Van Gogh Reborn!

Chapter 306:

Chapter 306:

306

The Final Showdown (11)

“Ahahaha.”

“What’s so funny?”

“Ahahahah.”

I couldn’t be happier that the lovely idiot came back separately after fighting with Ko Hun.

Michel Platini grabbed the angry Henri and asked him.

“So. Huh? Ko Hun won’t give you the painting anymore? Is that why you’re like this?”

There were countless tennis balls on the other side of the tennis court.

“Did you get a nosebleed? Are you okay this time?”

“I told you to shut up!”

“What are you going to do if you’re sad? Huhuhu?”

Henri shook off Michel’s hand.

It was a natural thing to buy and sell works and exchange them with friendly artists.

It wasn’t like he was going to keep it in his house and cherish it alone, he was going to exhibit it in the best museum in Paris, but Henri Marso couldn’t understand why Ko Hun was so stubborn.

After fighting all night, the two of them ended up coming back to Paris separately.

“I’m going crazy. So? What did he say?”

Michel pressed him again.

He was dying to know how Henri accepted Ko Hun’s condition.

If he really wanted to buy the painting, he had to stop his activities in the Open Project and Chocolatier and reconsider his personal friendship.

It was childish how the two geniuses fought.

“What did he say? He said nonsense.”

“Ko Hun?”

“He kept pushing me. Damn bastard.”

Henri Marso threw the tennis ball high and slammed it down on the other side of the court.

“Isn’t it you who’s being pushy?”

“What?”

Michel smiled slightly and picked up his racket. He went to the other side and pushed the balls out of the court and continued.

“You know. Why do you have to do that if Ko Hun doesn’t like it?”

Michel took his position and Henri threw the ball up again.

He straightened his slightly bent knees and twisted his body to add speed to the racket swing.

The spinning serve flew fiercely from a high position.

Michel pushed the ball that was bouncing high to the outside with a backswing slice.

The exchange of balls that neither of them gave in went on until Henri finally gave up a point on the 11th ball.

“No matter how good your intentions are, it’s coercion if the other person doesn’t like it. You’ll be hated if you keep doing that.”

Henri Marso threw the ball high and served.

The ball spun even faster and bounced off the ground and flew out of the court.

“Michel.”

Henri Marso, who scored an ace, revealed his true feelings for the first time.

“I hate it when you see other people.”

Michel was a bit surprised by the unexpected words.

“I hate it when someone talks to you. Even more when you smile. I even hate it when you look at someone else’s painting for a long time.”

“…Stop it. You’re scaring me.”

“Am I wrong?”

Henri Marso threw his racket and approached Michel Platini.

He brought his face close to hers, almost touching her nose, and asked.

“Don’t you care if I’m with another woman?”

“It’s different. How can you.”

“Who decides that?”

He couldn’t understand it at all.

He grew up alone in a secluded mansion and was never interfered with or restrained by anyone.

He could do whatever he wanted and no one could force him to do anything he didn’t want to do.

Young Henri Marso was empty like a blank canvas.

His grandfather, who had lost his will to live after the death of his son and daughter-in-law, had no interest in his grandson and Henri had to find everything by himself.

He looked at himself in the mirror and wondered who he was, why he was born, and how he should live.

The beautiful emerald eyes that resembled his mother were his only comfort.

The boy began to fill his empty heart with green.

He wandered alone in search of a more beautiful green, unaware that it was love for his mother.

Then his grandfather died.

And the canvas began to fill up a little bit after Sherry Gado, who had been his nanny, came into the mansion to take care of the boy.

The nanny was different from his grandfather or other servants.

Possible continuation:

She was kind and warm, and she taught him many things that he didn’t know.

She showed him books, music, and art, and opened his eyes to a new world.

She also hugged him, kissed him, and loved him in a way that he had never experienced before.

She was the first person to make him feel something other than green.

He was happy and grateful, but also confused and scared.

He didn’t know how to express his feelings, or how to deal with hers.

He didn’t know what was right and what was wrong, what was normal and what was not.

He only knew that he wanted her, and he didn’t want to share her with anyone else.

He was possessive and jealous, and he didn’t care about the consequences.

He was reckless and selfish, and he didn’t listen to anyone else.

He was Henri Marso, and he was in love.

He praised me whenever I accomplished something, as if it were his own achievement.

He scolded me severely for doing what I always did, and then he hugged me tightly.

He turned my canvas, which was filled with green, into blue.

Henri Marso followed Sherry Gado and formed a minimum sense of self.

The field filled with an inexplicable longing and the sky opened by Sherry’s love were all the boy had.

Then Henri found out that Sherry had a real daughter and was greatly shocked.

A dark red paint spilled over the canvas that had been filled with green and blue for a long time.

He hated Sherry and her daughter.

He only had Sherry for himself, but he couldn’t accept the fact that she had someone else.

Henri Marso regarded Michelle as an enemy.

Michelle Platini didn’t like Henri either.

To the girl who wanted to be loved enough, Henri was nothing but a jerk who took away her mother.

It was natural that they hated each other.

When they were in high school, they fought every day and even had fistfights disguised as boxing sparring when they couldn’t settle the score with sports.

