The Reborn Genius of an Arts High School - Chapter 140

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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 140.
Encountering Ye Ji’s work in person was an experience of considerable intensity.
Granted, most artworks these days are photographed in high resolution and viewable anywhere.
But the dimensionality created by layered oil paint—the weight of Impasto or Glazing—
and the energy emanating from each piece’s scale can only truly be felt in person.
No matter how far media technology advances, nothing can match what the real thing conveys.
Already gripped by a powerful impression from Ye Ji’s work, Hak Su found himself seized by a single desire.
‘I want to teach Ye Ji.’

A student like her—he’d never met one before, and likely never would again.
To let her slip away felt like the opportunity of a lifetime, perhaps his last.
“Is this Sketch work unfinished?”
“No, that’s not it. I’ve been thinking lately about how to work with negative space, so—”
While Hak Su fell into thought,
Hae Yun and Ye Ji continued their discussion, circling through the works.
“I was worried I’d gotten too caught up in the message I wanted to convey, and ended up painting only high-intensity pieces.”
For the New York exhibition, the space was vast, and viewers needed moments where their eyes and minds could rest—pieces that offered that reprieve.
In fact, artists who conducted solo exhibitions took such things seriously.
They considered viewer traffic flow, age demographics, even social standing when deciding how to compose and arrange their work.
To have conducted a proper solo exhibition in a genuine art museum—
the difficulty lay precisely in this: the artist had to account for all of it.
A solo exhibition meant the artist alone curated and orchestrated the entire exhibition space through her work.
Of course, a curator or exhibition planner could offer some collaboration,
but that amounted only to offering opinions based on the existing pieces.
It wasn’t as simple as having good work alone.
The completeness of an exhibition rose only when such capability was present.
‘She already understands all of that, and knows how to apply it.’
Listening to Ye Ji, Hak Su found her position entirely comprehensible.
It wasn’t the arrogance of youth, thinking she had nothing left to learn.
She was already weaving learning into her work, and thinking beyond that—considering how to apply and expand these insights.
“In that case, wouldn’t it be better to paint on a much larger canvas altogether?”
“Ah… by increasing the proportion of negative space?”
As Hae Yun spoke, Ye Ji’s eyes lit with inspiration, growing contemplative.
Her serious approach to the work, her openness to suggestions—
watching their exchange, Hak Su felt his desire growing only more acute.
Regardless, he’d spent decades as an educator.
Couldn’t he, too, offer her some insight and learning?
Wasn’t now the only opportunity?
‘And yet…’
Even as that longing swelled, a creeping embarrassment grew in one corner of his heart.
How could there be nothing—not a single thing—his school could offer to attract a student like her?
Hak Su held his professorship for an unusually long tenure, thanks to his efforts publicizing the school and the high regard students held for him.
He’d been lauded as a professor of vitality and contemporary sensibility, despite having passed retirement age.
Yet faced with a student who transcended the ordinary, he found himself with nothing to offer.
Relying on the prestige of an old, prestigious institution, trapped within a fixed curriculum—the realization was inescapable.
What special opportunity, experience, or learning could the school actually provide her now?
The more he thought, the less he could propose.
‘When did I become this complacent?’
Had his position as dean of a top university done this to him?
Or was it the thought of a rest period, a laying-down of lifelong work, drawing near?
When was the last time he’d revised curriculum or introduced new systems for his students?
Somewhere along the way, he’d grown content with stagnation, with no progress.

