The Tsundere Heiress's Challenge
Kim Sang-taek peeked his head out from the president's office at the unfamiliar voice.
"Seung-hyuk, who is it?"
"Looks like a Japanese person, sir."
The president scowled and slammed the office door open as he stormed out. Standing in front of the office door was a young, beautiful woman in a turquoise dress. Behind her stood a white-haired attendant.
The woman spotted the president and pushed her way into the office uninvited, plopping down in an empty chair before speaking again in Japanese. Even on a second listen, her voice had that perfect anime voice actress ring to it—clear and captivating.
"Since you wouldn't take on the additional outsourcing, I came in person."
"Are you... from Toei by any chance?"
My heart started pounding. Toei? If it was Toei Animation, they were the powerhouse studio behind classics like Mashin Kaiser S, Captain Ballock, Dragunbell Z, Seras Moon, and an endless string of masterpieces from the golden age right up to the present day. And right now, our studio was handling outsourcing for Captain Ballock.
The woman stood up, crossed her arms, narrowed her eyes, and glared at the president.
"Yes. I just can't wrap my head around it."
The president raised his voice immediately. "I already told you, we're swamped with the contracted work as it is—there's no room for more!"
"I don't care about that. We have to outsource here. I like the artwork from this place."
The president dragged his hands down his face. "No means no."
"Is it about the money?"
The president waved her off. "It's not about the money! You're asking for 504 cuts—that's three skilled key animators working eight hours a day for three straight weeks."
"Not three weeks—four weeks will do."
"No means no!"
That was when I spoke up in Korean. "President, mind if I talk to her?"
"Huh? You wanna give it a shot?"
He glanced at me and muttered under his breath. The Japanese woman stared at us with the same haughty expression.
"Man, she's persistent. We've turned her down how many times, and she flies all the way to Korea? Make her give up somehow."
"It's not that. I actually want to take on the work."
The president's eyes bulged. "Hey, we don't have the bandwidth. You know that, right? I haven't been home in three days."
"I know. That's why I want to do it alone."
"You know how much work that is, and you wanna pile on more?"
"I want to."
A brief silence fell. The president clicked his tongue. "...Fine, do what you want. Just don't screw it up."
"How about the contract?"
"Since it's just you, don't do it under the company—contract it personally."
It was a considerate gesture from him. The Japanese woman, who had been watching me intently since I started talking to the president, tilted her head with a dissatisfied look.
She didn't seem very patient. I replied in Japanese.
Only then did a smile finally creep onto Mari's lips.
Mari's expression hardened dramatically.
Mari's eyes narrowed. "Isn't this Shinwon Production? Is this how Shinwon handles business?"
Her voice was still clear, but the atmosphere had shifted. Moments ago, she'd been a high-handed young lady; now, she wore the sharp face of a businesswoman ready to tear into any weakness.
I shook my head. "But for this job, I want to take it on solo."
As I doubled down on the solo contract, the white-haired attendant chimed in.
He seemed to know his laws.
The president's eyes widened at my bold, principled pressure. The attendant standing beside her furrowed his brow but fell silent, apparently out of arguments.
Mari watched the exchange with growing interest, slowly uncrossing her arms.
Mari issued the order casually, and though the president fidgeted anxiously, he opened the door for her.
The moment Mari entered the office, she claimed the prime spot on the sofa surrounding the tea table.
What a haughty young lady. Her face, her pose, her voice—they were the epitome of the "ojou-sama" character, igniting my creative urges.
I turned her question back on her. Mari crossed her legs and replied.
Mari faltered at my arrogant claim.
A short silence. Mari scanned me up and down, blinking several times.
I shook my head. "Of course not."
I admired her classic ojou-sama scolding pose but pressed on. "Out of the Captain Ballock outsourcing cuts, explosions 23 through 31—all mine. And last week's delivery, cut 45, the spaceship rotation part. I handled the key animation timing fixes too."
Mari shot the president a glare without a word, and he cleared his throat awkwardly before speaking.
Mari whipped her head toward him in disbelief. "That kid did it?"
"Yes."
Kim Sang-taek shrugged as if surrendering to me, and Mari's gaze shifted back.
I clapped my hands. "Then let's do this."
The office air froze. A smile tugged at Mari's lips again. Her attendant, Miyazawa, squeezed his eyes shut.
