The Warmth of Light
Jeong Mi-jin, the sketch teacher, was a figure of mixed reputation, drawing both notoriety and high praise.
Most students detested her demanding teaching methods.
However, those who managed to grow under her guidance felt differently.
Having experienced an undeniable boost in their skills, these students held Mi-jin in high regard.
"..."
Today, Mi-jin sat in the staff room with a serious expression, staring at a stack of papers she had collected.
Specifically, she was looking at the assignment on the very top of the pile—Ye-ji's work.
"How strange..." she muttered.
Every art student knew that light was crucial in visual arts.
But knowing its importance was one thing; applying it to a drawing was another matter entirely.
It was much like how Bob Ross's famous catchphrase, "Easy, right?" felt like a cruel irony to beginners.
In art, a massive wall stood between understanding a theory and actually executing it.
Yet, suddenly, overnight, Ye-ji seemed to have shattered that wall and stepped right over it.
"Oh, did you teach a third-year class? That's a well-drawn piece," a passing sculpture teacher remarked, glancing at the drawing in front of Mi-jin.
Then, he paused.
"Wait, no. The third-years are too busy preparing for college entrance exams to be doing assignments like this right now, aren't they?"
Mi-jin nodded in agreement.
"Exactly. This was actually a performance assessment for a first-year class."
At her words, the sculpture teacher turned back and examined the drawing more closely.
It was a glass cup drawn in graphite.
The presence of the water sloshing inside was vividly palpable.
A cup drawn with graphite in just a hundred minutes—spanning two class periods.
Yet, the texture of the glass and the water filling it were perfectly captured.
The artist had made precise decisions on what to emphasize and what to boldly leave out.
It was so realistic that one could easily believe it was a photograph printed with a filter.
"Who drew this? Lee Ye-ji?"
The astonished sculpture teacher flipped the paper over to check the student's name.
Hearing the name, a teacher sitting behind them slid his chair back with a scrape and approached.
"Is that Ye-ji's drawing from Class 1?"
It was Mun Hyeon-seok, the Western painting teacher who had taught Ye-ji's class the day before.
"Did the kid suddenly awaken some hidden talent...?" Hyeon-seok muttered.
He, too, had sensed a change in Ye-ji's painting yesterday.
To think it wasn't just her brushwork that had changed.
The two teachers fell into deep thought as they stared at the drawing, which exuded an entirely different level of mastery.
If they hadn't witnessed her drawing it themselves, they would have suspected someone else had done it for her.
"Did something happen to her?"
"Maybe she's taking some incredible private lessons somewhere."
The result of her transformation was stark and overwhelmingly positive.
Both teachers grew intensely curious about the cause of this sudden shift.
"But still, this isn't the kind of thing you can just learn to do, is it?"
A strange warmth emanated from the simple graphite drawing.
The glass shimmering in the warm sunlight, the surface of the water droplets...
This was not merely a matter of technique.
"...There's a certain warmth to it," Mi-jin murmured.
She compared it with the other students' drawings once more.
They had used the exact same paper.
Yet, as if by some optical illusion, only Ye-ji's drawing seemed enveloped in a cozy, gentle light.
It was a reproduction of light that brought back the memory of the bustling classroom, the passionate students, and the atmosphere of that space.
It carried a warmth that made Mi-jin look back on the enthusiasm she had felt when she first became a teacher at Cheonglim.
Feeling a sudden surge of motivation that cut through the monotony of her teaching career, Mi-jin stood up abruptly.
"Who is Class 1-1's homeroom teacher again? Ah, right. Mr. Park! Do you know anything about this? Has something changed in her home environment?"
"Huh?"
Park Ki-hun, who had been eating a pastry behind his partition, looked up in confusion.
"What... what? What's going on?"
Park Ki-hun, the homeroom teacher of Class 1-1, was a Korean language teacher.
The Ye-ji he knew was a perfectly average student—average skills, average personality, and an average family background.
She was the definition of ordinary.
Hearing that Ye-ji's skills had suddenly improved by leaps and bounds, he stood up from his desk.
