Chapter 16 – Mad Comic Artist, Ma Dong-hyun
A little later, inside the hallway of Korea Animation High School.
“Okay, everyone—contest participants this way. Numbers 1 through 30 to the ‘Saeum’ classroom. 31 through 60 to the ‘Nuri’ classroom…”
Animation high students and teachers stationed throughout the halls.
They were kindly guiding the contestants.
While most participants walked with stiff, nervous faces following the directions…
One student had a faint smile on his face.
‘So this is Korea Animation High.’
Min-hyuk walked down the hallway, looking around.
He stopped here and there to admire the drawings and works of students (soon-to-be his seniors) hung on the walls.
He also peeked into the classrooms scattered along the way.
It was definitely a different atmosphere from the ordinary high school he’d attended before regression.
As he walked like that…
Min-hyuk grabbed a buzz-cut male student who was guiding nearby and asked,
“Excuse me, senior.”
“?”
“What’s that classroom over there?”
Min-hyuk pointed at a room farther down.
Beyond the glass door, a large space filled with rows of work desks.
Manuscript paper, pens, comics scattered everywhere.
Just looking at it made Min-hyuk’s heart flutter.
Anyway, the suddenly stopped buzz-cut student briefly explained,
“Ah, that’s… the night studio. You can’t go in now anyway. The contest is in the classrooms this way…”
“Ah, sorry. Heh heh. Since this is the school I’ll be attending, I just wanted to take it all in while I’m here.”
“Huh?”
Min-hyuk scratched his head. The buzz-cut guy’s face openly twisted.
The expression was clear.
‘Who does this kid think he is? Does he think just anyone can come here if they want?’
The competition rate was easily over 30:1, and you needed top grades plus art skills just to have a shot.
Was this a place you could casually attend because you felt like it?
A place you had to risk your life to maybe get into…
He himself had gone through hell with entrance art prep and grade management just to get here.
‘Every year, there’s always one or two idiots with flowers blooming in their heads.’
Tsk—not good.
Should I give him a piece of advice? Tell him to get his head straight if he really wants to come here?
The buzz-cut student—filled with senior-like affection—shook his head, held out his palm, and said,
“Hey, kid. Having spirit is great, but as your senior… let me give you one piece of advice, yeah?”
But… while he was pondering,
The one who’d asked the question in the first place—Min-hyuk—had already vanished down the hall.
“Thanks! See you when I enroll, senior!”
“…Huh?”
The buzz-cut guy let out a big sigh and scratched his head.
“Senior my ass.”
Kids these days—half of them had no manners.
“If I see him again… I’ll give him a piece of my mind.”
But meeting him again would mean the kid actually got in.
Realizing that, the buzz-cut guy shook his head irritably.
What an unpleasant kid to think about.
***
A little later, inside the classroom boldly labeled [Nuri].
“Okay, everyone—sit at the desk matching your number. If your number doesn’t match, head to the other classroom.”
“You need to go to the room next door.”
“Ah, yes!”
Contest participants, each carrying their art supply boxes, began taking seats one by one.
“59, 59… here it is.”
Min-hyuk, arriving late, headed toward the back.
Just then—
“Hm?”
“Huh?”
His eyes met someone sitting right behind him.
The rude bucket-hat girl.
The enemy of his screentone…
The future Han Yu-ra.
Min-hyuk grinned and waved.
“Fate, huh?”
“…Shut up.”
Han Yu-ra glared for a moment, clearly annoyed, then turned her head away.
Guess she wants to focus.
Min-hyuk shrugged and took his seat.
‘It’s not like it’ll hurt either of us. This moment is pretty important to me too.’
Min-hyuk opened a sketchbook.
Scritch-scratch.
As usual, he lightly warmed up his hand with the pencil.
What he drew… everything in front of him.
He quickly croquis’d the classroom and the contestants.
While loosening up his hand like that…
“Phew… what materials did you bring?”
“Just some Hi-Tec and random stuff?”
“Hi-Tec? Is that okay for manuscripts? I thought people usually use G-pens or spoon pens or whatever.”
“The academy didn’t teach me how. Those things are insanely hard to use.”
“Yeah… I don’t even get why the contest makes us draw full comics out of nowhere.”
“Tell me about it.”
Tension easing a bit?
Kids were gathering in small groups, chatting away.
From what Min-hyuk overheard, most seemed to attend comic or animation prep academies.
Sketching them in his book, memories from the past brushed by.
—“Hey, Kwon Min. Remember Teacher Yang from back then?”
—“Teacher Yang? The one from Comic Force?”
—“Yeah. Heard she’s getting married.”
—“No way. She was always going on about her boyfriend—finally happening. Who’s the guy?”
—“Some webtoon artist. You know <Inside Left>?”
—“Whaaat…”
Scenes he’d seen at least once at every writer meetup after debuting on Bluehouse.
Artists from the same academy or school sharing old stories and memories.
To them it was nothing special, but every time…
‘I always felt left out.’
Nine out of ten artists had drawn comics together in the same space growing up, or shared school/academy memories with peers.
Those naturally formed comic friends became pacemakers in the industry—sharing memories, motivating each other.
But past Min-hyuk was a complete outsider.
That’s why those pasts and memories always dazzled him with envy.
‘It’s fine. If I take first here… I won’t be an outsider anymore.’
