The Reborn Genius of an Arts High School - Chapter 13

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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 13.
And beyond that, the money wasn’t the real draw.
It was an art competition with extraordinary added benefits.
“If you’re selected for the competition, we’ll help arrange an individual exhibition and provide support. It’d be an incredible opportunity for a student.”
At Chloe’s words, Ye-ji stared at the poster in her hands for a long time.
Chloe, watching her, continued speaking.
“There was once an artist named Katrine.”
Ye-ji nearly choked in surprise.
But Chloe, already lost in her thoughts, continued calmly.
“She was a talented person, but unfortunately died young—brought down by financial hardship and health problems combined.”
Her own life, summarized in someone else’s words.
Ye-ji found herself studying Chloe again, an odd feeling settling over her.
“A promising artist shouldn’t meet such an end, don’t you think?”
Chloe was a woman whose eyes gleamed with an intensity that seemed incongruous with her age.
The distinct otherworldliness that came from her mixed heritage lent her words remarkable persuasive power.
Truth be told, even for such a prestigious competition, it wasn’t easy to take the plunge.
— First Round Digital Review
Deadline: February 1st
She had about a month to create a work for the first round of judging.
And that was only the beginning—if the first round passed, she’d have to send the physical piece to France.
Some might compare it to the in-school competition, but this was a different beast entirely.
The in-school competition would yield results one way or another, but the art competition ended in nothing if you didn’t win.
A venture that could yield no achievement whatsoever.
For a high school student in South Korea preparing for college entrance exams, that took considerable resolve.
“Of course, there’s nothing I can do to influence the judging process itself. But I’d hoped you might broaden your perspective—think more globally, in a way.”
Chloe, understanding these things at least vaguely, made her proposal with great care.
But the truth was, Ye-ji needed no time to decide.
For her, painting had never been a mere means to an end—a stepping stone to university.
And beyond that, an individual exhibition at Montrablu.
Ye-ji felt drawn to those words with an almost fateful pull.
All the passion and effort that had been so cruelly severed in her past life.
It felt like the turning point through which she could inherit them all anew.
“I’ll definitely participate.”
At Ye-ji’s firm answer, Chloe smiled with visible relief.
“That’s what I came hoping to hear.”
With that, the business concluded, and Chloe turned away with light encouragement.
Ye-ji hesitated, then gently called out to her as she approached the car.
“Um, well…”
She had no certainty, but there was a suspicion—almost a deduction—that wouldn’t leave her.
The anonymous someone who had handed over evidence of Kim Ji-an’s corruption via delivery.
As one of the judges herself, Chloe would have seen another judge’s misconduct more clearly than anyone.
So—could that person have been Chloe?
“Thank you for the photographs and the USB drive.”
But at Ye-ji’s words, Chloe’s head tilted in confusion.
Even reconsidering, she seemed unable to grasp the meaning, her brow furrowing slightly as she asked in return.
“…What do you mean?”
She didn’t seem to be feigning ignorance.
At the genuine confusion in her expression, Ye-ji hastily waved her hand.
“Oh, no—I think I must have been mistaken. Drive safely.”
Then who on earth had sent those delivered items?
Though the mystery remained unsolved, Ye-ji bid farewell to Chloe.
At Ye-ji’s reaction, Chloe laughed lightly and climbed back into the car.
“Right. Take care.”
Perhaps they’d meet somewhere else next time.
With those words, Chloe departed.
Ye-ji remained where Chloe had disappeared and checked the poster once more.
For artworks beyond painting, the competition listed general size requirements and numerous detailed instructions.
But what Ye-ji studied most carefully were the judging criteria.
Creativity and Originality: 40%
Thematic Interpretation: 25%
Technical Mastery: 20%
Social and Cultural Message Delivery: 15%
After confirming the criteria once more, Ye-ji felt her heart racing all over again.
***
Winter break had begun, and her parents had taken a long leave from work.
