The Reborn Genius of an Arts High School - Chapter 89

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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 89.
At Young’s words, Ye Ji bit her lip hard.
She’d thought that if Ethan could recognize her work, someone else might too.
But she hadn’t expected Young to figure it out so quickly.
“……Yes, that’s right.”
Denying it wouldn’t have convinced him anyway.
After all, he’d seen far more of Ye Ji’s work than Ethan ever had.
He was even someone who’d watched her paint multiple times.
She could tell without asking how he’d found out.
What puzzled her more was why he’d suddenly adopted such a serious tone to confirm this with her.
What could her being Go-yo possibly mean to him?
“Was it just something you wanted to confirm?”
“No, there’s actually another reason I’m bringing this up.”
Young spoke with firm conviction, his expression still devoid of humor as Ye Ji asked.
“I need to understand why you’re using a pseudonym.”
…A reason?
Ye Ji gazed at Young quietly, and he elaborated.
“Because I need to know that before I decide what to do about this.”
Young was fundamentally someone with a cheerful, luminous energy.
But at the same time, Ye Ji knew this about him.
From the work she’d seen in class.
And from the numerous pieces he’d shared publicly.
Works that laid bare a hollow, skeptical nature without any softening.
Compared to those weighty pieces, his current demeanor felt somehow more authentically Young.
He was absolutely not a lightweight at his core.
Ye Ji sensed an uncomfortable tension hanging in the air.
She wasn’t sure what it was, but she felt certain that any careless lie would backfire.
“…It’s not really a special reason.”
Ye Ji explained honestly how she’d come to use the pseudonym.
The prestige she’d gained from Montravleu.
And the commercial work that had followed immediately after.
If those two things coexisted, talk would inevitably arise from those around her.
So Ye Ji wanted—for herself and for those who worked with her—
to create freely without unnecessary qualifiers attached.
Thinking of the grateful friends who helped with these activities only made her more averse to courting unnecessary complications.
In a sense, Go-yo might not have been solely her pseudonym.
The work itself was hers, but the name itself wasn’t entirely hers alone.
Ye Ji wanted to continue operating this way, concealing her true identity and using a nom de plume,
at least until she gained the age and experience to handle such matters with greater sophistication.
As Ye Ji’s explanation continued, Young released sigh after heavy sigh.
Because his demeanor seemed so far from ordinary, Ye Ji’s unease only deepened.
“…So may I ask what the situation actually is?”
Ye Ji had laid out her honest feelings with genuine sincerity.
So she had every right to hear his side without any holding back.
Young, uncharacteristically tired and displeased, rubbed his forehead as he spoke.
“There’s someone going around pretending to be Go-yo.”
***
The night before, Young had stayed through the very end of the Cheonglim Festival.
Of course, given how many high-caliber performances he’d witnessed over the years, it hadn’t been extraordinary.
But it had been enough to fully absorb the passion of these young students.
“Man, that was fun.”
Where else could he find such pure passion and youthful vigor?
It was a night that had left him energized.
Going straight home to sleep quietly felt far too wasteful.
He’d decided on impulse to stay out all night and headed to Itaewon.
When he arrived, he found quite a few people he already knew.
After exchanging greetings in a loud bar and sending out messages, people began to gather.
“So you’re teaching kids now?”
“Teaching? We’re just having fun together.”
If only they knew how amazing the experience had been!
Young spent a delightful evening unpacking his experiences at Cheonglim Arts High School.
Drinks and conversation, mixed with his own artistic philosophy.
Young was filling his day with things he enjoyed.
Of course, Young wasn’t someone with an abundance of free time either.
He had several exhibitions lined up.
New work to unveil and countless other tasks piling up, but he had no regrets.
The students’ vigor and purity, their sudden flashes of imagination—
they’d been genuinely inspiring and rejuvenating.
“So will you be in Korea again next semester?”
“NO! Wait for America! Young’s new work!”
Young laughed childishly at his American friend’s clumsy Korean.
“I don’t know. We’ll see.”
Cheonglim had naturally asked him to lead the special class again next semester.
But he hadn’t given them an answer yet.
The special class wasn’t exactly a grueling curriculum that would demolish his schedule,
and the time exchanging inspiration had proven more valuable than he’d anticipated.
But people like Young, always chasing stimulation, had a way of second-guessing themselves early on.
That urge to leave at the peak, before the feeling changed—that sort of thinking, like a bad boy’s logic.
Yet at the same time, he felt a flutter of possibility: what if things could get even better here?
And such conflicting emotions could be reduced to one simple answer.
“I don’t know myself.”
His reply got exactly the reaction everyone had expected.
Starting with updates about him, they began muttering one by one about what they’d each be doing for the near future.
What began as purposeful conversation gradually dissolved into rambling chatter as the alcohol took hold.
Amid all the commotion, someone asked:
“By the way, has anyone heard who Go-yo actually is?”
A major talent chosen by the luxury brand Celienne.
The conversation that had started in one corner was spreading, and soon everyone was talking about her.
“People are going crazy asking if anyone in Korea doesn’t know about her.”
“But how many painters are there in Korea? We can’t possibly know all of them.”
“Is there even any confirmation that she’s in Korea?”
Luxury brands collaborated far more often than people realized.
But painters rarely had such frequent collaborations.
