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Chapter 4 …
Teacher Jeong Mi-jin, who taught the sketching class, was someone whose reputation was a mix of criticism and praise.
Most students disliked her demanding teaching methods.
However, the students who had grown through her methods thought differently.
Those who had clearly improved thanks to her ability to raise students’ skills respected Mi-jin quite a bit.
“……”
Today, Mi-jin sat in the faculty office with a serious expression, looking through a stack of papers she had collected.
More precisely, she was staring at Yeji’s assignment placed on top.
“That’s strange…”
There wasn’t a single student who didn’t know how important light was in visual art.
But knowing something and being able to apply it to a drawing were completely different matters.
Just like how Bob Ross’s famous “It’s easy, isn’t it?” often felt ironic.
Art had an enormous wall between understanding theory and actually executing it.
And yet, suddenly—
Overnight, Yeji seemed to have shattered that wall and crossed it.
“Oh? You taught a third-year class today? That kid drew pretty well~”
A sculpture department teacher passing by glanced at the drawing Mi-jin was studying and spoke casually.
Then he paused.
“Huh? No. The third-years shouldn’t even have time for assignments right now because of college entrance prep.”
Mi-jin nodded.
“That’s right. This was a first-year class assignment.”
At her words, he came back and examined the drawing carefully.
A glass cup drawn in graphite.
The presence of the water sloshing inside it felt unmistakably real.
A cup drawn in graphite during just two class periods—a mere hundred minutes.
And yet, not only could one tell it was glass, but it was obvious that it contained water.
A drawing that precisely understood what to emphasize and what to boldly leave out.
It looked convincing enough that one could believe it had simply been photographed, filtered, and printed.
“Who drew this? Lee Yeji?”
The sculpture teacher flipped over the paper to check the student’s name.
At that moment, another teacher sitting behind them pushed back his chair and approached.
“Is that Yeji from Class 1?”
It was Moon Hyun-seok, the oil painting teacher who had taught Yeji’s class the previous day.
“Did she suddenly awaken or something…?”
He too had felt that something had changed about Yeji’s painting.
And apparently it wasn’t just her brushwork.
The two teachers fell silent in thought as they examined the work.
If they hadn’t watched her draw it themselves, they might have suspected someone else had done it for her.
“Did something happen to her?”
“Maybe she listened to some incredible master lecture somewhere.”
The results of the change were dramatic—and extremely positive.
The two teachers couldn’t help but wonder what had caused it.
“This isn’t something you can get just by learning, is it?”
Within the monochrome graphite drawing, a strange sense of warmth could be felt.
The glass sparkling in warm sunlight.
The shimmering surface of the water.
This wasn’t simply a technical issue.
“…There’s something warm about it.”
They compared it again with the other students’ drawings.
The paper was the same color.
Yet somehow, like an optical illusion, only Yeji’s drawing seemed wrapped in soft, warm light.
It recreated the bustling classroom, the passionate students, and the atmosphere of that place.
It even reminded Mi-jin of the enthusiasm she had felt when she first became a teacher at Cheongrim.
As though her passion for teaching, which had long grown dull, was returning, Mi-jin suddenly stood up.
“The homeroom teacher for Art Class 1… Ah, right. Teacher Ki-hoon! Do you know anything? Maybe her family situation changed or something?”
“Huh?”
Park Ki-hoon, who had been eating bread behind a partition, looked up in confusion.
“W-What? What happened?”
The homeroom teacher of First-Year Art Class 1, Park Ki-hoon, taught Korean language rather than an art subject.
The Yeji he knew was an ordinary student.
Decent skills.
Decent personality.
Decent family background.
Just an average kid.
So when he heard that her abilities had improved dramatically, he stood up.
“…Nothing particularly special happened.”
The small commotion in the faculty office gradually attracted more art teachers.
Amid the gathering crowd, Ki-hoon picked up Yeji’s drawing.
Though he taught a general academic subject, he had spent over a decade looking at students’ artwork.
Even to his untrained eyes, Yeji’s sketch was clearly different from the others.
“Why is this so good?”
“Exactly! Was she always this noticeably talented?”
“She wasn’t lacking in fundamentals before.”
“Right. She had fundamentals. Just… that much.”
Before long, several teachers had gathered around, examining Yeji’s drawing together.
Occasionally, a student would produce a piece that exceeded their abilities by pure chance.
But these teachers had looked at hundreds, thousands of student artworks.
Their eyes could tell.
This wasn’t a lucky accident.
“This year’s Yeonsil Exhibition might be worth watching.”
“Hmm… With this level of value control, she’d probably do well in Korean painting too…”
“Hey, don’t get any ideas. Yeji is definitely coming to the Western Painting Department.”
“That’s up to the student. If I start treating her really well from now on, she might change her mind.”
Once they became second-years, art students chose their major.
As the teachers jokingly—and half-seriously—guarded against one another—
“Looks like everyone’s gathered already?”
The principal entered at that moment, and the noisy atmosphere immediately quieted.
“Oh, teachers from other departments are fine. Art department teachers, gather up for a moment.”
The principal, a kindly-looking man with thinning hair, called them together.
Since they were already gathered around Mi-jin’s desk, the conversation began quickly.
“You’ve all heard that we’re working hard to invite Artist Chloe as a judge for this year’s Yeonsil Exhibition, right?”
Tension appeared on the teachers’ faces.
Chloe Choi.
A Korean-French artist whose market value was currently soaring.
“I was thinking we might let her briefly observe classes that have students likely to catch her interest.”
Chloe Choi of Surrealism.
An exclusive artist of the famous French gallery, Montravlu.
