The Reborn Genius of an Arts High School - Chapter 14

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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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Chapter 14.
“Wow….”
Ye-ji couldn’t help but marvel at the roads that had been completely cleared of snow overnight.
The snow piled on both sides of the road towered above the height of an average adult.
Within the landscape—like a kingdom of snow itself—black asphalt stretched ahead like tree branches.
“Let’s do one more layer, and your scarf too….”
At the mention of going out, Ye-ji found herself bundled up in winter gear by her grandmother.
Wrapped in clothes like a snowman by her grandmother’s fussing hands, Ye-ji set out with her father.
In France, snow never fell like this, so the sight felt unfamiliar to her.
A quiet village nestled between high mountain peaks, blanketed entirely in pristine white snow.
Ye-ji found her gaze entirely captivated by the striking contrast of black and white surrounding her.
Whenever her parents visited the rural village during school breaks, Ye-ji had never wanted to go with them.
The countryside had no food delivery, no galleries, and a shortage of art supplies.
On top of that, the attentiveness of the rural elders—mismatched with modern sensibilities—was uncomfortable.
But now things were different.
For Ye-ji, nothing in those everyday moments was without value.
“Ugh, it’s hot.”
Eventually, Ye-ji removed one of the three parkas she’d been wearing after her grandmother’s excessive worrying.
As they walked down the road, slick with calcium chloride, the convenience store they’d seen yesterday came into view.
“Still, you don’t visit your elders empty-handed.”
Ye-ji nodded as she watched her father purchase a small Beverage Gift Set.
If he hadn’t brought the Drawing Book, things would be rather awkward.
It would be good to prepare a simple gift before any misunderstanding arose.
Walking a bit further, the Traditional Korean House appeared.
Whether the owner was wealthy or had a large family.
A fairly young man stood before the imposing Traditional Korean House, clearing snow.
“What brings you here?”
At the man’s bewildered question to the two unfamiliar visitors, Ye-ji reflexively looked toward her father.
Having an adult to rely on—it was such a good thing.
“We received some help from one of your elders yesterday. We came to express our gratitude.”
Her father spoke naturally, holding up the beverage he’d purchased.
“Without your elder’s help, we would have abandoned our car here yesterday and wandered through the snow.”
The man who’d been shoveling finally set down his snow shovel at her father’s words.
And then he looked at Ye-ji, bundled up in an outer coat, ear muffs, and scarf.
“Ah, that one?”
That one?
The man, speaking as if he understood something, set down his shovel and gestured.
But what he was looking at wasn’t her father, with whom he’d been conversing, but Ye-ji.
“Come inside. The ground is still slippery, so be careful.”
Was this strange feeling—that the situation was odd—just her imagination?
After exchanging a glance with her father, Ye-ji stepped through the gate.
The interior was as neat as the exterior.
Several sculptures, quite antiquated-looking, sat in the courtyard.
Moreover, the building within the courtyard wasn’t just the one visible from the front.
Three buildings were arranged around a single courtyard.
It didn’t seem like an ordinary house.
The moment she thought this, several people passed before her.
To call them a large family seemed off—the atmosphere was different.
They seemed like complete strangers to one another.
Though their ages varied, most were in their twenties or thirties, making them seem out of place in this rural village.
“…!”
The entrance to one of the buildings opened, and as Ye-ji stepped inside, she suddenly stopped.
She was momentarily overwhelmed by the massive painting before her.
The enormous work hung in the high-ceilinged entryway, appearing to reach three meters in height.
Ink Painting brushed onto Korean Paper with a rough texture.
Dense lines of dark ink arranged across the soft white light of the Korean Paper.
It displayed a grandeur strikingly similar to the oppressive weight of the snowy mountains Ye-ji felt.
Rhythmic lines interrupted midway, with gaps that seemed to embody the rhythm of nature itself.
The ink flowed without hesitation, and the gradations—both faded and clear—were interwoven together.
She’d thought Ink Painting meant only folk art forms, but this was an entirely different dimension.
