6
# 6. The Morning of the Camp
After the applicants, who had spent the entire day drawing, dragged themselves into the dormitories groaning in
exhaustion,
the judges gradually gathered in the gymnasium later that evening.
"Please evaluate the works in numerical order."
Each applicant's sketch and watercolor painting were displayed side by side while the judges walked through the rows,
scoring them.
Since this stage would determine which half of the applicants advanced, the evaluations were conducted with particular
care.
To ensure fairness, the panel consisted of a balanced mix of internal and external judges.
"Don't tell me the exam questions were leaked to the academies."
One of the judges, a professor at the Korea National University of Arts, another institution under the Ministry of
Culture alongside Hanyeong, muttered under his breath.
A nearby judge walked over, silently mouthing, "There he goes again."
"What is it this time?"
"Why do all these kids' paintings look the same? If this was going to happen, they might as well have made the theme
'family.' At least someone would've drawn their dad."
Perhaps the theme, "The Beginning and the End of Life," had simply been too abstract for middle school students.
Painting after painting depicted similar ideas—
an elderly person holding a newborn,
or a dying pregnant woman.
The repetition was almost absurd.
Professor Ahn Youngsik of the Department of Fine Arts at the Korea National University of Arts.
He wasn't the type to dismiss children's artwork simply because they were young.
He simply refused to lower his standards.
"Please lower your expectations a little. These are kids who haven't even started high school yet."
Seong Iljun, a second-year painting instructor at Hanyeong and one of Ahn Youngsik's former students, wanted to defend
the applicants, who might soon become his own students.
But...
Ahn Youngsik wasn't exactly wrong.
"I told you we shouldn't invite university professors. You people never get over the habit of judging a piece after
looking at it for three seconds."
"What was that?"
"...I was about to say that. Surely our thoughtful Professor Ahn Youngsik would never do such a thing."
The administrative staff member guiding the judges through the evaluation process silently suffered.
"So this is what they mean by getting caught between two giants."
If only someone would make these people stop arguing...
Perhaps his silent prayer was answered.
Ahn Youngsik and Seong Iljun stopped talking at exactly the same moment.
More accurately,
every judge in the room had frozen.
Their eyes were fixed on one particular painting.
Its atmosphere was completely different from everything surrounding it.
Yet at first glance,
it didn't seem obviously related to the given theme.
"A car?"
The painting depicted the view through the windshield from the driver's seat.
Beyond it stretched what looked like an ordinary highway.
The only unusual feature was the heavy white snowfall obscuring the entire landscape.
"Move."
"Pardon?"
"Move for a second. I want to read the essay."
At first glance,
the painting didn't seem especially remarkable.
Yet for the first time that evening,
Professor Ahn Youngsik looked genuinely interested.
He carefully read the accompanying artist statement instead of merely skimming past it.
"During the winter when I was fifteen, I decided to quit preparing for the Science Gifted School."
The essay opened with a sentence filled with determination.
The judges naturally expected an explanation of why the applicant had changed career paths.
Instead,
the essay calmly described only the emotions of that moment.
"I was on my way to visit my mother, who was working alone in another city.
Father told me to sleep if I was tired, but I didn't.
As I thought about everything I would have to bear because of my decision, snow quietly piled up at the bottom of the
windshield.
I thought we had already emerged from the long tunnel.
Yet I still couldn't clearly see what lay ahead."
Not once did the essay directly explain the painting's intention.
It simply described the scenery from the perspective of the person inside the car.
Even so,
the judges continued reading in silence.
"Before I realized it, the car had filled with warm air.
Without asking Father for permission, I rolled the window down slightly.
A strong wind rushed in from outside, but I didn't feel cold at all.
For the first time, I wondered if enduring a harsh winter was only possible because of the warmth we had already stored
within us."
The essay ended there.
Standing at the front of the group,
Professor Ahn Youngsik tossed out a brief remark.
"At least this kid knows how to use his brain."
He deliberately avoided openly praising the work in case it influenced the other judges.
Still,
his tone alone made his opinion obvious.
"The moment when the beginning and end of life become one."
Finally,
someone had interpreted the prompt in a completely different way—
not as literal birth and death,
but as abandoning one's former self and embracing a new life.
"I told you not everyone would draw the same thing."
Seong Iljun quietly stepped beside Ahn Youngsik.
Internally,
he applauded the unknown applicant who had finally managed to silence the professor.
"The execution is clean too.
The details are excellent.
The contrast between the scenery outside and the inside of the car works beautifully."
"Oh, quiet. Are you allowed to interfere while someone else is judging?"
"If you don't like it, stop accepting invitations next time.
You always told us that a truly great painting should communicate its emotions even without explanation.
So...
did this one reach you?"
The written statement certainly helped the judges notice subtle details within the painting.
But even without it,
they would have agreed that the work successfully expressed the theme.
The interior of the car looked cold and rigid,
yet the heater quietly filled it with warmth.
Outside,
the snowy landscape was painted with soft, dreamlike brushstrokes,
yet represented a harsh and freezing reality.
The two opposing worlds complemented each other perfectly.
"If everyone's finished evaluating, let's move on to the next..."
"Wait."
The atmosphere had only just relaxed after finding a remarkable painting.
Then Ahn Youngsik's expression suddenly stiffened.
Ignoring the administrative staff member,
he walked farther down the row,
picked up another painting,
and carried it back.
"Professor, the judging is supposed to proceed in order..."
"I know.
Just look at this."
The moment he placed the second painting beside the first,
sighs spread through the room.
"They overlap."
