The Reborn Genius of an Arts High School - Chapter 66

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

Chapter 66.
Mark had gradually come to resemble an elderly gentleman, and the sight suited him well.
The sharp, somewhat austere air he’d carried in middle age had largely faded.
A kindly old man, gentle and composed, with an approachable warmth about him.
Time had indeed passed.
As these thoughts crossed her mind, Kobayashi froze.
“Um….”
She was visibly flustered by Mark’s question.
Ye Ji, catching Mark’s question a beat late, found herself staring at Kobayashi too.
Most competitors had spent the first day busy with conceptualizing ideas suited to the theme.
The point was to organize the entire process—from understanding the theme through design and drafting.
To skip that and launch straight into work was exceptionally difficult.
Even in cases where inspiration struck miraculously, Kobayashi found it impossible.
For her, precise planning was more essential than for anyone else—that was her artistic style.
So how could she have begun actual work the moment she started?
“(I… on the first day, I only worked on the basic horizontal line…….)”
Kobayashi fumbled through her words.
It seemed she was trying to say that the work on day one had been merely establishing the basic frame, not the full concept.
But she wasn’t in any state to speak clearly now.
She muttered incoherently, making it nearly impossible to follow what she was saying.
“(I prepared, so that is…….)”
Perhaps her faltering French wasn’t enough.
She switched to Japanese partway through, but there was no hope of being properly understood.
And her allotted time had ended.
“(Well, thank you for your presentation.)”
Mark didn’t press further.
Kobayashi’s turn was finished.
If she wished, she could transcribe her speech into a formal document later and submit a proper written response.
But a hastily polished reworking of what she’d failed to convey in the moment would carry little weight in the judging.
This system existed precisely to account for language barriers.
There was nothing more she could do in this competition.
“(Lucas Fopana of France. Please begin.)”
And so the presentations continued.
Among them was one work that captured Ye Ji’s gaze in particular.
It expressed a metaphor about a world corrupted by war and countless crimes through the image of a fallen angel.
The artist’s explanation was equally striking, rendered with powerful imagery that left a deep impression.
Through the work, the artist’s intent was clear—to impart understanding through shock rather than beauty.
Yet for all its unflinching tone, the overall composition and color harmony were apt, making it compelling rather than jarring.
It was the work of a French competitor, and it suited his solemn bearing perfectly.
After hearing nine more presentations,
at last came the final turn.
“(I am grateful for this precious opportunity to create in such a wonderful space.)”
Ye Ji began in fluent French.
***
It was unexpected.
Mark’s eyes widened slightly at Ye Ji’s fluent French.
‘Had she lived in France before?’
It was the cadence of a native speaker, an older woman at that.
Of course, he wouldn’t award points for linguistic skill, but ease of listening was undeniably pleasant.
Yet the moment his eyes took in the work that followed, such trifling details ceased to matter.
Seen up close, the painting spoke to him in ways the distant view had not.
The detail was suspiciously perfect—so meticulous it seemed impossible not to suspect it had been printed.
And this was the work of a seventeen-year-old girl, completed in merely ten days?
The brushwork she’d displayed in the first round judging had been mature beyond her years.
But now he understood—she had been exercising restraint.
Each feather rendered with such painstaking precision that his gaze kept being drawn back to the work, again and again.
‘Technically and aesthetically… it’s perfect.’
The feather rested gently upon the water’s surface.
The way objects create a slight convexity where they touch water—even this was rendered flawlessly.
And the dazzling sunlight reflecting off the water’s surface framed the feather’s edges like a halo.
She had shed whatever chains had constrained her, and now her full power was on display.
‘Grateful for this opportunity…?’
If anything, her gratitude felt like excessive humility.
He felt, rather, that he—as the organizer—should be thanking her for gracing the competition with her participation.
“(The bird that left its feather behind is now soaring somewhere in the vast sky. Its wings know no bounds, no limits to where they might venture.)”
As Ye Ji spoke, Mark took in the entire composition anew.
A blue sky, billowing clouds.
The landscape reflected in the water rippled gently, following the disturbance of the feather.
As though searching for the white bird hidden within those clouds, he let his eyes trace each delicate detail.
“(How grand and beautiful its wings might be, how high it soars—these things live in the heart of each who beholds it.)”
As he listened, Mark felt a thrill surge through him.
This was a work expressing infinite possibility.
In his mind’s eye, a vast white bird soared above the clouds, climbing ever higher into boundless sky.
Emotions swelling almost too much to bear, he drew a slow breath.
Ye Ji’s explanation had taken less than three minutes.
Time remained, but silence fell.
Everyone stood gazing at the work, each contemplating the white bird nestled in their own heart.
Mark swallowed hard, pushing down both his emotion and his agitation.
It wouldn’t do to show such feelings openly before the other competitors.
Only after repeating this to himself several times could he manage a composed tone.
“Is that all? You have time remaining.”