The incredible prices her works commanded spoke for their quality.
Even pieces smaller than one meter often sold for the price of a car.
“She absolutely must serve as the head judge for this year’s exhibition.”
Though the principal looked gentle, he was trying his best to appear authoritative.
It was that important.
Especially because Chloe frequently purchased promising young artists’ works for enormous sums.
Simply being chosen by her could send an artist’s value skyrocketing.
“She’ll stop by briefly on her way to Japan in two days. Let me know by today which classes are worth observing.”
It was essentially an announcement that everyone would be staying late.
Yet the art teachers’ expressions were complicated.
Getting off work wasn’t the issue.
If Chloe couldn’t make up her mind during this visit and refused the judging invitation…
“……”
Being scolded by their superior would be unpleasant enough.
But many students would lose an incredible opportunity.
In the heavy silence, none of the teachers spoke immediately.
Then Mi-jin broke it with a firm voice.
“Who’s teaching First-Year Class 1 that day?”
Yeji suddenly felt the lump on the back of her head throb.
“This thing’s going to hurt for days…”
The cafeteria was as noisy as ever.
Students from various departments mixed together, making for a colorful scene.
Long hair, dyed hair, bleached hair, perms—
Things that would be unimaginable in a regular high school.
Even every kind of uniform modification imaginable.
Everyone was trying to express their individuality.
Yeji liked that free atmosphere.
“But seriously, after getting hit on the back of the head like that, did you suddenly have some kind of life-changing realization?”
Yeji, who had just stuffed her mouth with cheese pork cutlet from the school lunch, rolled her eyes at Dahye’s question.
As expected of a wealthy private school, Cheongrim’s cafeteria food was excellent.
Was it because her life was now so much more comfortable than before?
Compared to the days when she was grateful just to have a dry baguette to eat, the joy of eating felt vivid and real.
Feeling happiness from such small moments, Yeji shook her head.
“Why? Nothing like that happened.”
After entering the arts high school, Dahye had been the first friend she made.
And she remained the friend she was closest to.
But that didn’t mean Yeji could tell her surreal stories about past lives and reincarnation.
No one would believe something that absurd.
Seeing Dahye stare suspiciously at her, Yeji calmly asked back,
“What’s so strange? Should I really go get a CT scan or something?”
As if saying, I don’t notice any change at all.
Dahye frowned slightly before shaking her head.
“No, it’s not that serious. It’s just… you seem more mature somehow.”
She trailed off, unable to explain it properly.
Apparently she had noticed some of the changes.
But those changes were all positive.
A more mature way of walking.
Speaking.
Expressions.
And on top of that, dramatically improved painting skills.
Even Dahye couldn’t tell whether what she felt was jealousy or concern.
“They say people change when they’re about to die. Ah, this is weird.”
Muttering jokingly, Dahye stuffed another piece of pork cutlet into her mouth.
Yeji simply laughed.
In a way, Dahye wasn’t entirely wrong.
After all, Yeji clearly remembered dying once.
My memories are real.
They’re not dreams or delusions.
After searching online the previous night, she had confirmed it.
The memories she had recovered belonged to her real previous life.
Because she had died young before becoming truly famous, there wasn’t much information about her.
Though there was a little more when I searched in French.
Her very first solo exhibition.
The one she never even properly got to open.
Apparently it had received an explosive response, though only briefly.
That was only natural for an artist whose life had ended before she could create new works.
And the most common thing that appeared when searching for Catherine wasn’t even information about her.
After Catherine’s posthumous solo exhibition, the prestige of the Montravlu Gallery rose dramatically, as though caught in a powerful current.
Most references mentioned her only briefly while explaining the history of the now-famous Montravlu Gallery.
A tragic genius who died young.
With no family and no lover, her life had ended reduced to just a few words.
After confirming everything, Yeji made a firm decision.
She would not deny her previous life.
She would use it.
“I’m starting all-night studio work from today. What about you, Yeji?”
Pretending to focus on her food while staying silent, she heard Dahye ask.
It seemed Dahye planned to use the school’s evening practice studio.
“…Yeah. I should probably start too.”
Everyone was beginning their Yeonsil Exhibition preparations in earnest.
Meanwhile, Yeji intended to focus on slowly adapting to and recovering the sensations of her previous life.
Two days passed filled with new and precious experiences every day.
“Just let us off here, mister!”
“Please! We’ll run the rest of the way!”
Commuting to school by bus in Seoul was hell.
Yeji was barely managing to hold onto a handrail inside the packed bus.
In response to the students’ desperate cries, the bus driver opened the rear door.
Students wearing Cheongrim Arts High School uniforms poured out and sprinted in the same direction.
“This insane uphill road!”
Everyone cursed as they struggled up the slope.
Then—
“…?”
While running herself, Yeji instinctively glanced at an expensive foreign car passing beside her.
It seemed to be a rental vehicle.
Through the lightly tinted windows—
…Chloe?
The woman looked much older than Yeji remembered.
But the face was familiar.
Yeji unconsciously stopped.
Then she immediately realized this wasn’t the time and resumed running.
Being late in her current life was more important than a connection from a previous life with someone she had only known casually.
“What the heck is going on all of a sudden?”
“No idea. I forgot my paints.”
“What kind of art student doesn’t have paint at school?”
“I don’t use oil paints, so I don’t own any!”
After barely avoiding being late and entering the classroom, Yeji immediately covered her ears.
As always, the room was noisy.
After finally putting down her heavy bag, she asked,
“What’s going on?”
Dahye, who was working on private tutoring homework, shrugged.
“The schedule suddenly changed. Oil painting instead of sculpture.”