"...Nothing out of the ordinary that I know of."
The minor commotion in the staff room drew the attention of the other art teachers, who began to gather around.
Amidst the crowd, Ki-hun picked up Ye-ji's drawing.
Although he taught a general subject, he had been looking at students' artwork for over a decade.
Even to a layman's eyes, Ye-ji's sketch was clearly distinct from the others.
"Why is this so good?"
"Right? Was she always this remarkably talented?"
"Well, she wasn't lacking in the basics before."
"True. But she was just 'decent.' That was about it."
Before long, the teachers were huddled together, examining Ye-ji's drawing.
Occasionally, a student might produce a single piece that far exceeded their usual capabilities by chance.
However, the teachers, who had graded thousands of student drawings over the years, could tell.
This was no fluke.
"The Year-end Exhibition is going to be quite interesting this time."
"Hmm, with this level of value control, she'd probably do well in Korean painting too..."
"Hey, hands off! Ye-ji is definitely coming to the Western Painting department."
"That's for the student to decide. If I start treating her well now, she might change her mind, you know?"
Once they reached their second year, the art students would choose their majors.
As the teachers playfully bickered, half-joking and half-serious, a voice interrupted them.
"Ah, you're all gathered here."
The noisy atmosphere quieted down instantly at the arrival of the principal.
"The teachers from the other departments can go back to their work. I need all the art teachers to gather around."
The principal, a gentle-looking man with a balding head, gathered the teachers.
Since they were already mostly gathered in front of Mi-jin's desk, the conversation moved quickly.
"You've all heard that we're trying our best to invite Chloe Choi as a judge for this Year-end Exhibition, right?"
At the principal's words, tension rippled through the teachers.
Chloe Choi. A Korean-French artist whose reputation was currently skyrocketing.
"I'm thinking of having her briefly observe classes, focusing on the ones with students who might catch her interest."
Chloe Choi was a surrealist artist.
She was represented by the famous French gallery, Gallery Montrablu.
The sheer astronomical value of her transactions was proof of her brilliance.
Even her smaller pieces, under a meter in size, easily cost as much as a car.
"We must secure her as the main judge for this Year-end Exhibition," the principal said, trying his best to look authoritative despite his gentle appearance.
That was how crucial this matter was.
Chloe was particularly famous for impulsively buying works by young, rising artists for massive sums.
Being chosen by her alone was enough to send an artist's market value through the roof.
"She has agreed to stop by briefly on her way to Japan in two days, so organize a list of classes worth observing and let me know by the end of the day."
It was a sudden announcement that meant overtime, but the art teachers' expressions were a complex mix of emotions.
Going home on time wasn't the issue here.
If Chloe failed to make up her mind during this visit and declined the invitation to judge...
"..."
While the principal's wrath would be unpleasant, it also meant many students would lose a golden opportunity.
In the heavy silence, the teachers hesitated, unable to speak up easily.
But in that moment, Mi-jin spoke in a clear, firm voice.
"Who is teaching Class 1-1 on that day?"
Ye-ji suddenly felt a throb from the bump on the back of her head.
"This is going to last a few days..." she muttered.
The cafeteria was bustling and noisy.
With students from various departments mixed together, it was quite a colorful sight.
Long hair, dyed hair, bleached hair, perms—things that would be unimaginable in a regular high school.
Even their uniforms were modified in all sorts of ways.
Everyone was doing whatever they could to express their individuality.
Ye-ji liked this free-spirited atmosphere.
"But seriously, did getting hit on the back of the head cause some kind of sudden change of heart?"
Ye-ji, who was stuffing her mouth with the cheese pork cutlet from her lunch tray, rolled her eyes at Da-hye's question.
As expected of a wealthy private school, Cheonglim's cafeteria food was top-tier.
Was it because she was so much more affluent now compared to her past life?
Compared to a life where she was grateful just to get a piece of dry baguette, the joy of eating felt incredibly vivid.