Michelle Platini, who won the runner-up in the high school boxing tournament hosted by Paris, was confident.

He thought it was a chance to finally smash the nose of the stupid idiot.

Henri Marso was also confident.

He had learned various martial arts to protect himself from the trauma of being kidnapped by those who coveted his inheritance when he was young.

Michelle was not easy, but he was not unbeatable.

He saw a gap between her swift movements and he could overpower her.

But he couldn’t throw a punch.

It was a strange feeling.

He was sure he hated her more than anyone, but he felt like Sherry would be sad if he hit her.

He had been on the ring many times, but he couldn’t punch her at the decisive moment and lost every time.

He couldn’t tolerate any defeat, but losing to her didn’t hurt his pride.

It was strange.

From then on, the dark red paint that spilled over Henri’s canvas began to brighten.

The dark red paint was covered with blue and green paint and a bright red color.

“Tell me. Who decides that?”

Henri Marso grabbed Michelle Platini’s arms.

“Henri.”

“Weren’t you the same? Didn’t you hate me for keeping Sherry away from home?”

It hurt more than her arms that were held by his strong hands.

It was the first time that the lovely idiot showed his feelings so honestly.

“Me. Is it wrong that I want to be your everything? Is it wrong that I want you?”

Henri Marso wanted an answer sincerely.

He was shaken by Michelle and Kohun, who didn’t care what the petty things said.

He couldn’t stand it because the truth in his heart seemed to be denied.

When Michelle lifted her heels and kissed him, his hands that held her lost their strength.

“No.”

Michelle hugged the lovely idiot and stroked his back.

“It’s not wrong.”

The only thing she could say was that.

The only way to teach him how to love, who didn’t know how to love, was to love him more.

She hugged him hard because it was not something he could understand with his head.

The meadow and the sky.

He thought it was a natural process that the night had brought, as the warm sun came to his canvas that made his heart beat.

She believed that her lovely idiot would someday accept that process.

She hoped that his time as a sunflower, who felt the sun for the first time, would flow.

“Hahaha!”

“It’s not funny.”

Meanwhile, Kohun’s grandfather, who heard the situation from his grandson, also laughed happily.

“I don’t know why he’s like that. I’m grateful and happy that he likes my paintings, but this is too much.”

“Hahaha.”

“Grandpa.”

Kohun complained tiredly.

He was stressed out by Henri Marso, and he was a bit resentful of his grandfather who didn’t know his feelings and laughed.

Kohun’s grandfather nodded and asked.

“Right. Marceau went too far. But don’t you know how Kohun feels, grandpa?”

Kohun tilted his head.

“Isn’t the reason why you don’t sell your paintings like grandpa because you want to communicate with more people than individuals?”

“Yes.”

“It’s not like Marso is hoarding your works. They are well displayed in his gallery right now. What’s the problem?”

“It’s a different issue.”

“Well, I don’t understand, grandson. You don’t have to exhibit your works in your own gallery, do you? You are already exhibiting in Tate Modern and Whitney Museum.”

Ko Hun hesitated for a moment and changed the subject.

“I don’t like the feeling that I might become dependent on him if he keeps buying my paintings.”

“That’s possible. But you and Marso are already influencing each other.”

Gosuyeol smiled brightly as he looked at his grandson.

It was a well-known fact that Henri Marso was influenced by Ko Hun through and .

Ko Hun also showed that he was influenced by Marso’s compositional sense in and was a work that he named consciously after meeting him.

“…”

Ko Hun was speechless and remained silent.

Gosuyeol kindly continued the conversation.

“It’s natural for painters to influence each other. I thought you knew that very well, Hoon. Why is Marso different?”

Gosuyeol was proud of his grandson who tried to treat others without prejudice.

Ko Hun always moved people around him with his warm and affectionate words and actions. He was the same to the troublemaker Henri Marso.

But he couldn’t understand why he wanted to distance himself from him now that they were so close.

He didn’t seem embarrassed.

The various reasons he gave were slightly different from what he usually said.

“That’s because.”

Ko Hun stopped talking.

He realized the contradictory feelings inside him after hearing his grandfather’s words.

In the past.

He shared his heart with some colleagues, but none of them stayed by his side.

He was reborn and received great love from his parents and grandfather. He was able to escape from all the curses that had pushed him to the edge of the cliff.

He was ashamed of himself for being stubborn and not acknowledging the style of his fellow painters and forcing them to do this and that.

He blamed himself for not keeping the line.

He was sincere in giving advice because he was so close and precious, but he didn’t realize that it would hurt their pride.1)

He was cautious because of his many experiences of breaking up with close people.

He loved everyone, but.

The more precious they became, the more he instinctively drew a line and tried not to cross it.

Except for his parents and grandfather, who never let go of the line, Henri Marso was the only one who crossed it.

“…”

Gosuyeol watched his grandson who was lost in thought.

He just looked at him from the side, giving him enough time to think.

He wanted him to make his own judgment, even if it was a little detour.

1)Vincent van Gogh was a friend and colleague of Lepard, and he interfered with everything he did.

He told him to put clothes on when he painted nudes, and to paint black and white pictures when he painted watercolors.

Then Lepard mocked and the relationship between the two, who had been close, ended there.