Lines and gaps arranged like abstract art.
The depth of the ink soaked into the Korean Paper made Western Painting watercolors feel impossibly shallow by comparison.
And at the very end, the scarlet Seal Mark stamped upon it.
She wanted to read what characters were written, but regrettably, they were in Chinese.

“This way, please.”
The man who’d been guiding them, returning to the Ye-ji who’d stopped before the painting, urged her on again.
Only then did Ye-ji resume her reluctant steps.
She absolutely had to ask whose painting that was.
With that resolve, she quickened her pace.
Throughout the building’s corridors hung works large and small, all in the same Artistic Style.
After passing several pieces that caught her attention, the man ahead stopped.
He slid open a fine, high-grade pine door with decorative mulberry paper and entered the innermost room.
“Professor, the student you mentioned yesterday has come to visit.”
With the man’s words, Ye-ji and her father stepped inside the Traditional Korean House.
The well-heated interior was warm, so she reflexively unwound her scarf as she entered.
The room was filled with the cool scent of ink and the cozy fragrance of Korean Paper.
Past the ornate partition screening the entrance, an elderly man with a brush in hand appeared.
“Is that so?”
He responded to the guiding man’s words, but didn’t stand up immediately.
A large sheet of Korean Paper lay spread across the floor.
Upon it, he held a brush nearly the size of a human head, drawing ink lines.
“Hello, sir. I wanted to express our gratitude for your help yesterday.”
Her father’s customary greetings passed by, but they barely registered in Ye-ji’s ears.
All her senses had been stolen by sight alone.
She watched the white-haired elderly man wielding a brush as large as himself, drawing lines.
It felt like performance art itself.
In the subtle Ink Gradation of the lines drawn beneath the brush, Ye-ji understood.
All the paintings she’d seen on the way here belonged to this old man.
Suddenly, without thinking, Ye-ji stepped forward and asked.
“Did you paint all the pictures that were here, grandfather?”
“…You came here not knowing who this person is?”
At Ye-ji’s question, the man who’d led her here showed a slightly displeased expression.
Of course she’d ask if she didn’t know.
The man was unable to hide his displeasure at Ye-ji’s straightforward expression.
“Ah, Western Painting.”
Then, seeming to understand something on his own, he answered.
“This is Professor Jung Hae-yoon.”
Who is that….
Ye-ji wanted to ask exactly that, but she held her tongue.
His attitude suggested that anyone who painted should naturally know.
But Ye-ji had never had any interest in Korean ink painting or folk art.
The man, who seemed to have expected a reaction like “Professor Jung Hae-yoon?!” grew even more displeased.
The man’s demeanor bordered on arrogance, but Ye-ji kept her mouth firmly shut.
In the increasingly uncomfortable atmosphere.
Jung Hae-yoon, the person in question, casually set down his brush with an unbothered expression.
He controlled the ink soaked into the brush so well that despite the enormous brush and paper, there wasn’t a single unnecessary splatter.
‘I had no idea about someone like this….’
Ye-ji’s inability to refute the displeased man was purely due to the old man’s skill.
She felt like a frog at the bottom of a well.
Watching Ye-ji, who gripped her scarf tightly in embarrassment, Jung Hae-yoon rummaged through a nearby side table.
“So, did you come looking for this?”
Jung Hae-yoon withdrew something and placed it before the table where Ye-ji stood.
With a weighty sound, what landed on the table was a familiar Drawing Book.
The moment she saw it, Ye-ji clapped her hands together.
“Ah!”
That’s right!
Ye-ji finally realized.
Completely absorbed in his work, she’d even forgotten her purpose.
***
Jung Hae-yoon was a Master Artist.
South Korea, transforming day by day.
Within it, he stood at the very pinnacle, called the greatest among artists.
Even amidst the flood of Western culture, he steadfastly held his ground.
Yet in doing so, he incorporated their elements to open new horizons in art.
