The Reborn Genius of an Arts High School - Chapter 121

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Episode 121.
So Min found it frustrating how her father clung to every opportunity for success and public recognition as if possessed.
Not just for himself, but for his students and for her as well.
But was it truly for the sake of those involved?
Wasn’t he confusing a distorted hunger for recognition—claiming the accomplishments of those in his grasp as his own—with something genuine?
…….
Yet people spoke of her father as a good artist who looked after those beneath him.
Without ever understanding what it cost her—spending her whole life accepting all of it from below.
So Min exhaled a long, heavy sigh, her chest tight with something she couldn’t quite name.
Suddenly, a memory surfaced—Hae Yun as a young child, from her own childhood recollection.
Her grandfather in that memory seemed like a better man than what Mu Young described.
Though his manner of speaking was rough, he didn’t seem the type to wound so deeply.
Perhaps it was her father’s misunderstanding….
“That’s enough. That’ll do.”
As So Min passed through the hallway, a voice drifted to her ears and she quieted her footsteps.
It was Mi Rae, who had gone ahead.
So Min’s brow creased as she watched Mi Rae on a mobile phone call with someone.
“Don’t talk nonsense. You get yourself ready too. You think I’m doing this just for my own sake?”
Her sharp tone was utterly different from how she carried herself around her father.
So Min caught her breath without meaning to, trying to catch what was being said.
“For now, let’s talk about this later.”
Perhaps sensing it wasn’t the right place for this conversation.
Mi Rae ended the call and her footsteps resumed down the hallway.
So Min felt something unsettling, but soon resumed her own path.
It was her father’s business after all; surely he’d handle it fine.
If she said anything, she’d only get ten times, a hundred times the nagging in return.
‘I need to focus on my own grades.’
To meet her father’s expectations.
And to earn his recognition.
‘I have to get into a good university.’
So Min ignored the dull throb behind her eyes and headed to her room.
***
Ye Ji’s days unfolded in gentle succession, one peaceful moment after another.
Everyone seemed busy and tense, but the adaptability of kids at this time of year was remarkable.
After a month or two, they’d all settled in.
Even amid the demands of senior year, they were finding their way to a kind of peace.
“Huh!”
In the midst of this, whether Hyun Min was worried about college entrance or not—
he’d dozed off partway through Korean class and suddenly jolted awake in a panic.
Though everyone else took it in stride, as if he’d merely had a dream.
“Hey! Ye Ji, Ye Ji!”
Hyun Min rushed toward Ye Ji with barely contained excitement.
She wondered for a moment why he was acting so strangely, but then he thrust his mobile phone right in front of her face.
[Thank you for applying to the Blank Rookie Artist Discovery Project.]
An email from Blank.
Its contents were straightforward: they’d been selected, and they should begin preparing work for a group exhibition.
Since no one had truly expected to be rejected in the document screening phase, there was nothing particularly surprising about it.
“Um….”
Ye Ji scrolled through the email, parsing its contents.
“They’re asking us to submit the theme ahead of time?”
And the following section was quite unusual.
“…And materials and canvases are provided by genre?”
While using different materials was fine, it seemed they were providing basic materials for the work itself.
In particular, the canvases and plywood for the pieces were all standardized at 30F size.
It appeared to be a measure for fair comparison.
And below that, more conditions tumbled down.
The works had to be used in SNS promotions and such; socially negative messages were restricted—
“That shouldn’t bother me, right?”
After reading through it all, Ye Ji found little to be concerned about.
After all, her works moved many people precisely because they conveyed ordinary yet warm emotion.
Moreover, she only ever used common painting materials available on the market.
No matter how strict the restrictions, she couldn’t possibly violate them.
“No! Wait, not that part!”
Not that part?
When Ye Ji looked back at Hyun Min, he scrolled up through the email and pointed to one section.
“…What?!”
Now Ye Ji also jumped up, her reaction matching his.
“The theme submission deadline is tomorrow!”
***
Though the reason remained unclear, once they knew the deadline had become urgent, there was no time to waste.
The moment class ended, Ye Ji and Hyun Min hurried to the Studio together.
The exact deadline was tomorrow at six in the evening.
As students who had classes tomorrow, today was their only real chance to submit.
“Oh, you’re here today?”
The two of them rushed in and were glad to see Seong Su, whom they hadn’t seen in a while.
“Oh… yeah. I didn’t have anything scheduled today.”
Saying so, Seong Su gestured around approvingly at the first-floor space, which had been improved by Hyun Min’s touches.
“I’m starting to think I should be paying you for interior design.”
“Oh, please. I’m grateful enough just for using the space for free.”
Hyun Min deflected at Seong Su’s remark with false modesty.
As Ye Ji set down her bag, she asked Seong Su—whom she was properly meeting for the first time since the exhibition—something on her mind.
“Come to think of it, how did you connect with Blank this time?”
Seong Su’s expression asked the obvious: suddenly?
Seeing his expression, Ye Ji elaborated.
“The exhibition you held at Blank left an impression on me.”
It was natural to take interest in Blank’s upcoming solo exhibition project since she was participating in it.
And separately, Seong Su’s exhibition at Blank had genuinely impressed her.
