Jung Sun-hee
The next day at Shinwon Production. The boss handed over a bundle of key animation sheets and looked up.
"Hey."
"Yeah."
"The guy who used to crank out 25 key animation sheets and 10 in-between frames per batch is suddenly down to 5 keys and 10 in-betweens? Isn't that a bit much?"
Cigarette smoke drifted lazily upward.
"Even adding in the 15 for Toei, it's still less than before. We're swamped here. Until Jung-ho gets back, we don't have any slack."
I ran the numbers in my head again, but 5 key animation sheets and 10 in-betweens was still my limit.
"Even so, more than that's gonna be tough."
"Why? Just do 5 more keys, Kyung-ho. Then it's back to 25 keys and 10 in-betweens, right?"
The boss was pushing hard, so I scratched my head awkwardly.
"I wanna pour everything into the Toei key animations."
He snorted derisively.
"So you're saying Shinwon's not needed anymore?"
"You know that's not it."
A brief silence. The boss clicked his tongue.
"Tch, fine. If you make it big in Japan, you're bowing to me on your knees. Got it?"
"That depends on whether they call from Japan first."
I thanked him anyway, sat back in my wheelchair, and mimed a bow. He waved it off with a laugh.
"Quit it, kid. Bow after you succeed—after you succeed."
I took the envelope of cash and the bundle of key animation paper to head out, but he called after me.
"You and that other guy—making that kinda money, you don't even need me saying it, right? Bring something back next time!"
He'd never asked before, but now he was telling me to bring something anyway.
"Got it, got it. Cigarettes?"
"Hansando—the good stuff."
Thinking about it, that was always the boss's way. He didn't wait for opportunities; he went out and grabbed them. He wasn't the type to sit around hoping for work—he hunted it down. That's how this little outsourcing shop ended up dealing with Japanese companies.
Then it hit me.
Why am I just waiting for Japan to call?
Until now, I'd assumed I could only go to Japan after they reached out. But was that really necessary?
A quick rethink, and nope—not at all.
I rolled the wheelchair rims slowly, letting the thought build. If waiting wasn't needed, why not reach out first?
A small idea clicked into place like a puzzle piece, gradually forming a concrete plan.
The school office. I went to see my homeroom teacher.
"Teacher."
"Oh, Kyung-ho. What's up? Early dismissal? Hospital visit?"
Always so friendly. Looked like my parents' favor paid off.
If so, I could convince him.
"I've got this outsourcing gig from a Japanese company, but time's tight."
He narrowed his eyes.
"Yeah, and?"
"Mind if I use the art room during class hours?"
"Hey, Kyung-ho. You think that's gonna fly? Skipping sacred class time—"
I pulled a thick paper envelope from my pocket and set it casually on his desk.
"Come on... Arts kids skip for competitions and stuff, right?"
"Well, yeah..."
He trailed off, opening the envelope. Inside were two 10,000-won bills—a nice chunk for a civil servant making under 100,000 won a month back then.
"Hmm... hrm... Well, special circumstances and all. Right, Kyung-ho?"
"Of course, sir."
Having bought off the teacher, I wheeled down the hallway where morning sunlight stretched long shadows across the floor, arriving at the art room at the far end.
I unlocked the rusty padlock on the wooden door with the key he'd given me. It was ancient and stuck at first, but a few shakes and it gave.
The moment I opened it, the smell of canvas and paint hit me—calming, no matter how many times.
I claimed a decent-looking desk and unrolled the key animation paper.
Scratch.
The holder pencil started moving. First line light. Capture the helmet silhouette. Long brim like a pirate captain's mark, shadow falling below. Sharp jawline. Narrow eyes. Extra shading over the bandaged eye area.
Scratch.
Cape. Set the angle whipping in mid-air first, twist the shoulders to match. Torso turns half a beat ahead, cape lags a frame behind.
I overlapped two sheets. Right arm slightly higher than the previous cut. Perfect.
This cut: coat flung back, drawing pistol. Finger on trigger—not too curled.
Suddenly, the door flew open. The creaky hinges made me look up reflexively.
A pretty girl with short hair and glasses paused at the door, stepped out to check if it was really the art room, then came back in. She glanced at me and quietly headed to the easels.
Seemed I was in her spot, and it bugged her.
"I'm gonna be drawing here from now on. You okay with that?"
She flinched and looked at me. After a moment's thought, she nodded.
Her silence irked me a bit, but I didn't have time to chat. Back to work.
Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.