Art is the aggregate of acts that convey an artist’s emotion and thought.
From those dozen or so easels—still incomplete, yet brimming with the artist’s passion and energy—
Hak Su came to recognize his own cooled temperature, and it struck him hard.
Living young had been a grand delusion, an arrogance on his part.
He was an old man squandering precious time, merely waiting for the day he’d be relegated to a back room.
“I think you’re right, Grandfather. I’ll need to paint this again.”
“If you’re discarding it, give it to me.”
“What? No… I can’t do that. I’ve already found things about it that bother me—how could I hand it over?”
“You really do have a picky side, don’t you?”
The way Ye Ji and Hae Yun bickered while examining the work was pleasant to watch.
Hae Yun, whom he’d criticized for looking old, was in fact burning at a temperature much like Ye Ji’s.
Realizing that somewhere he’d missed this shift, Hak Su found himself standing apart, unable to blend in, only able to observe their exchange.
***
Hae Yun left after offering his commentary and appreciation of Ye Ji’s work.
After Hae Yun and Hak Su departed,
Ye Ji found herself dwelling deeply on the Paris exhibition Hae Yun would be having.
Montrebleu couldn’t claim to be Paris’s finest gallery, but it was a place whose caliber was recognized.
Moreover, it held special significance for Ye Ji.
The fact that Hae Yun, who’d helped her, would now have the chance to exhibit because of her.
That Marc and Hae Yun would be connected by this thread of connection—that oddly pleased her.
And this was Hae Yun’s first overseas exhibition.
Watching how increasingly vibrant he’d become felt gratifying.
‘Come to think of it…’
Wait—Hak Su and Hae Yun were the same age, weren’t they?
Hak Su, currently a dean, looked so youthful it was hard to believe, while Hae Yun genuinely seemed like a grandfather.
Indeed, the expressions and gestures people carried seemed to inscribe themselves into their appearance with each passing year.
Since Ye Ji didn’t know what Hak Su was really thinking,
these trivial musings were all that came to mind about him.
Crossing through the sweltering summer and into the extended break that followed, time passed without incident.
“I have something serious.”
Hyun Min appeared at the Studio with a grave expression, having come by after a long absence.
More than halfway through summer break,
he too was occupied with university entrance preparation, keeping him quite busy.
Since he was managing her affairs, his interests remained unchanged—he seemed intent on arts administration studies.
Naturally, he’d thrown himself into college entrance exams to secure admission by grades, but—
of course, the serious matter he was thinking of was something else entirely.
“The inquiries coming to Goyo are no joke.”
With that, Hyun Min showed her the SNS and emails he was managing for her.
In truth, she’d handed both over to him and hadn’t paid them any attention since.
Seeing the state of those accounts for the first time in a while was absolute chaos.
Inquiry emails were definitely arriving nearly every day, and even the recent lull was still this much.
Back when the edition with Hanseong had just dropped, there’d been dozens of messages a day flooding in.
“Even though I keep declining, why won’t they just give up?”
Hyun Min had a point.
Places that had contacted once were sending revised proposals two, three times over.
And somehow word was spreading—
brands that repeatedly followed up kept reframing their proposals around charity and philanthropic initiatives.
Some significant misunderstanding seemed to be circulating through the industry.
“Ugh…”
Just skimming through caused eye strain from all the gratuitous flattery filling the business DMs and emails.
Ye Ji winced and handed the laptop back to Hyun Min.
There was more they could do if they wanted, but since the proposals were all much of a piece, singling out one felt troublesome.
Comparing which offer to select from so many brands’ proposals was a hassle in itself.
At first glance, there wasn’t a company as clearly global and influential as Hanseong.
Ye Ji judged that realistically, neither she nor Hyun Min had time to compare and sift through such things.
“For now, let’s just decline them all—since you’re busy anyway.”
No matter how good the intentions, focusing on the New York exhibition was the right priority.
Blank had shown genuine commitment in overseeing the project.
She wanted to meet their expectations.
More than that, she wanted to deliver results that would exceed even their considerable hopes.
Up to now, Ye Ji had received evaluation from the public and from diverse viewers.
Everyone had responded positively to her work, offering favorable assessments.
Influenced by such praise, Ye Ji had begun to showcase her polished potential even further.
Given that the significance of her pieces centered on gemstones as primary material,
it was time for Ye Ji to harbor greater ambition.
The VIPs selected by Blank—
she wanted to earn their high regard as well.
‘Will my work truly resonate with them?’
Of course, she didn’t simply want recognition for artistic excellence.
The kind of positive evaluation Ye Ji sought was more complex.
The more you know, the more you see—that’s what an expert is.
But sometimes, paradoxically, that’s precisely what prevents them from feeling certain things.
For instance, when a doctor watches a medical drama—
medical accuracy distracts more than the intended message or narrative.
Simply enjoying a good piece without overthinking was actually the privilege of the general audience.
Experts accustomed to dissecting element by element sometimes fail to enjoy the work as a whole.
Other works, brushstrokes, inspirations come to mind—
‘The VIPs in New York certainly won’t be purely enjoying audiences.’
They’ll analyze the work piece by piece, disassemble it completely.
What Ye Ji hoped for was that despite this, they’d feel something akin to what ordinary viewers felt.
Whether they offered harsh or glowing criticism on technique and artistry didn’t matter.
She simply hoped they’d see the landscape she’d come to know.
That what she meant to express would be visible to their eyes as well.
That was the point Ye Ji considered most crucial in this exhibition.
So she couldn’t help but agonize and care deeply over each piece more than usual.
“Fine, I understand. Declining everything is easier anyway.”
Hyun Min said so, though his expression betrayed some regret—but for now, it would have been overreaching.
“I’m heading back upstairs to work then?”
“Okay. I’m going back to studying.”
With business concluded, the two friends parted with a quick wave of their hands.
And so another day slipped away as the start of school drew near.
The problem was how brutally short a high school break could be.
***
New York, Wall Street.
At the topmost floor, overlooking all the towering buildings arrayed below.
Even among the titans gathered on this street, Richard Benson—known as a major player—received dozens of invitations daily.
As a celebrated figure in investment circles, he poured vast sums into countless ventures.
Recently, however, he’d been devoting considerable attention to investments in artworks.

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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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