'He just had to stoke the young lady's competitive fire.'
Miyazawa tried to intervene. "Young lady, time—"
Miyazawa reluctantly shut his mouth, and Mari pondered for a moment before speaking.
She pointed at me. "If you deliver something convincing in 15 minutes, I'll up the rate by 20% per sheet."
The president muttered a low "Huh?" from the side.
She pointed upward with the same finger. "If it's not convincing, the rate drops 80%."
"This punk always bosses me around."
The president grumbled but fetched the pencil. I took it and rummaged under the desk for key animation paper. My awkward movements must have caught her eye.
I nodded vaguely and got to business. "So, what should I draw?"
She didn't hesitate. It meant this was something she always prioritized. Drawing a pretty girl dynamically was no easy feat by this era's standards—art theory wasn't systematized yet; it was all gut feel.
But for me, it was a walk in the park. The finished image was already vivid in my mind.
I flexed my pencil hand. "Alright. Ten minutes."
The office fell silent. I taped the paper to the desk.
Scratch.
Center line first. Hips slightly twisted, one leg stepped forward. Upper body leaning in, one hand on hip. The other extended ahead.
What I envisioned was a tsundere—exactly like Mari moments ago. Arms crossed, chin up, looking down with "I can't accept this."
I'd use that pose but tweak the angles. A subtle hip twist to hold authority, head tilted a half-beat more for exaggerated cuteness. Authority intact, appeal concealed.
Big eyes. Overkill by 1978 standards, but excess is the appeal. Pupils wide and round. Double highlights, with a star-like glint inside. Not mere reflection—light bursting with emotion.
Eyelashes long and upturned. Outer corners slightly raised. 'Hmph, why should I acknowledge you?' That expression.
But lips not firmly shut. A soft upward curl contrasting the aggressive eyes—dishonest gentleness. That's tsundere essence: sharp exterior, soft interior, readable at a glance.
Hair in bold masses. This era's style traced every strand—info-heavy, hard to make natural. I went opposite: big shapes first, minimal lines hinting flow. The brain fills the rest naturally.
Mari's turquoise dress as-is, skirt hem flowing dynamically. Diagonal composition. Minimal background lines, density on the figure.
Lines thin and springy. A Seras Moon-style sparkle debuts here—three more tiny stars in the pupil.
Seven minutes. Nine.
The office was deathly quiet, not even breathing.
Finally, faint shading on the cheek. Exactly ten minutes—I set the pencil down.
Since regressing, I'd honed my past-life skills relentlessly. Today was the first time I'd poured every modern technique into one drawing.
Quite satisfying.
"Done."
I turned the paper toward Mari.
Silence stretched. Mari couldn't speak.
One glance told it all. She wasn't seeing just a "pretty girl"—she was seeing herself. Younger, cuter, still haughty but with that subtle expression betraying her heart. Eyes sparkling, skirt fluttering like wind, angry yet shy.
Unbelievable.
Miyazawa muttered softly. "...A genius."
"Hiya... what the hell is this?"
The president scratched his jaw and whispered in my ear, but I didn't reply. Mari picked up the drawing, examining it close. Traced the lines, checked balance. No distortions. Exaggerated, yet no sense of wrongness. An impossible pose in reality, yet it felt more alive.
She paused. "Am I the model?"
The office air turned awkward. As Mari mulled it over, her earlobes flushed red.
Suddenly, her eyes widened, and she shrieked. "Wh-wh-wh-what are you saying... Insolent... Insolent! Utterly insolent...!"
Her voice was loud as ever, but her expression had morphed into the exact one I'd drawn.
Miyazawa cleared his throat and pointed at the drawing in her hand, speaking for her. "We've never seen artwork like this... even in Japan."
I said quietly, "Of course not. It's a style that doesn't exist yet."
Her face red, she glared at me—but not in anger. "...Get the contract, Miyazawa."
The president nodded. "Can't argue with that."
Mari took the contract from Miyazawa, set it on the desk, and slid it toward me. "504 key animation cuts, rate up 20%. Solo contract. Five-week deadline. 5% deduction per day overdue."
As I reached for it, "And."
She looked me dead in the eye. "I'm taking this drawing."
I burst out laughing. "Planned to give it to you anyway."
Mari nodded. I bowed my head to review the contract.
And I didn't notice her eyes, fixed on the back of my head, trembling all the while.