It made more sense to start work with a place that had given a good impression than to engage thoughtlessly with unrelated galleries.
“And I’m interested in the rookie project Blank is running too.”
Inwardly, she was curious about how her own level would be evaluated when she finally competed formally against professionals.
At Hyun Min’s explanation, Seong Su now understood the intent behind the question and nodded before continuing.
“Ah, from the Miroq side….”
Where to even begin explaining?
Seong Su, who had stumbled over his words for a moment, started the story again, this time more carefully.
“Contracted artists have quite a few restrictions to begin with. You can only exhibit at the gallery specified in the contract. And there’s not just me under contract there, either.”
If you just waited your turn passively, it could be years between solo exhibitions—it was the reality.
And as they say, give the squeaky wheel extra grease.
When social and well-connected artists pestered and clung to the gallery, their turns came around more often and faster.
If you didn’t actively promote yourself and step forward, even a contract with a major gallery could lead to being forgotten.
“I’m not good at that sort of thing, so I just wait my turn patiently. But it seems Blank approached me on their own, out of nowhere.”
Being a gallery under SS Group, which leads Korea’s cultural industry—
Blank had deep affection for domestic artists.
Naturally, they didn’t just stand by watching promising Korean artists get absorbed by foreign galleries.
“Recently, my name’s been circulating again because of the collaboration with Celian.”
In a way, he might owe it all to Ye Ji.
The projects he’d done with Goyo had generated substantial commercial returns.
Other artists involved benefited to some extent as a result.
“I think that’s how it all connected. You could say it’s thanks to you.”
Seong Su spoke with a mix of jest and sincerity, and Ye Ji waved her hand in protest.
“No. Strictly speaking, I benefited from you. If I’ve helped even a little, then I’m just repaying a debt.”
After all, Seong Su had been the one to open the door to Celian collaboration in the first place.
At that time, Ye Ji had dealt directly with Celian’s side, but Seong Su seemed to have gone through the gallery separately.
Listening to this, an exclusive contract didn’t seem to offer much benefit to an artist….
“Ah. Normally… when you become exclusive, you gain the benefit of that gallery’s name and reputation. Like a business card.”
Seong Su paused, offering this as explanation after catching Ye Ji’s expression.
When he thought about it, Ye Ji had entered this world far too young.
She likely had far too few people to teach her about the difficult complexities of adult life, or places to seek counsel.
Remembering that, Seong Su continued with more specifics.
“There are some conveniences when it comes to paperwork, too.”
Having a formal contract made processing documents and gallery connections for exhibitions somewhat smoother.
“Unlike freelancers who do each project separately, being formally employed brings a certain stability.”
These were things schools rarely explained well, no matter how much advance warning they gave.
Watching students like Se Hee and others, Seong Su felt a pang of regret.
Strangely, Korean education was inadequate in teaching about finance and law.
Especially art schools—many students signed contracts while still in high school.
So why wasn’t this taught?
“They help with tax issues too….”
That’s why so many artists accepted exclusive contracts despite their constraints.
“But in your case, since Hyun Min helps you out, you could probably just hire a separate accountant instead, no?”
Seong Su echoed what Mu Young had said.
In Ye Ji’s case, he didn’t particularly recommend it.
“But… why bring this up suddenly? Did Emma propose an exclusive contract?”
“She sort of did. But Mu Young stopped her before she could explain in detail.”
At Ye Ji’s words, Seong Su considered for a moment.
However careless he might be by nature, he wasn’t lacking in knowledge.
“Well… if you wanted to accumulate buildings in Korea or build your assets, Blank wouldn’t be a bad choice.”
Seong Su spoke in earnest, but Ye Ji took it as a joke and laughed.
“I’ll think about it.”
No, seriously.
Only Seong Su and Hyun Min exchanged knowing glances.
Ye Ji seemed to have satisfied her curiosity and lost interest in the topic entirely.
Hyun Min spoke in her stead.
“She’s more drawn to the New York exhibition anyway.”
At Hyun Min’s words, Seong Su nodded quietly.
If she wanted to exhibit her work in diverse locations rather than chase money, then freedom was certainly the right choice.
“But why is this so urgent? Out of nowhere, they’re asking for a plan on what piece to create by today.”
Ye Ji grumbled with a hint of frustration.
“Really? That’s unusual.”
“Is the timeline usually like this?”
“No, usually they give you much more leeway.”
After answering, Seong Su fell into thought for a moment.
There were a few things he’d heard recently while getting involved with people at Blank, and he elaborated.
“These days, many young domestic artists are receiving good reviews abroad….”
As someone in the industry.
When talented people they’d overlooked right in front of them were suddenly recognized across the ocean—
it was natural to feel regret: why didn’t we notice them?
“As a result, everyone seems more interested in discovering new talent lately.”
What if I’d discovered that talent first?
What if we’d brokered those works first?
These thoughts seized major galleries, and they all opened their eyes and began hunting for rookies.
“Other major galleries will probably start similar projects soon.”
Blank, with its corporate connections and initiative, was simply the first to move.
This wave would likely shake the domestic art world significantly for some time to come.
Before overlapping with other galleries.
Blank had probably accelerated their actions for precisely that reason.
And privately, Seong Su suspected the entire trend had originated from Ye Ji.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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