RAH 02

Chapter 2 …

It wasn’t only Dahye who had frozen.

The prestigious Cheongrim Arts High School, known for gathering some of the most talented young prodigies.

But no matter how gifted they were, they were still only seventeen years old.

As soon as lunchtime arrived, students poured out of the classroom at astonishing speed.

In the now-empty studio, the few students who remained naturally drew the teacher’s attention.

“You’ve changed the atmosphere?”

Wondering if something was wrong, the teacher approached and stopped in front of Yeji’s painting.

A canvas that had previously featured nothing more than a timid, delicately painted flower vase.

Even as a student practice piece, it had been unbearably conventional.

The original plan had been to add a landscape through a window inserted into the background.

A frame within a frame.

It was an ordinary variation on a familiar composition, but perfectly appropriate for a student.

However, unlike the original plan, the scenery outside the window was now covered in unfamiliar colors.

Dahye, captivated by the change in Yeji’s painting, murmured quietly.

“…It’s really good…?”

At Dahye’s muttering, the teacher unconsciously nodded.

The more one looked at Yeji’s painting, the more impressive it became.

Bold oil paint had been applied as though it had simply been smeared on.

Yet beneath it, a clear sense of structure could be felt.

This wasn’t paint applied recklessly.

Layer upon layer had been built up deliberately.

It was an underpainting for a much larger picture.

“Are you thinking of turning this into an abstract piece?”

At the teacher’s question, Yeji hesitated.

She hadn’t really decided on anything before moving her brush.

The lingering attachment she felt toward the final painting from the memories of her past life had simply guided her hand.

“I… don’t really know.”

Despite Yeji’s confused answer, the teacher smiled slightly.

The Art Department of Cheongrim Arts High School.

Only students with exceptional talent in painting could enter.

A place where children who had spent their entire lives being first place gathered together.

And when all those first-place students came together, someone inevitably became second, third, or even lower.

As a result, many struggled to adapt to the gap between their past and present realities.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to paint only with your head. Just follow where your hands want to go for now.”

Among such students, the most troublesome were those who painted only with their minds.

They developed overly critical eyes and impossibly high standards.

They spoke grandly about art, yet spent years trapped in endless sketches.

As long as the brush moved first, there was no need to worry.

“If this turns out well, you won’t have anything to worry about.”

The teacher patted Yeji’s shoulder with a satisfied expression before leaving.

Still somewhat dazed, Yeji watched the teacher’s retreating figure.

“…Worry?”

About what?

Trying to figure out what the teacher’s objectless statement meant, Yeji finally put down her brush.

Seeing this, Dahye, who was already standing outside the studio, shouted.

“Yeji! Hurry up!”

Painting was important, but for energetic seventeen-year-olds, school lunch was a serious matter too.

“Let’s go already!”

Hyunmin was with her as well, apparently worried about the incident Yeji had caused that morning.

Urged on by both of them, Yeji hurried out of the studio.

Yet before leaving, her eyes once more wandered over the paintings remaining inside.

A studio lined with dozens of easels.

Dozens of canvases filled with countless possibilities.

After taking one last look, Yeji closed the classroom door.

“I knew this would happen. You took forever, and now all the good lunch food is gone!”

Dahye grumbled as she snapped apart a pair of disposable chopsticks.

With the sweet-and-spicy fried chicken already sold out, there was nothing worthwhile left in the cafeteria.

As a result, they were making cup noodles at the school store while Hyunmin was already eating the noodles before they were even cooked.

“Hey, hey! Wait until they’re cooked!”

“I promised to play soccer with the students from another department— Ah, hot!”

“Seriously!”

Dahye tossed him a wet wipe.

Though her words were sharp, she was actually quite kind.

After setting aside her overheated kimbap to cool, she unwrapped a hot bar and placed it in front of Yeji.

“Thanks.”

While waiting for the noodles to cook, Yeji chewed on the spicy hot bar and organized her thoughts.

A past life?

It was shocking, yet easier to accept than she expected.

The date was September 2016.

Even more remarkably, her current birthday perfectly matched the date of death from her previous life.

As the memories became clearer and more vivid, that fact no longer felt like a coincidence.

If that was the case, then she simply had to accept it.

The most important thing was that she was still painting.

And she still wanted to paint.

“Ah, I’m done eating, so I’m heading out! You’re really okay, right? If you start feeling worse, make sure you tell us!”

After practically chewing down uncooked ramen, Hyunmin hurried off.

“Yeah. Got it.”

Watching him leave, Yeji stuffed the rest of the hot bar into her mouth.

Things she had never noticed when viewing him as an ordinary classmate.

Now that memories of her past life had returned, it felt as though she had gained insight beyond her age.

After swallowing, she asked:

“Have you ever heard Kang Hyunmin talk about his family or his parents?”

Dahye, who was stirring noodles that had finally started to soften, tilted her head.

Her expression clearly asked, Where did that come from?

Still, she answered honestly.

“I just heard they work for a big corporation.”

Parents working at a major company weren’t anything unusual at an arts high school.

Dahye’s own parents were doctors, and her family was quite wealthy.

Compared to them, Yeji’s parents were ordinary salaried workers employed at small and medium-sized companies.

She was the unusual one.

At an arts school, students from privileged backgrounds were everywhere.

After all, in South Korea, it was almost impossible for a child without financial stability to dream of becoming an artist.

“Why?”