Like the previous work,
this painting was also drawn from the driver's seat of a car looking through the windshield.
Unlike the many unimaginative entries that interpreted the theme literally,
this similarity created a completely different kind of problem.
"What if both applicants received the same idea from an academy?"
Since every applicant's identity remained completely anonymous,
even circumstantial similarities like this could significantly affect the evaluation.
The judges quietly compared both paintings.
Then the youngest judge among them finally broke the silence.
"I don't think there's a problem."
He pointed out that,
despite their similar compositions,
the two paintings pursued entirely different ideas.
"The first painting felt hopeful even though it depicted a freezing winter.
But this one..."
"...Feels pessimistic."
The second painting showed clear blue skies and an open highway stretching into the distance.
Yet the interior of the car created an unsettling atmosphere.
Suspicious stains marked the steering wheel and dashboard.
A small crack spread across the edge of the windshield.
Most striking of all,
the rearview mirror reflected the pale face of a young girl—
presumably the applicant herself.
From that expression alone,
the judges sensed something deeply unsettling.
"So we can conclude that they're not similar enough to affect the scoring?"
Although the compositions resembled one another,
their interpretations of the theme were fundamentally different.
After that conclusion was reached,
the administrative staff member returned the second painting to its original place.
Meanwhile,
Seong Iljun quietly asked Ahn Youngsik,
"Just tell me privately.
Which one would you score higher?"
"You really think I'm that easy to read?
Why do you keep asking pointless questions?"
Even so,
Seong Iljun was convinced he already knew the answer.
Both paintings were technically excellent.
The difference lay in their interpretation.
The second painting approached the idea of "the end of life" in a direct, literal way.
The first,
however,
offered an entirely fresh perspective.
Naturally,
it was the more memorable of the two.
"Shall we move on now?"
"Let's go."
The judging resumed.
Then,
one judge quietly muttered something almost too soft to hear.
It wouldn't affect the scores.
Still...
it lingered in everyone's mind.
"Weren't the driver's seats in those two paintings on opposite sides?"
---
The next morning.
As a pop song playing through the dormitory speakers woke him,
Kim Seungho was reminded that he was staying in the school dormitory.
For a two-person room,
it was spacious and well-equipped.
Even so,
it wasn't somewhere he wanted to live for very long.
"Sleep well?"
"Yeah...
It was a little chilly.
I should've turned the air conditioner up."
It was the second—and final—day of Hanyeong's third-stage camp.
The entire morning would be spent in interviews based on the paintings completed the previous day.
Since it was Kang Geunseong's first interview,
he had been visibly nervous.
Kim Seungho had stayed up late helping him practice.
"You don't seem nervous at all."
As they finished washing up and prepared to head to breakfast,
Kang Geunseong spoke with obvious envy.
Kim Seungho simply smiled.
There was no way he could explain that he'd already survived countless presentations determining the futures of entire
teams of employees.
"Come on.
Let's go eat."
"Yeah.
I finally get to try the cafeteria here."
They arrived at the dining hall fairly early.
Now that the biggest hurdle had passed,
the atmosphere was far livelier than the day before.
While carrying their breakfast trays and searching for empty seats,
they passed one particularly noisy table.
"When I saw yesterday's question, I seriously thought I was screwed.
But after realizing everyone else was screwed too, I felt a lot better."
"Our drawings all look the same anyway.
If we fail, we'll fail together."
"But this crazy girl snored so loudly last night that I almost lost my mind..."
The loudest group in an already noisy cafeteria.
Kim Seungho would've preferred sitting somewhere else,
but only a few tables remained.
They sat nearby.
Speaking almost in a whisper despite his large build,
Kang Geunseong leaned over.
"Those guys are from one of the Big Three."
"The major academies?"
"Yeah.
You've heard the saying, right?
Half of Hanyeong's admitted students come from the Big Three.
And half the students admitted to Seoul National University and Korea National University of Arts come from Hanyeong."
Kang Geunseong sounded genuinely envious of the academy students' confidence.
Kim Seungho, on the other hand, couldn't care less as long as they didn't cause trouble during the exam.
Though if they spoke that loudly,
they had only themselves to blame for everyone overhearing them.
"So how was your roommate?
The guy in my room started talking about filming YouTube videos the moment he walked in."
"Who'd even feel like doing that during an entrance exam?"
"He's probably filming breakfast right now."
Whoever that was,
they probably wouldn't have any trouble during the interview.
Thinking that,
Kim Seungho suddenly froze when he heard the next conversation.
"Weren't you sharing a room with a foreigner?"
"Oh, right!
I was curious.
Why didn't you become friends and bring her over?"
"Don't even start.
I don't know if she's bad at Korean or just has no social skills,
but every time I tried talking to her, she only mumbled.
It was so frustrating."
A foreign girl.
The moment he heard those words,
a memory resurfaced.
Something Kang Geunseong had told him years later.
"...Anyway, the Big Three academies are always competing over who produces Hanyeong's top-ranked student."
"Looks like this year they'll finally have a peaceful competition."
"Huh?
What do you mean?"
Still staring enviously toward the academy students,
Kang Geunseong looked puzzled.
"I think it even made the news."
Clink.
Hearing a tray being set down,
Kim Seungho turned his head.
A petite girl placed an overflowing breakfast tray onto the empty seat at the end of their table.
As she busily stuffed food into her small mouth,
her distinctly Western features were impossible to miss.
"Lily Carpenter."
A name that would briefly shake the tightly knit Korean art world.
If nothing unexpected happened...
the student who would enter Korea Arts Gifted School as this year's top-ranked freshman
would be that girl from England.