Mark spoke with careful restraint.
Ye Ji simply nodded, as if to say no further explanation was necessary.
A small Eastern girl, showing no sign of particular nerves.
As her gaze met his, something flickered in her eyes.
Without having explained who she was, it seemed she already knew.
“(…Thank you for creating this opportunity.)”
Her closing words mirrored her opening—identical in sentiment.
Her particular emphasis on the space itself stirred something unsettling in Mark.
‘She resembles Catherine.’
Suddenly, words Chloe had spoken returned to him.
There were indeed similarities in the habits embedded in her brushwork.
‘But….’
If her style resembled Catherine’s, it was only surface-deep.
Her work was suffused with brilliant possibility and boundless potential—untouched by despair.
It stood in stark contrast to the atmosphere that permeated Catherine’s paintings.
Yet beneath that opposition, the essential truth the artist sought to convey through her work was kindred.
A sense that she had staked everything on these paintings, pouring her all into them.
Now he understood why Chloe, seeing this girl, had thought of Catherine.
He couldn’t articulate the reason clearly, but something—a feeling deep in his chest—told him it was true.
Facing Ye Ji’s work and those clear eyes, he felt something he hadn’t experienced in years: a strange sense of liberation, as though an old longing had finally been resolved.
Mark masked his expression once more.
“(Thank you… for your presentation.)”
With that, the official proceedings of Montblanc’s twelfth annual youth competition came to an end.
***
Once judging concluded, the judges withdrew first.
All works would be stored in the underground storage vault; after the results were announced, they would be returned to their creators.
Though the hall should have felt lighter as the works were taken away, a subtle heaviness lingered instead.
Kobayashi, a competitor from the second group,
sat curled on the floor now, weeping openly.
Several competitors gathered around, attempting to console her.
But their words of comfort seemed to pass right through her without impact.
“…….”
Suddenly, her eyes met Ye Ji’s once more.
The same gaze they’d exchanged countless times during those ten days of work.
Now, as Ye Ji met her eyes, she felt nothing.
Kobayashi had brought this ruin upon herself; it was simply cause and effect.
Ye Ji acknowledged her with a light nod and slipped out of the hall.
‘Results will be announced in five days.’
In five days, Montblanc would hold the official awards ceremony.
It wouldn’t be a grand affair, but prizes would be presented directly, and there would be discussion of future opportunities and various forms of support.
Since competitors weren’t required to attend in person to receive awards, most had already left for home.
Only those harboring real hopes of winning would stay behind—and there were promising candidates in each group.
From the first group, only three remained, including Ethan.
The second group had seen a similar exodus, with most departing for their home countries.
“(I’m leaving tomorrow.)”
Elisa had come to say a brief farewell.
Before departing, the two met briefly in the hotel lobby to exchange final words.
“(I was wondering…)”
She started to say something serious, then stopped herself.
“(What is it? Why are you trailing off?)”
“(Oh, it’s nothing much.)”
Ye Ji replied with a touch of teasing.
It was a common joke in Korea.
“(People hate two things most: when someone trails off mid-sentence, and…)”
At that, Elisa burst out laughing.
“(Yeah, that really is annoying.)”
Still chuckling, embarrassed at herself, Elisa scratched her head and continued.
“(If you ever need help, just say the word, anytime.)”
What help could Ye Ji possibly need from her?
Even now, she’d only been on the receiving end.
Ye Ji smiled at Elisa’s somewhat hesitant offer.
She tended to become consumed by her work, ignoring everything else around her.
No matter how much she wanted to change, such habits were slow to shift.
In her past life, she’d missed countless opportunities and signs, frittering away time without fully developing her gifts—all because of this very tendency.
But this time was different.
Even accounting for various other factors, it was moments and kindnesses like these that would guide her toward a better path.
Though Elisa insisted she’d been no help, the simple fact that she’d looked out for the world around them on Ye Ji’s behalf—
that had been help enough.
“(Of course. I’ll reach out when I’m in England.)”
And beyond that too.
They would stay in touch, each there for the other if need arose.
At Ye Ji’s words, Elisa smiled shyly.
“(You’re more of the senior one, you know that?)”
With farewells exchanged with Elisa, the final day of the competition drew to a close.
And now all that remained was….
***
“Tourism!”
The next morning, Ye Ji found herself sitting across from an excited father, plotting itineraries.
The Eiffel Tower and the Seine—they’d already passed through those areas multiple times scouting for art supplies and restaurants, so scratch that.
“So today, let’s hit this museum here and….”
Ye Ji promptly pulled out her list of galleries and museums she’d been dying to visit.
Her father gave a slightly disappointed murmur.
“That’s not tourism.”
As if there weren’t countless famous attractions and restaurants nearby.
More paintings all day long?
“Let’s do something more varied. More variety.”
At her father’s request, Ye Ji pretended to relent and adjusted the schedule.
In Paris, “tourism” was largely inseparable from art and culture anyway.
With four days remaining,
they could visit several galleries and museums each day and still run out of time.
She was certain of it….

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