The Reborn Genius of an Arts High School - Chapter 142

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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 142.
Among Cheonglim’s graduating class this year,
Ye Ji from the Western Painting Department was undoubtedly the most celebrated figure on campus.
So she wasn’t going to university?
“What?”
“Ye Ji isn’t going to university?”
“Who? Why?”
“Ye Ji? Third-year Western Painting Department, Ye Ji?”
“My goodness, she’s not going to university?”
“Well, I mean…”
“Well, nothing! If it’s Ye Ji, she could get into any school she wanted…!”
Naturally, the administrative office erupted into chaos.
At an art school like Cheonglim, it wasn’t uncommon for students to abandon entrance exams when entertainment opportunities came calling.
For instance, in fields like modeling, runway experience mattered far more than credentials, so some would throw themselves directly into the scene, auditioning constantly.
But fine arts was different.
It was a field where academic credentials still carried considerable weight on the world stage.
That was partly why most Fine Arts College students chose to attend university.
Given that context, Ye Ji should certainly have been able to get into any school she wanted…
“Actually, since she could go anywhere, maybe that’s exactly why she doesn’t need to go anywhere?”
“…I suppose you could look at it that way…”
Even the teachers, who had long believed that sending students to good universities was the right thing to do, found themselves thoroughly confused.
Was Ye Ji’s decision the right one?
Or was this something they should talk her out of?
The confusion the teachers felt soon spread to the classrooms themselves.
“Ye Ji, you’re really not going to university?”
“Come on, if that’s the case, at least pass on your entrance exam scores.”
“Being twentieth instead of nineteenth doesn’t make that much difference, Dong Ha.”
“Oh, right, the ranking could actually shift.”
Amid the bickering of her classmates, Ye Ji found it quite awkward to find an appropriate answer.
Da Hye and Hyun Min hadn’t been surprised, having heard beforehand.
But most of her classmates were hearing the news for the first time, and they rushed to Ye Ji without exception, demanding to know why.
Admittedly, it was driven by simple curiosity.
But not wanting to say something that might be taken the wrong way, she had to choose her words quite carefully.
“University would be nice, but right now I want to focus more on my exhibition. I’m not a two-headed person. How am I supposed to do both?”
Her classmates seemed to accept the answer well enough.
After all, if you went to university, there would be grades and many other things to consider.
“I mean, people go to university because they want to paint anyway, so Ye Ji doesn’t really need to.”
“When you think about it that way, it does make sense.”
There was envy in their voices, but it was a simple reaction mixed more with sincerity and support than with jealousy or resentment.
Classmates were people with whom you shared more time than with family.
They knew better than anyone how much Ye Ji’s heart was in her painting and how much time she devoted to it.
Besides, none of them were confident they could live the way Ye Ji did.
And among those pursuing art, fewer than ten percent aimed for fine art the way Ye Ji did.
Most were naturally drawn to career fields that could generate income more directly.
The envy was real, but on the other hand, it also put their minds at ease to think that Ye Ji wasn’t their competitor.
Seeing her classmates’ honest reactions, Ye Ji could relax and smile.
Cheonglim greeted the new semester amid this small commotion.
***
Korea University was, true to its name, counted among the finest universities in Korea.
Of course, prestige varied by department and school, but most boasted top-tier standards domestically.
Mid-August was still before the university’s summer break ended.
After the busy period of course registration and similar tasks, most administrative offices found themselves with breathing room.
But the Fine Arts College administration was otherwise—frenetically occupied with other work.
“What exactly has the dean suddenly become obsessed with?”
The dean had suddenly proposed curriculum changes and additions, forcing them to frantically overhaul next year’s planning documents.
While the dean’s move to suddenly alter a structure that had been maintained for years was puzzling,
everyone had a sense that this was something that would happen eventually anyway.
Long history and prestige inspired pride in both the students attending and the faculty managing the school.
But from another perspective, it was also to say that the institution clung to history and prestige at the cost of innovation.
Outdated curricula had indeed been dressed up in the language of tradition under such circumstances.
“We wouldn’t know. It’s not our place…”
“We just do what we’re told.”
Still, the fact that it was happening now, while they were working here—
The teaching assistants could only grumble wearily, tasked with hunting down foreign precedents and various regulations daily.
At least the person giving these orders was Lee Hak Su, the dean, so everyone merely muttered under their breath.
Even with complaints, they obediently did what they were asked.
Lee Hak Su was relatively popular for a dean.
From his time as a professor to now—he remained dean as an emeritus professor even after reaching his legal retirement age.
In an era when the meaning of mentor had largely faded for students,
it was rare to find someone who still produced excellent graduates and received their respect.
As a result, no one objected, and his proposed curriculum was being drafted into a proposal.
But whether it would actually be implemented was another question entirely.
After all, not everything the Fine Arts College proposed could necessarily be realized.
“Do you think the dean’s office will approve it?”
Among what Lee Hak Su had requested, there were certainly reasonable items.
Cases where students worked directly in the field or produced tangible results.
The proposal to add multiple courses to the required curriculum that could award credit substitution through proven achievement seemed plausible.
If a student prepared for employment during the semester, participated in competitions, or held exhibitions,
courses where credit could be substituted with a clear plan and evidence of actual implementation—
You’d wonder who would want to take such courses, but senior students could have real demand for them.
“That kind of thing actually promotes realistic employment, so it should go through.”
That degree of curriculum addition was something everyone could accept.