Most of the time it involved inspiring a product or licensing work for packaging.
But for actual paintings to be featured in a fashion campaign itself—
that was quite fresh and bold.
“The problem is that an unknown newcomer from Korea did it.”
“I’m wearing Celienne right now, so shouldn’t it have been me doing this instead?”
“I would’ve been first if I’d thought they’d commission me for buying so much.”
Young’s brow creased slightly at the name he caught in the chatter of his acquaintances.
“So she’s that hot right now?”
Go-yo.
He’d seen her work in passing before.
He remembered a strange sense of familiarity.
But at the time his attention was elsewhere, so he hadn’t looked carefully.
“That’s what they’re calling it?”
“Some mysticism concept thing, or whatever. Basically nothing is known about her.”
“Honestly, we don’t even know for sure if she’s Korean.”
“Right, we only know the pseudonym ‘Go-yo,’ that she posts in Korean on social media, and that she gave an interview to a Korean journalist. That’s it.”
The artists gathered in the bar with Young were all names that carried weight in Seoul and across the globe.
It was quite novel that despite their presence, nobody knew the newcomer’s true identity.
“I know the journalist a bit, and she said she doesn’t know either. The interview was done with a voice only, probably altered.”
“Wow…. What kind of person goes to those lengths?”
“Looking at the work itself, I’d say she’s in her fifties.”
You don’t get that kind of skill any other way.
A different opinion pushed back from beside the one stating this so definitively.
“There’s no way that sensibility is from someone in their fifties. More like a crazy twenty- or thirty-something genius, I’m telling you.”
“If that’s the work of someone in their twenties, we should all feel pretty bad about ourselves.”
We work really hard too, you know.
As indistinguishable praise and lamentation tangled together,
Young, now curious himself, offered a comment.
“I saw it briefly before, and I swear I’ve seen that person’s work somewhere.”
Isn’t it more likely she’s an established artist?
His speculation drew immediate attention.
“Right, you might have seen it. Let me show you. I got the original photo from a friend at Celienne last time.”
Someone pulled up a large, high-quality image of the work on their tablet.
A dozen or so artists in the bar crowded around instantly.
As everyone craned their necks in curiosity, Young froze when he saw the enlarged image.
“…….”
The alcohol hit a sudden wall in his system.
Young gripped the tablet and looked at the work again.
A photo shoot set in a desert,
and within it, an oasis painting—intense yet cozy, a paradoxical serenity contained within.
“Wait.”
Young zoomed in, completely sober now.
Examining it closely, the subtle familiarity became sharper.
This familiar brushwork—he’d been encountering it nearly every day recently.
The quick, decisive stroke across thickly layered oil paint, delicate yet bold.
And the unyielding impasto technique building paint in confident lines.
A work clearly in a realm possible only through both talent and dedication.
Without meaning to, Young’s mouth fell open as he grasped the artist’s identity.
These idiots. None of your guesses even came close…?
“What? Do you know who it is?”
But if I say it…that can’t be right, can it?
Young swallowed back the words that had nearly spilled out on the tide of alcohol, playing dumb instead.
Damn. I’m about to break out in a cold sweat.
“I…don’t know. Um, I don’t, I don’t know. First time seeing it.”
His Korean had suddenly become halting, as if he were less fluent, but everyone seemed to take it at face value.
After all, no one in this place knew Go-yo’s true identity.
But precisely because no one knew, an unexpected rumor began to emerge.
“But I did hear something through the grapevine.”
Young startled and pressed back urgently at the casual remark.
“What? Who? Why? Where did you hear that? Who is it?”
He was pressing as dramatically as the usual Young, so his acquaintance, thinking it was nothing serious,
casually continued as he tilted his glass.
“Apparently she’s not even Korean.”
“What?!”
Young reflexively echoed back without thinking.
“Not Korean?”
“French, and apparently a pretty established artist like you said.”
What the hell kind of nonsense is that?
Young bit his lip hard, unable to say that the student he’d been teaching was Go-yo.
As that happened, the person who’d brought the rumor became animated and spun an even longer thread of hearsay.
“Apparently she’s experimenting with a new style and conducting her pseudonymous activities through a Korean assistant.”
Unnecessarily specific and plausible-sounding.
Young wrestled with whether to let this pass or not.
Those listening to the story had already begun nodding in agreement.
An unknown Korean newcomer.
Compared to that, the other rumor seemed more credible.
“So you don’t know who the French artist is?”
Around then, a question asking for the exact identity was mixed in.
Young half-expected that a specific name wouldn’t actually circulate,
“That would be…”
but unexpectedly, a specific artist’s name did emerge.
“Julien Valmont, supposedly.”
***
“You know him, right?”
Hearing Young’s story, Ye Ji blinked blankly, too bewildered to respond.
Young showed Ye Ji Julien’s work before her stunned silence could register.
To be honest, it was true that Julien Valmont had a painting style similar to Ye Ji’s.
Or rather, more precisely, he had a style similar to Catherine’s.
That man who had once been her rival and bitter enemy.
“……Wasn’t he a judge in the Montravleu competition you were in before?”
When Ye Ji deliberately spoke as though she didn’t know him, Young nodded and said,
“Right, and this guy’s been going around claiming behind the scenes that he’s Go-yo.”

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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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