Chapter 1 ….

Color and light—the most representative elements that allow people to perceive the world.

And vision, the sense that allows one to see them.

The year 2000, when the new millennium had supposedly begun.

No matter how widespread photography had become, painting still retained its authority as an art form capable of satisfying human vision.

Various colors stretched across the canvas beneath Catherine’s fingertips.

Thick layers of violet paint spread to fill the canvas.

The violet of the sky just after sunset, when the last traces of red had been swallowed by darkness.

Paint accumulated along the waves of the sea that had absorbed that fleeting sky whole.

“Amid excessively cold and explanatory conceptual art, Catherine’s paintings once again demonstrate the value of warm color.”

— Palette Urban, October 1999

“Catherine transforms the light she sees into color and lays it upon the canvas. She does not show the world. She simply makes us feel it.”

— Croisées, January 2000

Catherine recalled the critics’ words she had recently read in art magazines.

Between consciousness and concept.

An era overflowing with art that was difficult to understand without explanation.

Yet within that environment, Catherine’s paintings, which drew out the beauty of painting itself, were receiving recognition.

A storm of violet laid upon a flat surface.

Even though it was not the familiar blue of an ordinary sea, people could still feel it.

That day.

The longing Catherine had felt for the setting sun, and the anticipation she had felt for the coming night while standing before that sea.

Catherine, who had been layering oil paint thickly enough to create a sense of depth, finally stopped her brush.

“……”

Her vision felt suffocating.

She wiped her paint-covered hands roughly and stepped back from the canvas she had been leaning close to.

Even after rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand and applying the prescribed eye drops, nothing changed.

“Is that doctor a quack?”

A rural corner of Saint-Denis, a little outside Paris.

Places like this only had mediocre hospitals.

“They said the drops would help.”

She could no longer properly see her own painting.

Catherine retreated until she reached the far wall of her cramped studio.

“…Tch.”

The enormous canvas was filled with countless shades of blue, red, and violet.

Parts of the breathing water and wind depicted upon it were visible.

Even with her back against the wall, she could not see the work in its entirety.

‘It could be temporary retinal constriction caused by stress, so perhaps you should reduce your workload.’

She remembered the doctor’s words but shook her head.

Now past thirty, Catherine had only just begun to glimpse the light as a painter.

An orphan with no family and no support.

After a life that had started not from the bottom but from beneath it, she was finally beginning to see hope.

Only one month remained until her solo exhibition.

There’s no time to rest.

The highlight of the exhibition.

The painting, larger than 200号 in size, only needed its final details to be completed.

Moonlight, pale yellow-white, pouring over the sea.

She still had to place the image of that light gathering upon the waves and the edges of the clouds.

Without it, the painting would merely feel gloomy and mysterious.

The true emotion she intended would never be conveyed.

There was still some time before the paint dried.

I should at least get proper medicine.

The moment she made up her mind, Catherine moved.

She gathered the little money she had left.

Carrying with her the stubborn smell of oil paint that refused to wash away, she headed for the subway station.

“Ah!”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Watch where you’re going!”

A sharply dressed office worker who had bumped into Catherine frowned in annoyance.

His gaze landed on Catherine’s hands, stained with paint that had long since dried and refused to come off.

Disgusted, he quickly checked his own clothes once more before walking away.

Catherine, dressed shabbily, could only smile awkwardly.

If she had cared about how others viewed her, she never could have walked this path.

Catherine possessed immense pride as an artist.

“……”

Still, one thing bothered her.

She had not seen the office worker at all, despite him being close enough to brush shoulders with her.

Once she became aware of it, her vision felt even narrower.

Inside the dim subway station.

Everything seemed blurrier and more uncomfortable.

I’ve been pushing myself too hard lately.

Catherine suppressed her unease with that thought.

Once this exhibition is over, I’ll rest a little.

Then everything will be fine.

Everything will work out.

“I’m sorry, but it’s already too late.”

However, the words she heard upon arriving at the university hospital were far from what she expected.

“T-Too late? What do you mean…?”

“Have you ever heard of… retinitis pigmentosa?”

Her retina… what?

Seeing her distorted expression, the doctor sighed and continued.

“To put it simply, it’s a disease in which you gradually lose your vision, starting from the peripheral areas.”

“Then…!”

If she was sick, then it could be treated, couldn’t it?!

Before she could finish speaking, the doctor answered firmly.

“It’s a genetic disease. At present, there is no cure.”

Her heart sank.

Those parents she never even knew had left her something like that?

“For now, I think it would be best to prepare yourself mentally. You’ve actually managed to preserve your eyesight for quite a long time compared to most—”

The doctor kept talking.

But Catherine could no longer hear him.

The important part was that there was no solution.

That it could not be cured.

That cruel reality.

“……”

In the end, all the doctor prescribed was vitamins.

A few supplements that were supposedly good for the eyes.

After paying for them, she was left with exactly one coin.

One euro.

What… am I supposed to do now?

Paris, the city of dreams.

She never imagined she would receive a death sentence as a painter here.

She had spent her entire life chasing painting.

Her teens and twenties had all passed within that shabby studio.

The fact that her eyesight now had an expiration date felt so unreal that even despair remained vague.

“……”

To make matters worse, Catherine felt hungry.

Even now, she was hungry.

Thinking about it, she had not eaten a proper meal in two days.

She had been too absorbed in her work.

And now she had been too worried about her eyes.

“…Pathetic.”

There was only a single one-euro coin in her pocket.

Prices in Paris were expensive. She wasn’t even sure if she could buy a baguette.