Their destination—her grandmother’s house—was situated halfway up Naejangsan, located in Jeongeup.
The crowded urban landscape gradually fell away behind them.
An art competition she’d learned about through Chloe’s suggestion. Day by day, the deadline drew closer.
In that time, she’d conceived dozens of ideas, yet Ye-ji felt something was lacking.
Of course, if she picked up a brush right now and painted something—anything—she could certainly create a decent work.
But Ye-ji didn’t want to stake everything on merely decent.
She needed something more—something fresh and special.
‘I need something that isn’t Katrine’s legacy, but something I can do now, in this life…’
Telephone poles strung with wires one after another vanished from view.
Once they’d left the complexity of Seoul behind, the car accelerated down an endless highway.
Exhausted from the long drive, Ye-ji had fallen asleep at some point, only to suddenly awaken.
“Wow… there’s so much snow…”
She heard her father’s and mother’s worried voices.
Following her tilted head upward, her gaze met the sky beyond the window, utterly filled with white.
The weather was strangely clear—a pristine, cloudless blue sky stretched overhead.
And cutting through that blue, dozens of mountain peaks rose into the air.
Black and white, a snowy landscape that seemed itself a classical Eastern ink painting, spread before them.
Struck by wonder at the expansive vista, Ye-ji opened the car door.
“…Huh?”
The heavy sensation of snow piled on the door being brushed away met her.
Even after opening the door fully, Ye-ji couldn’t easily step outside.
Snow piled up to her knees, uncleared, made it impossible for the car to move at all.
“…”
Only then did Ye-ji grasp the situation, looking at her father.
“We’re completely stuck.”
Several vehicles, stranded on roads that hadn’t been plowed, were visible nearby, abandoned in place.
And their car was in the same predicament.
“So what do we do?”
“I guess we’ll have to carry things up the hill…?”
At her father’s awkward laugh, Ye-ji could only press her lips together.
Packed into the car were paint and canvases she’d brought, intending to spend a month in the countryside painting.
Since childhood, Ye-ji’s love of art had been extraordinary.
When other children were glued to phones or tablets, Ye-ji always needed a crayon or pencil in her hand.
Her parents, who knew well that their daughter became anxious without them—almost like a child with separation anxiety—quickly opened the trunk.
“Should we just carry a few key things up?”
“Ye-ji, let’s just grab the essentials.”
At her parents’ words, Ye-ji paused to consider.
The snow blanketing everything around them was blindingly beautiful, yet showed no sign of melting.
Even under the brilliant sun, the massive snow drifts retained their full volume.
Since the car couldn’t move immediately, perhaps her parents were right—this was the best approach.
“What kind of fool drives up here in this weather?” an old man’s voice came. “Guess you’re not from around these parts?”
Ye-ji, in the midst of gathering essentials from the trunk, startled.
An elderly man had suddenly appeared and spoken to them from behind.
“Ah, yes. Are you the owner of this house?”
Ye-ji’s father stepped forward to greet him politely.
Just then, a single traditional Korean house stood alone at the end of the road where they’d stopped.
But instead of answering her father’s question, the old man peering into the trunk asked,
“You paint?”
His tone was somewhat rude, though such behavior wasn’t uncommon among rural elderly folk.
Her father answered without displeasure.
“Yes, sir. Our daughter attends an art high school.”
Even at her father’s polite response, the old man remained utterly unimpressed.
Ye-ji found his manner toward her father somewhat disagreeable, but there was nothing to be done.
After all, they were the ones who’d abandoned their car in front of his house in all this snow.
“Kids these days only care about Western painting, for heaven’s sake.”
The old man even flipped through Ye-ji’s sketchbook that was in the car.
Unable to hold back any longer, Ye-ji asked,
“Who are you, sir?”
“Just an old man living in this neighborhood. Why do you ask?”
“…”
It was a response that left her speechless.
A cranky old codger.