With the finished image clear in my mind, my hand never stopped. Left hand flips paper back and forth to check forms, right draws lines.
One cut done. As I slid the completed key animation aside, I caught a gaze in my peripheral vision.
Turning, there she was—the girl from before, standing close, eyes wide on my... no, the drawing.
Staring holes through it, she finally looked at me and spoke.
"What... is this?"
Voice more normal than expected.
"Outsourcing from Japan."
"...Outsourcing?"
"It's from Captain Valrock, the cartoon currently airing. I’m handling the key animation for cuts 2 through 31. This is just part of it—there’s more.”
She pointed at me excitedly, cutting me off.
"You're a pro?"
"If it's paying, yeah."
"How? You're in high school."
"Just be good at it."
She studied my drawing longer, bit her lip, and nodded faintly like she'd accepted something.
"I'm Jung Sun-hee."
Even for the '70s, what a mom-name.
"Your name."
Why do people always ask like that?
"Park Kyung-ho. Nice to meet you."
Back at her spot, she attacked her thick sketch pencil with renewed fire.
Lost in work, the bell jolted me—end of school. I'd skipped lunch trying to finish.
"I'm heading out. You?"
"Me..."
Oh right—Toei keys done, but Shinwon untouched. Needed to do some now and deliver before too late.
"Still got a ton left."
She nodded and shut the door behind her.
I finally got home near 10 p.m., earning a scolding: You were out till curfew—what were you thinking?
A few days passed. Working in the art room again.
Scratch.
Valrock lands from mid-air, knees first, with his cape delayed by half a frame.
Scratch.
Ankle angle a tad extreme, but that's the dynamism. Subtly lower the waistline.
Flip paper fast. Flip flip. Motion flows. Spot a tweak—erase, redraw. Hand shakes suddenly.
Sun-hee, watching, piped up.
"Line trembled."
I clicked my tongue. Tch. Erased it quick.
In my past life, mistakes were rare. I drew like tracing a mental finished piece. Bold lines, precise control.
But today was off. Little slips kept coming.
Sun-hee muttered.
"Drawing too much."
"Switch to left hand from here."
She shook her head.
"Not hand—body."
I drew another line. "Gotta anyway. Miss deadline, Japan chance gone."
"Japan?"
She blinked at me.
"Going to Japan?"
"Yeah. Can't do the animation I want anywhere but there right now."
"Your dream?"
"Yep. That's it."
She thought, then continued.
"Deadline?"
"Under four weeks."
"Then... I'll help."
I stopped and looked at her.
"You got your contest."
"Three months out."
From watching her, lines and shading were solid. She'd help a lot.
But she saw my hesitation and rushed on.
"No money needed."
"Work means pay."
She shook her head hard.
"Teach me drawing instead."
"Deal. I'll teach. But still take pay—or I'm in trouble."
She finally nodded.
With her help, pace picked up fast. Started her on in-betweens over my keys.
"Exaggerate more here. Motion isn't constant speed. For acceleration, bigger, even if form distorts a bit."
"Okay."
Her style differed, so she fumbled at first, but absorbed quick with pointers. After two, three tries, no big issues.
"Good. You've got sense—picks up fast."
She bit her lip to hide a smile. Praise-sensitive type.
Days later, roles shifted: I roughed Toei keys, she cleaned up.
Scratch. Scratch.
Art room filled with pencil sounds. Lunch, after school. Other kids peeked in, saw us, left quietly.
One day, post-lunch. Door burst open mid-frenzy—no knock.
Pencils stopped.
A glossy permed lady in pearl necklace and tailored two-piece stood there, waist cinched elegantly.
"Jung Sun-hee."
Sun-hee froze tense.
The woman's glare shifted slowly to me, then the stacked key animation sheets.
Pistol-packing pirate. Whipping cape. Armored spaceship.
Brows furrowed faintly.
"Jung Sun-hee."
Ice cold.
"What is this?"
Sun-hee opened her mouth, closed it.
"Th-that—"
"Said you were prepping for art college, but drawing this low-class... comic crap?"
"This is—"
"Can't shut up? Got something to say?"
Sun-hee clamped her mouth, fists clenched under the desk.
I stayed silent.
The woman's eyes scanned me. Wheelchair. Pencil hand. Sheet pile.
"Student."
Checked my name tag.
"Park Kyung-ho."
Polite words, rude tone.
"Can you explain why our Sun-hee is drawing this junk here?"
*Curfew—from 1945 to early January 1982, no movement allowed from midnight to 4 a.m.