It only fueled his stubbornness.
He had to take first and get in.
To become the greatest comic artist.
And to never create another regret.
How long had he waited?
Around 8:50 a.m.
Creak!
The door swung open roughly, and a middle-aged man strode in.
He stood at the podium.
BAM!
He slammed his palm on it and shouted,
“Greetings, future bearers of Korean comics!”
A booming, rough voice—like a bandit chief from the mountains.
The waiting kids flinched, eyes widening.
‘Ah, he’s a teacher here, right?’
Of course… Min-hyuk’s mouth curved upward.
“I’m Ma Dong-hyun—chief supervisor of this contest and head of the Manhwa Creation Department!”
Ma Dong-hyun.
When Min-hyuk was around 34, working as a Bluehouse webtoon artist, he was one of the representative veteran artists.
In his sixties, he’d won the “Best Foreign Comic” award at the Angoulême Festival with <Comic Maniac>—an autobiographical work.
Min-hyuk had thought his comics were incredible.
‘A monster who could produce that level of work past sixty.’
Of course, like everyone, Ma Dong-hyun had a slight flaw.
—“Aaaargh! You bastards! What? Webtoons are trash? You seniors can’t even cheer on the juniors?!”
—“What the hell are you saying, you lunatic! Grabbing collars without manners?!”
—“Manners? Manners my ass—you’re done for…”
His explosive temper.
He’d once landed a real punch on an old veteran artist who badmouthed the quality of Korean comics during a lecture at the Content Promotion Agency.
It cost him his reputation and positions.
But…
‘Honestly… I didn’t hate the guy.’
I felt it back then.
He felt that this man truly loved comics enough to call himself a “comic maniac.”
‘Well… I heard he paid a hefty settlement.’
Ahem! Minor detail.
As Min-hyuk’s thoughts settled, Ma Dong-hyun spoke again.
“This contest is to select the genius who will overturn the future of Korean comics! It’s a grave and important occasion—so I hope no one came with half-hearted resolve. No—I want you to bet your lives on it!”
“…”
The classroom fell silent. A faint smile appeared on Min-hyuk’s face.
‘Whoa… he’s really laying it on thick.’
As expected from the comic maniac…
Telling middle schoolers to bet their lives was a bit extreme, though.
“Time starts at 9 a.m.—eight hours total. In that time… pour everything you have into drawing the best comic you possibly can! Understood?”
“…”
Silence again.
“I said—understood?!”
BAM!
Ma Dong-hyun slammed the podium once more. The kids flinched, faces turning pale.
Just then—
Raise!
Han Yu-ra raised her hand with an expressionless face.
“What?”
“Department Chair, getting angry is fine, but… shouldn’t you tell us what to draw soon? It’s almost 9.”
Ma Dong-hyun checked his wristwatch, scratched his head, and said,
“Ah… good point.”
He grabbed a piece of chalk and scrawled roughly on the board.
[Parents]
“This… is today’s theme! From now on—eight hours. Complete a comic on this theme.”
“It feels too vague. Is that all?”
Han Yu-ra asked again. Ma Dong-hyun crossed his arms and nodded.
“Yeah. Anything related to parents is fine! Especially you… I bet you have a lot to say on this topic?”
As if those words struck a nerve.
Han Yu-ra’s brow furrowed.
But whether it did or not, Ma Dong-hyun continued,
“Prove it, all of you. Prove you have enough talent to enter this school and carry the future of Korean comics! Heh heh heh!”
“…”
The classroom fell silent again. Ma Dong-hyun pounded the podium once more to hurry them.
“What are you waiting for? Start already!”
“Y-yes, sir!”
The students nodded hurriedly, grabbed their pencils…
Scritch-scratch!
And began sketching on the manuscript paper.
Ma Dong-hyun watched quietly, smacking his lips.
Because…
‘Tch… this’ll be tough for most of them.’
He could tell at a glance.
The ones who jumped straight into drawing… were the typical “entrance-exam art academy” kids.
‘They’re thinking: maximize density in the given time.’
Simple logic—and the obvious method.
Given the same time, the one who draws more, with higher quality, naturally gets better scores.
But Ma Dong-hyun thought differently.
‘I want someone who can make comics—not just draw pretty pictures.’
As far as he knew, a true comic artist wouldn’t start scribbling on manuscript paper right away.
The only one in this room who looked promising was…
‘Han Yu-ra, maybe.’
Scritch-scratch.
He saw Han Yu-ra scribbling on a small memo pad instead of manuscript paper.
Probably planning the storyboard first.
Doing that process before drawing would create an overwhelming difference in fun and completeness compared to those filling pages blindly.
The basics of being a comic artist.
‘The only one somewhat imitating that… is the boy in the front row?’
Ma Dong-hyun’s gaze shifted to the boy right in front—Kang Min-hyuk.
But soon his head tilted.
‘Hmm… is that kid’s brain frozen or what?’
Contestant #59, Kang Min-hyuk.
He wasn’t diving straight into manuscript paper like the others, but instead of storyboarding, he was massaging his temples.
That would almost certainly lead to failure.
Of course—contrary to Ma Dong-hyun’s judgment—Min-hyuk himself was…
‘No time to storyboard everything. I’ll solidify the full flow in my head and jump straight into work.’
Fiercely thinking of the way to take overwhelming first place in this contest.