That’s what Ye-ji concluded, turning her gaze away with a pouty expression.
She knew from experience that the more you talked in such cases, the worse your mood would become.
The old man, watching them gather their few things, continued,
“A snow plow should come through in a few hours. Move the car then.”
Speaking curtly, he turned back toward his house, adding,
“There’s a convenience store just past that hill over there.”
Go warm yourselves up or don’t—he seemed to say with his tone.
The old man disappeared, his manner decidedly harsh.
Ye-ji’s family found it all rather absurd, but the information was actually quite helpful.
Her father, having lived in Seoul since his school years—only spending early childhood here—didn’t know the local geography well.
Yet they couldn’t simply remain in the car with the heat running the whole time.
“Should we head over there?”
No matter how brightly the sun shone, standing in the middle of a snowy field was bitterly cold.
With no reason to refuse, the three set out, trudging through the snow.
Along the way, they played and fought with snowballs like they had in childhood with their parents.
By the time they reached the convenience store, all three were soaked through.
The clerk, startled to see a family emerge from the snow in such weather, quickly brought out a heater for them.
Hot coffee and freshly roasted sweet potato from the convenience store.
As they warmed themselves, laughing softly, a snow plow passed along the road ahead.
It pushed the snow aside and spread calcium chloride, revealing the black asphalt underneath.
Once their clothes had mostly dried, the three made their way back to where the car was parked.
“We’ve had quite the day.”
It had been difficult, certainly—but also special.
Ye-ji’s eyes had captured in that snow colors both colder and warmer than anything else.
Colors she had never felt throughout her entire past life—they now filled her expanded vision completely.
When they finally arrived at her grandmother’s house, another commotion had just subsided.
Thanks to her grandmother, who’d been waiting since dawn and had prepared an enormous spread of food.
Ye-ji literally had to force food into her mouth until her belly was nearly bursting.
“Phew…”
So full she could barely breathe.
As she was thinking this, she noticed her father beginning to unload their luggage.
To aid digestion, Ye-ji also stepped out to help move the carefully packed art supplies.
All the paints in every color imaginable, and canvases.
Her sketchbook, filled with sketches of ideas overflowing from her mind, and…
“Huh?”
Her sketchbook.
Her sketchbook was missing.
“Dad! Have you seen it?”
“Seen what?”
“You know, that thick sketchbook I was drawing preliminary sketches in—about this size!”
A thick notebook with pages of B5-sized drawing paper bundled together.
It contained not just one or two ideas.
She was certain she’d placed it on top when packing, and had even seen it when they left.
“When did you last see it?”
“Oh!”
Her mother, watching Ye-ji and her father hastily rummaging through the car, suddenly let out an exclamation.
“That old man from where we parked!”
“Oh!”
At her mother’s words, Ye-ji also gasped sharply and lifted her head.
‘Kids these days only care about Western painting, for heaven’s sake.’
That old man from the traditional Korean house by the road—the one who’d said those words.
He’d spoken them while looking at her sketchbook.
And then he’d disappeared?
The circumstances were suspiciously obvious.
“Wait, what…”
To have her sketchbook stolen by a random rural old man out of nowhere.
Ye-ji couldn’t decide whether to blame her own carelessness or the sheer absurdity of the situation.
“Is it important?”
At her father’s question, Ye-ji paused to think.
After all, everything she’d written in that sketchbook had come from her own mind.
And since nothing in it had truly captured her, she’d only recorded them to remember.
But even so, losing it entirely somehow felt unsettling.
‘Why would he take that of all things?’
The car was full of expensive paints and brushes—far more valuable to steal.
Yet of all things, he’d taken a half-used sketchbook?
For someone who doesn’t do art, it’d be nothing but a notebook with thicker paper.
A hard-to-ignore intuition pressed against Ye-ji’s mind.
“…We should go back and check tomorrow morning anyway.”
And so Ye-ji promised her father that they’d return to that house early the next morning.

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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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