Feeling a sense of happiness in this mundane daily routine, Ye-ji shook her head.
"Why? Nothing in particular."
Da-hye was the first friend Ye-ji had made after entering the arts high school, and they had been best friends ever since.
However, that didn't mean they were close enough to share surreal stories about past lives.
Even if she asked her to believe it, it would only sound absurd.
Meeting Da-hye's suspicious, narrowed eyes, Ye-ji asked nonchalantly,
"What's so weird? Should I go get a CT scan or something?"
She spoke as if she had absolutely no idea what had changed about herself.
Da-hye frowned slightly and shook her head.
"No, it's not that serious. It's just... you seem a bit more mature somehow."
Da-hye trailed off, finding it hard to pinpoint exactly what it was.
It seemed she had noticed Ye-ji's change to some extent.
But the change was entirely positive.
A more mature gait, tone of voice, and facial expressions.
On top of that, her suddenly improved art skills.
Da-hye herself was confused about whether she was feeling jealous or worried.
"They say people change when they're about to die. Ah, this is really ambiguous."
Muttering it as a joke, Da-hye stuffed a piece of pork cutlet into her mouth.
Ye-ji just burst out laughing.
In a way, Da-hye wasn't entirely wrong.
After all, she did have clear memories of dying once.
My memories are definitely real. They're not a dream or a delusion.
Her search the previous night had confirmed it.
The memories she recalled belonged to her actual past life.
Because she had died young before becoming truly famous, there wasn't much information about her.
At least searching in French brought up a few results.
It was her first solo exhibition, one she hadn't even been able to properly open herself.
Although it had received an explosive response, it was only a temporary sensation.
It was only natural, as it was the exhibition of a short-lived artist who could no longer produce new works.
Furthermore, the most common search results for "Catherine" weren't even focused on her.
...Following Catherine's posthumous solo exhibition, Gallery Montrablu's reputation surged rapidly, as if riding a torrent...
Most articles merely mentioned her briefly to explain the history of the now-famous Gallery Montrablu.
A tragic, short-lived genius.
With no family or lover, her life had ended, defined by just a few brief words.
After confirming everything, Ye-ji made up her mind.
She would not deny her past life; she would use it to her advantage.
"I'm going to start doing night practice at school from today. What about you, Ye-ji?" Da-hye asked while Ye-ji was silent, pretending to focus on her food.
It seemed Da-hye was planning to reserve the school's night practice room.
"...Yeah, I should start getting to work too."
With everyone anxiously beginning their preparations for the Year-end Exhibition, Ye-ji planned to focus on slowly reclaiming and adapting to the senses of her past life.
Two days passed in this manner, with each day bringing a fresh sense of gratitude.
"Driver, please just let us off here!"
"Let us off! We'll run!"
Commuting by bus in Seoul was a living hell.
Ye-ji was barely holding onto the handrail inside the packed bus.
At the students' clamor, the bus driver opened the back door.
Immediately, students wearing the Cheonglim Arts High School uniform poured out and ran in the same direction.
"This crazy hill!"
As everyone ran up the steep slope, cursing under their breath...
...?
Ye-ji, who was also running, reflexively turned her head toward an expensive foreign car passing by.
Through the unusually light window tint of what looked like a rented vehicle...
...Chloe?
Though she looked much older than in her memories, it was a familiar face.
Ye-ji stopped in her tracks without realizing it.
But she quickly realized now was not the time and started running again.
Avoiding a tardy mark in her current life was far more important than a past-life acquaintance she barely knew.
"What's going on all of a sudden?"
"I don't know! I didn't bring my paints!"
"How are you an arts high school student and you don't have paints at school?"
"I don't use oils, so of course I don't have them!"
Barely avoiding being late, Ye-ji entered the classroom and immediately covered her ears.
As usual, the classroom was in a state of chaotic uproar.
Setting down her heavy bag, Ye-ji asked,
"What's everyone so worked up about?"
Da-hye, who was working on her tutoring homework, shrugged.
"The schedule suddenly changed. We have oil painting instead of sculpture."