“Nothing. I was just wondering how he plans to make a living acting like that.”

Dahye burst out laughing.

Cheongrim Arts High School was considered the best of the best, especially in fine arts.

Students could only enter after proving their talent through extreme competition.

Whether by choice or circumstance, most students were highly ambitious and motivated about their futures.

After lunch, the normal routine was studying or returning to the studio.

Which meant students like Hyunmin, who acted freely, usually fell into one of two categories.

Either they were immature geniuses who had reached this point on talent alone.

Or their families were so wealthy that they never had to worry about the future.

“Still, even if he can’t paint, he knows everything about this industry. He’ll probably become a curator or planner or something.”

Hyunmin was far more interested in appreciating art than creating it.

When it came to exhibitions, galleries, and art-related news both domestic and international, nobody was better informed.

His wide network extended beyond art students to those in dance and music departments as well.

“…You’re right. I should worry about my own future instead.”

At Yeji’s response, Dahye snickered and opened the package of kimbap that had cooled down.

“Eat this too. By the way, I liked the painting you did earlier. That frame composition. Weren’t you worried it was too cliché?”

A first-year student overwhelmed by South Korea’s rigid entrance-exam system.

The “creativity” students came up with was usually all very similar.

But the painting Yeji had worked on earlier felt different.

“If you pull it off well, I think it’ll become a pretty impactful piece.”

The scenery outside the window that Yeji had painted today was much more abstract.

Brushstrokes swayed like waves.

At times they resembled the ocean.

At other times, a night sky stained by clouds.

Recalling Yeji’s surprisingly convincing painting, Dahye popped a piece of kimbap into her mouth.

“Of course, it’s still just the underpainting, so we’ll have to see.”

With oil painting, details emerged as the paint dried and layers were added on top.

For now, all she could say was that it felt different from Yeji’s usual work.

“Why did you suddenly change your style like that?”

Instead of answering, Yeji stuffed noodles into her mouth.

Spicy, salty cup ramen.

Unlike the scents of butter and flour from her memories, Korean seasonings filled her mouth with comforting familiarity.

The years she had spent alone proving herself had ended meaninglessly.

Her current life was filled with entirely new possibilities and opportunities.

She couldn’t explain it all in words just yet, but…

“…Why are you suddenly smiling while staring at people? Does your head still hurt?”

At Dahye’s question, Yeji let out a small laugh.

“I just suddenly realized a profound truth about life.”

And instead of elaborating, she shoved the remaining kimbap into Dahye’s mouth.

After filling their stomachs with convenience-store food, they headed back toward the classroom.

Compared to her previous life, the life of a Korean high school student was absolute heaven.

Abundant food.

A clean environment.

Countless cultural facilities.

She wasn’t wealthy in this life either, but she wasn’t poor.

And most importantly, she had parents.

Parents who showered their only daughter with unwavering love and support.

The moment she thought about them, she suddenly missed the parents who were probably at work right now.

Mom, Dad, I miss you.

To think she had a life where such things existed for her.

It was a precious everyday life she wouldn’t trade for ten million euros.

“Going to the academy after school today?”

“No. I think I’ll go home.”

Yeji answered simply and opened the classroom door.

A crowd of students had gathered in front of it.

Noise poured out along with the bustling scene.

“Ah, damn. What should I do?”

“No idea. Should we match it to the major we’re choosing?”

“Anyone want to come ask the teacher with me?”

Amid the chatter, Dahye and Yeji exchanged confused glances.

Everyone was gathered around a large poster attached to the back of the classroom.

“What’s going on? Why’s everyone freaking out?”

Dahye pushed through the crowd and headed toward the poster.

Thanks to her action-oriented personality, Yeji was able to follow easily.

At the top of the poster was written:

<38th Cheongrim Arts High School Year-End Comprehensive Practical Exhibition>

Students shortened the name to “Yeonsiljong”, the school’s annual exhibition.

“…Wow. It’s already here.”

Hearing Dahye’s despairing voice, Yeji instinctively responded while reading the details.

“The schedule’s already out?”

No student at Cheongrim Arts High School could possibly be unfamiliar with Yeonsiljong.

In fact, among young artists across the country, it was widely known for its scale.

The special middle-school division was considered one of the most prestigious competitions in South Korea.

Because of that, even first-year students who had only recently entered Cheongrim already knew of its reputation.

At Yeji’s question, students around them chimed in.

“What do you mean already? The exhibition starts in December!”

“Technically, the deadline is in November.”

“Same thing!”

The judges weren’t merely teachers from the school.

Every year, recognized professionals from various fields served as judges.

Naturally, many influential visitors attended as well.

If your work attracted attention there, it could lead to even bigger opportunities.

Amid the chatter, Yeji fell into thought.

Because the school’s reputation was on the line, some practical art courses even counted submitted exhibition works toward final exam grades.

An event with significance on multiple levels.

Naturally, students felt enormous pressure.

Was this what the teacher meant when talking about worries earlier?

Yeji checked the schedule, strengthening her suspicion.

[Artwork Submission Deadline: November 30]

“There’s still a month and a half left until the deadline?”

Groans erupted from every direction.

As students complained about her reminding them, Yeji swallowed the words that nearly escaped her mouth.

For inexperienced students, a month and a half was barely enough time to conceive and complete a piece.

But Yeji was different.

…That’s plenty of time.

For Yeji, who had already absorbed the experience and memories of her previous life, it was more than enough time.