Thinking that, Catherine wandered through the city center for the first time in a long while.

The last time she had come here was to collect payment after selling a painting.

Yet the hope and joy she had felt that day seemed distant now.

Within her narrowed vision, she could only see countless silhouettes hurrying past.

And beneath them—

Numerous black shadows.

Appearing and disappearing like cockroaches.

“……”

After finally buying a baguette and taking a bite, Catherine looked around.

Because her vision had narrowed so much, she had to turn her head awkwardly to see.

Signs indicating the Marais district and gallery signboards came into view.

Absurdly enough, once her hunger eased, paintings began drawing her attention again.

As if possessed, Catherine walked into one of the alleys.

Even if she went blind tomorrow, she wanted to see more paintings.

A drizzling rain began to fall over Paris.

Catherine walked slowly among the hurried crowds.

Not leisure, but misery seemed to weigh down her feet.

Her steps felt heavy.

The sign of the gallery where her exhibition would be held next month finally entered her sight.

A large sign visible even from a broad intersection.

The stylish and elegant gallery was hosting an exhibition even now.

Though not a traditional institution, it had recently become one of the hottest galleries for discovering talented new artists.

“……”

Standing before the crosswalk, Catherine took a deep breath.

Only then did the reality of her situation truly sink in.

Tears surged up.

The first exhibition she had dreamed of her entire life.

It might also become her last solo exhibition.

Still.

Still.

At least I get to have that.

As she struggled to calm herself, Catherine’s eyes widened.

“Huh?”

She felt something push her from behind.

Her frail body tilted helplessly toward the road.

Turning around in panic, she reached toward whoever had pushed her.

She felt something catch beneath her fingernails and scratch, but her falling body did not stop.

HOOOOONK—!

A blaring horn echoed.

Her body lifted into the air.

CRASH!

A tremendous impact.

Pain.

Dizziness.

Amid the chaos of mixed sensations, screams pierced her ears.

“AAAAAH!”

“Someone jumped into the road!”

“A person got hit!”

Amid the people’s screams, her lingering attachment to painting clung desperately to life.

Only the unfinished painting occupied her mind.

The sea beyond the cliffs of Étretat that she had once seen.

Instead of the moonlight from that place, the hazy glow of a streetlamp became the last light Catherine ever saw.

And even that disappeared into noise and darkness.

A muffled buzzing sound echoed.

“What’s for lunch today?”

“Sweet and spicy fried chicken.”

“Ah! Damn it, third and fourth period are oil painting today!”

The annoyed complaints soon became clear in her ears.

“Hey, Lee Yeji. Are you okay?”

A hand tapped her shoulder.

“If you’re sick, stay in the nurse’s office, eat the chicken, and leave early.”

“You idiot. Is fried chicken really the issue right now?”

…So noisy.

As she forced her heavy body upright, a dull headache struck her.

“……”

Before her were two pairs of concerned dark-brown eyes.

Yeji paused at the realization.

She could see.

Her vision felt wide open and refreshingly clear.

Not only the two people in front of her, but everything around them was perfectly visible.

Unfamiliar East Asian faces.

An unfamiliar language…

No, wait… What was that just now…?

Yeji was startled by her own thoughts and snapped back to reality.

Catherine?

Catherine?

The dream had been so vivid that she had momentarily entertained a ridiculous thought.

Of the two people in front of her, the boy—Kang Hyunmin—spoke.

“Shouldn’t you go to the hospital?”

Hyunmin looked extremely apologetic.

The whole situation had started that morning when a soccer ball he had kicked while fooling around accidentally hit her.

After feeling dizzy, she had rested her head on the desk and drifted off for only a moment.

And during that brief moment…

She had dreamed something strange.

“Are you really okay?”

Her desk partner and closest friend, Dahye.

Yeji could not answer her immediately.

The memories were far too vivid to dismiss as a mere dream.

Over thirty years of life as Catherine.

A life spent stubbornly protecting her passion for art through poverty, prejudice, loneliness, and hardship.

“Maybe… I really should go to the hospital…”

Yeji muttered absentmindedly.

Even she knew how absurd she sounded.

After calming down Hyunmin and Dahye, who wanted to drag her straight to the faculty office for an early dismissal pass—

The boring class hours dragged on.

Yet Yeji remained mentally distant the entire time.

Was it really just a dream?

Or had she somehow remembered a past life?

Even amid the unreal situation, her body followed its habitual routine.

“If you feel dizzy again, tell me immediately…!”

Third period.

Oil painting practice.

Dahye whispered from her easel, careful not to let the teacher hear.

Her own easel and the sketch resting upon it felt strangely unfamiliar.

A vase by the window had already been painted with a simple base layer.

Is this… really my painting?

This brush.

This palette.

The water container.

The easel.

Everything unquestionably belonged to her.

Yet none of it felt familiar.

“……”

Confused, Yeji hesitantly picked up the brush.

Without realizing it, she began mixing red and purple paint on the palette.

The brush, loaded heavily with paint, pressed firmly against the canvas.

“……”

At that moment, Yeji realized something.

As the sensations in her fingertips came vividly alive, certainty followed.

Then came a state of immersion so deep it bordered on trance.

Yeji squeezed every color she had onto the palette and moved her brush without hesitation.

“Alright, everyone, clean up and go eat lunch.”

Only when the bell rang and the teacher spoke did Yeji finally stop painting.

“Hey, hurry up and clean up so we can go ea—”

Dahye, who had been about to rush her, stopped speaking the moment she saw Yeji’s painting.