“So, is this a work about human existence? No matter how high one climbs, everyone is ultimately the same—is that what you’re expressing?”
Jung Hae-yoon watched the girl before him, eyes shining as she gazed up at the painting.
Her eyes held the innocent clarity befitting her age as a high school student.
Rather than all the Master Artist talk, she was deeply immersed in the emotion the work before her conveyed.
Her original purpose for coming here.
Why he had her Drawing Book—such trivial matters seemed to have already slipped her mind.
She was filled entirely with curiosity and passion for this newly experienced work.
“Is the brush you use different from Western brushes? What is the ink made of? And, why do you grind it fresh like in calligraphy? What about the concentration?”
The questions were endless, and she was even on the verge of dipping her finger into the ink to taste it out of sheer curiosity.
Eccentric yet passionate artistic inquisitiveness.
Jung Hae-yoon had passed on his teachings to hundreds of Disciples, and even now guided over a dozen students.
But even he had never encountered a child with emotions this intense.
“Your major is Western Painting, isn’t it?”
And here was this kid, studying Western Painting, showing such keen interest.
Jung Hae-yoon felt genuinely pleased.
The Drawing Book he’d happened to see.
He’d picked it up when he saw it left behind in the snow after they’d gone—he simply couldn’t leave it to be ruined.
The sketches inside were quite refined, and he couldn’t bear to let them be destroyed.
‘This kid has talent.’
At that level of skill, he could tell just from a glance at the lines casually dashed onto the notebook.
In even a single stroke of simple graphite, this kid showed considerable aptitude.
Clumsy students tend to repeatedly fix and layer their lines.
But this child had the bold habit of completing sketches with just a few lines, as if doing Single-Stroke Painting.
That was a process only possible if there was confidence both in the mind and at the fingertips.
“Grandfather draws what’s called Korean Painting, but isn’t it really Western-style abstract art?”
Even at Jung Hae-yoon’s observation, the audacious girl widened her eyes in rebuttal.
Half of what she said was right, and half was wrong.
But the kid continued her chatter regardless.
“Anyway, no matter how you divide them, a painting is just a painting. Drawing all these distinctions between Artistic Style and whatnot is a bit—”
The girl who’d been speaking without hesitation suddenly fell silent.
Her eyes rolled briefly as if testing the waters, then she continued boldly.
“—stubborn, if you ask me.”
To say such a thing in front of an elderly man easily three times her age.
Jung Hae-yoon burst out laughing at the cheeky behavior.
If she’d been genuinely thoughtless and stupid, he’d simply have been exasperated or angry.
But this kid clearly understood that what she was saying might be rude.
She’d gauged whether he was the type to overlook such a comment before speaking.
The girl’s father, standing nearby, turned bright red in embarrassment.
In his tedious daily life, Jung Hae-yoon found genuine amusement.
“When are you heading back to Seoul?”
At Jung Hae-yoon’s question, the girl’s expression immediately shifted.
Her eyes said ‘What’s it to you?’ but she deliberately didn’t voice that thought.
“Well, I’m not sure. Probably in at least two weeks?”
She seemed to ponder for a moment, then finally gave a proper answer.
Audacious and fearless, yet able to distinguish between what should and shouldn’t be said.
Jung Hae-yoon was genuinely impressed by her just-barely-overstepping impudence.
The perfectly polite types bored him, while the tactless ones rankled him.
“So, what’s your name?”
Jung Hae-yoon found himself genuinely interested in this kid.
At his question, the girl’s eyes rolled thoughtfully.
Her gaze landed not on the expensive furnishings or the house itself, but entirely on the paintings.
Confirming this, Jung Hae-yoon’s interest deepened all the more.
“I’m Ye-ji.”
After some thought in that small head, she answered honestly.
Pure yearning and passion directed toward art.
And the sketches he’d seen in the Drawing Book.
Jung Hae-yoon found himself genuinely interested in his student, Ye-ji.
“Come here starting tomorrow and try your hand at the brush.”

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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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