weeping silently next to the corpse of a loved one?
He should feel pity.
Alves thought.
But at this moment, what filled his heart was only the endless desire to create.
Draw it, draw it, draw it—
Draw all the pictures in your mind -
There seemed to be countless people shouting in his ears.
He picked up the painting tools in a daze.
…
"Bang--"
"Clang——"
He fell to the ground and knocked over the tools at his feet.
His whole body was twitching and sweating, but his eyes were staring at the chandelier with a contented smile.
This is his masterpiece.
The only one.
He closed his eyes.
…
"Hello, this is an international express delivery. Please sign for it." The courier guy wearing blue and white overalls knocked on the door with a smile.
"Express delivery? Midorikawa——" The blond man who opened the door shouted into the house.
"Woof——"
The courier boy vaguely heard the dog barking.
A man with black hair and blue eyes came out.
"Is this your express delivery?" the blond man asked.
"No, I didn't buy anything..." Midorikawa frowned.
"Did you send it by mistake?" Toru Amuro asked the courier boy.
"Impossible." The courier boy looked insulted.
"The address is right here. I checked it three times carefully," the courier boy said seriously.
"Who is the recipient?" Toru Amuro asked, touching his forehead.
"Let me see..." The courier boy held up the courier.
"Oba Haruhiko...take it..." He lowered his head and said each word.
"It's a courier from Mr. Haruhiko Oba." Then he raised his head and said excitedly.
"Oba Haruhiko...who is it?" Amuro Toru looked at Midorikawa Mu with a blank expression.
"We... don't have anyone named Oba Haruhiko here." Midorikawa smiled with a bad temper and said to the courier boy.
"But...the address is right here..." The courier boy also felt embarrassed.
"Express delivery from Haruhiko Oba?" A black-haired boy wearing a black nightgown opened the door.
"Who is the sender?" he asked as he came to the door.
"It's...alves...it's Mr. Alves von Saxony." The courier boy confirmed carefully.
"Mr. Alves..." The black-haired boy was thoughtful.
"I see."
"It's correct." He signed for the express delivery neatly.
"Yes, I wish you a happy life." The courier boy bowed ninety degrees and left.
"Who is Alves?" Toru Amuro looked at the rather huge box curiously.
"A painter." The black-haired boy sat cross-legged on the ground and opened the express.
"A painter who specializes in painting for my uncle and me." He responded casually.
"Who is Oba Haruhiko...?" Midorikawa asked no questions.
"Huh? Didn't I tell you? He's my uncle." Shuji Tsushima sounded confused.
"I remember I said that."
"Your memory..." He looked sighing with emotion.
"I remembered." Midorikawa smiled.
"Isn't he..." dead?
Toru Amuro touched his chin.
"Who said you can't send things to dead people?" Shuji Tsushima had an expression on his face that said, "Why are you making such a fuss?"
He has already opened the package.
It was revealed that it was wrapped in layers.
picture frame.
as well as……
paintings.
Only a few scattered light bulbs were left in the broken chandelier.
Dilapidated buildings.
Debris everywhere, drops of blood, collapsed walls.
Lying corpses, overturned wheelchairs.
And a man with his back against the wall, sitting on the ground, his eyes closed peacefully.
Except for the blood on his chest, which indicated his death.
besides……
The black-haired boy was sitting on his knees next to his body, his head lowered and his facial expression could not be seen clearly.
The wounds and bloodstains on the body are clearly drawn.
That was Shuji Tsushima.
Toru Amuro and Midorikawa recognized the boy in the painting at a glance.
They only knew that Haruhiko Oba was dead.
I don’t know how Oba Haruhiko died.
I don’t know why Kaa was wearing a white suit and sitting in a wheelchair when he came back.
Now……
There seems to be an answer.
The dead man in the painting is also wearing a white suit.
The painter seemed to have vividly painted the scene he had seen.
"This painter..." Toru Amuro frowned.
People who can see this scene with their own eyes.
It must be related to the death of Haruhiko Oba.
and……
"These bloodstains... don't look like they were painted with paint." Toru Amuro reached out and touched the bloodstains in the painting.
Compared to paint...
This color is more like real blood.
"After all...if it's fake, it's not real enough."
"He is now..." Tsushima Shuji put the painting away.
"I'm afraid he's in the hospital." He didn't know what he thought of, and he smiled inexplicably.
"Hospital?" Amuro Toru and Midorikawa were silently surprised.
Kaa said so firmly...
Could it be that he did it?
"After all...he painted such a picture."
This is not a picture he can see...
Now that you have seen it, or even drawn it, you have to pay some price.
…
At the same time, the man lying in the hospital had dull eyes, as if he was still immersed in the pleasure of painting, and his hands wrapped in gauze kept shaking.
"It's a gift from God..."
"It's God..."
"God-given inspiration..."
he murmured.
This can only be appreciated when painting Haruhiko Oba and Shuji Tsushima.
It’s as if I’ve been imbued with endless inspiration for painting.