The problem was the other elements.
“Right. Besides employment connection, this here. Exchange students. Do you think we’ll get the budget?”
The dean’s larger vision for the new curriculum was firm.
Cultivating globally competitive talent.
Even the earlier credit recognition was motivated by a desire not to confine students solely to rigid classroom instruction.
To match that intent, there was also a proposal to accept exchange students from renowned foreign fine arts universities.
Everyone found that part fresh, but whether it was realistic was another matter.
“…Who knows, but the dean’s basically planning to handle all the most troublesome parts himself, right?”
The exchange student plan with foreign universities involved Lee Hak Su using his personal network to secure direct approval from those institutions.
It was essentially saying: if you just allocate the budget, the dean himself will make it work.
Whether the dean’s office would trust Lee Hak Su and agree, or decide it was still too ambitious, remained to be seen.
The overseas schools Lee Hak Su proposed were world-renowned fine arts universities.
An opportunity to receive students from such places and send our own there…
“…If the other university just agrees, our school has nothing to lose.”
“That’s true.”
They’d thought it sounded impossible, but when they actually examined it point by point, it wasn’t entirely out of reach.
The assistants’ thinking gradually shifted toward it being more realistic than they’d initially believed.
Uncertain, yes, but there was real possibility.
Once they’d reached that conclusion, they couldn’t waste any more time bickering.
If this got rejected, wouldn’t it feel like their own inadequacy for gathering the materials?
So they had no choice but to diligently prepare materials that could convince the school.
But just as the assistants seemed focused on their work, a questioning voice emerged again among them.
“By the way, the dean also asked us to reorganize the Special Admission regulations.”
“Special Admission?”
“Isn’t that only used in departments like Film Studies when bringing in celebrities?”
“That’s usually the case. But we do have our own regulations for it.”
Everyone was too busy for the chat to continue much further.
As the sound of typing and rustling papers continued,
the assistants, harboring questions while they worked, eventually couldn’t hold back and murmured again.
“Still, I’m genuinely curious why the dean’s doing all this so suddenly.”
“Right, what I mean is—is there some particular student the dean’s trying to bring in?”
Someone’s remark was met with silence.
A sudden curriculum overhaul.
Combined with a sudden inquiry into Special Admission regulations.
When you put it together, it was the most plausible inference.
‘The enrollment of a major new student.’
They all thought the same thing, but it remained merely speculation.
Unfounded speculation had a way of becoming excessive gossip, so everyone held their tongues.
Showing favoritism to a single student was something professors also had to be careful about.
Even if asked, it didn’t seem like they’d get a straightforward answer.
Likely this would remain an unsolved mystery until next year.
Unable to resolve their curiosity, the assistants returned to their respective tasks.
***
For Ye Ji, the new semester felt more like a brief respite.
The time to meet friends again and share stories.
Even watching the steadily shortening days from her classroom seat after lunch period brimmed with vitality—
All felt like taking a breath. After all, she’d done nothing but paint for nearly a month of vacation.
“Ye Ji! Ye Ji!”
And by now, Se Hee’s boisterous voice, which she’d grown accustomed to hearing, felt welcome.
Especially since Se Hee had been hard to catch at school for more than a week after the term began.
“Se Hee, you’re being scarce,” Hyun Min called out as Se Hee burst in noisily.
She flipped her hair with a coy smile and shot back at him.
“Of course I am. I’m a busy woman, you know? Anyway, how’ve you been, Ye Ji? You missed me, right?”
As Se Hee cheerfully grabbed her and shook her, Ye Ji helplessly bobbed her head in agreement.
Or rather—was she being shaken into agreement?
Either way, still caught in Se Hee’s grip, Ye Ji answered.
“Yeah, yeah. Are you busy going to auditions these days?”
Auditions for next spring and summer runways would likely start from late August onward.
Se Hee, now genuinely devoted to her work as a model, was busy running from audition to audition.
“That’s right! I’m not going to university either, just like you. Didn’t word get around that you’re not going?”
Se Hee giggled, noting that the rumor had even spread across departments.
“If everyone else goes to university, we can just run around and have fun together, right?”
“Ye Ji doesn’t have time to play around. She grudges every moment of sleep.”
Da Hye quipped back at Se Hee’s words playfully.
What people around her found reassuring, at least,
was that despite what Ye Ji said, she did try to maintain a certain amount of sleep.
“You know what’s funny? If they tested her, I bet Ye Ji’s self-discipline would score perfect.”
Se Hee nodded in agreement with Da Hye’s comment.
People, no matter how much dream or ambition they have, tend to be swayed by momentary desire.
Hearing such words from those around her, Ye Ji suddenly thought:
“I’m not really sure that’s true.”
Maintaining her routine was really just the bare minimum defense line.
The fact that she now felt school life as a breathing pace itself—that proved it.
From Ye Ji’s own perspective, it was something like—
Living on the edge, pushing herself right up to one percent before the limit, the continuous cycle of it.
“Still, be careful. Burnout and all that. There’s so much of it going around these days.”
At Se Hee’s worried words, Ye Ji nodded.
“Yeah, I’ll be careful. And you should eat a bit more yourself.”
Ye Ji’s concern about Se Hee, who had become even thinner, made Se Hee adopt an exaggerated expression of gratitude.
Anyway, she herself understood well enough where her own limit lay.
There was still considerable time before the New York exhibition.
She was confident she could finish it well.

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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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