Chapter 17 – I Won’t Choose, But I’ll Focus
Humans have limited resources.
So concentrating them on what plays to your strengths is the efficient strategy.
“Selection and focus.”
A natural tactic anyone can use.
But.
Today’s Kang Min-hyuk had no intention of selecting or focusing.
Because that’s a choice for producing merely “good” results.
But Min-hyuk’s goal today wasn’t just “good.”
‘I’m taking first place. No matter what.’
And entering this animation high school.
To do that, he couldn’t compromise on anything.
The fun of the comic itself.
Character depth and dialogue.
Manuscript quality.
Direction—everything.
He had to make every single element perfect, without shortfall.
Total time until the contest ended: eight hours.
Common sense said covering all that was impossible…
‘But I’ll do it. No matter what.’
No—failing to do it was what didn’t make sense.
He wasn’t some clueless middle schooler who knew nothing about comics.
He was Kang Min-hyuk, who—late as it was—had debuted as a pro.
So he had no time to leisurely storyboard step by step like the other kids.
To push every element to its limit, he had to save even that time.
‘Parents… parents…’
He tapped his chin with his finger.
Episodes and scenes from shorts or stories related to parents flickered in and out of his mind.
‘That one’s a shame. The completion as a short would be weak. That direction would be good for a highlight, though.’
But perhaps because he wanted something infinitely close to perfect…
Even after more than ten minutes lost in thought, nothing gave him that “this is it” feeling.
‘I need to get a grip soon.’
Wasting too much time here would make mentally storyboarding pointless.
His original plan was to finalize the concept quickly, storyboard in his head during the planning phase, and jump straight into work.
So the time left for Min-hyuk now was…
‘At most ten more minutes to organize my thoughts and start.’
He had to create a quality storyboard in ten minutes.
Yet in that moment, a smile crept onto Min-hyuk’s lips.
If it was about producing the highest quality work in the shortest time…
Didn’t he know that better than anyone?
—“How about making this short story about your own life, senior?”
The advice he’d given Writer Shin Pil-ho.
Pulling out the artist’s own unique history.
Re-creating it with comic grammar and direction.
Thinking about that… he could fully understand why the theme “parents” had been chosen.
‘Everyone has perceptions and stories about parents.’
Privileged families in their way.
Disadvantaged families in theirs.
Even…
‘Those without parents.’
A bitter feeling rose inside Min-hyuk.
The cause was probably…
—“Min-hyuk, I’m sorry. Dad… I didn’t want this. You know I love you, right?”
That piece of trash whose face had faded from memory.
It felt like black ink dropping into clear water.
‘Bullshit.’
The moment Min-hyuk gritted his teeth, the dark energy scattered like dust.
He had no intention of letting trivial distractions mar this miraculous second chance.
‘For me… I only have one parent.’
Hong Mi-seon.
The iron-willed woman who worked bone-tired from early morning to late night to feed him.
She opposed his comic dreams because she wanted him to succeed—and he knew that too.
The irony born from that.
His regrets.
Thoughts about Mom.
Mom’s feelings.
All these elements began placing themselves like a skeleton.
Once the core was set, threads of thought started hanging from it.
‘Yeah… this part shows Mom’s feelings when that trash left her. And through me witnessing that…’
Thump! Thump!
Min-hyuk’s heart began pounding fiercely.
Because a certain emotion was faintly rising in his mind.
‘Mom opposed it because she wanted me to do well, and that became shackles I couldn’t escape.’
‘The mutual dependence and irony born from that—I’ll express it visually with chains.’
Yes.
This was it.
Click! Click! Click!
The pieces fit together, linking into scenes.
‘For the chain surface, maximize texture with screentone, use solid blacks for high contrast. When the page turns here—impact…’
And how to finish it all into a polished manuscript…
The order and method of the work process came to him at the same time.
Thump! Thump! Thump!
His heart pounded as if it would burst, excitement making his lips tremble.
Because…
‘This is going to be fun.’
He instinctively knew—a pretty good, no, really good work would be born from his hands soon.
He wanted to grab a pen and draw right now.
Write dialogue right now, shout for someone to read this comic right now.
But Min-hyuk held back.
Because the puzzle in his head wasn’t fully assembled yet.
‘Can I tweak it a little more?’
Crunch! Crunch!
Biting his nails, he dove deeper into thought, building the storyboard.
Dozens, hundreds of cuts and images erased and redrawn, finding their places.
How much more time passed?
Sweat beaded thickly on his forehead from extreme focus.
Flash!
Min-hyuk’s tightly closed eyes snapped open.
Then…
Thud!
He grabbed a sharpened pencil and pen straight from the art supply box.
‘Let’s get started.’
A strange intensity flickered in Min-hyuk’s eyes.
Scritch-scratch!
The pencil, silent until now, began dancing across the manuscript paper like gliding.
***
Inside a classroom at Korea Animation High School, mid-contest.
Time: 10:30 a.m.
About an hour and a half since starting work.
“Ahem!”
Department Chair Ma Dong-hyun, hands clasped behind his back, began slowly strolling around the room.
The official reason was to monitor for cheating, but the truth was…
‘Ugh… that one’s not it.’
He wanted to start separating the wheat from the chaff—sneaking glances at manuscripts.
The result… as expected.
Unfortunately, most were far below his hopes.
Scritch-scratch! Scritch-scratch!
“Grrraaah…”
A student who’d confidently filled a few pages, now clutching their head in frustration.
“Aaack!”
A student who’d spilled ink, soaking the manuscript paper.
“Good, good…”
A student happily drawing away—but whose skill lagged far behind their enthusiasm.
Overall… a total mess was the perfect description.
‘Phew… looks like it’s over.’
He tried to hide it, but disappointment crept onto Ma Dong-hyun’s face.
Of course, he knew expecting too much from middle schoolers was unreasonable…
‘But still… shouldn’t there be at least one knight on a white horse?’
A superhuman who could save the Korean comic industry—sunk to rock bottom, stuck to the toilet floor—from crisis!
If he found even one such talent, he’d grind himself to dust—no, mobilize every resource at Korea Animation High—to turn them into a star artist.
A gloomy feeling began rising in Dong-hyun.
Just then, as he strolled with hands behind his back…
‘Hmm… maybe that one’s worth hoping for.’
Thud!
His feet stopped at one spot.
Contestant #60, Han Yu-ra.
Daughter of the genius painter Han Sang-baek, wasn’t she?
Word had spread among the staff from the moment she applied, so expectations were inevitable.
‘After all, comics are a form of art too.’
No matter what, comics were in the arts and physical education category—most influenced by environment and talent.
And Han Yu-ra had grown up with overwhelming advantages in both…
It was impossible not to have high hopes.
‘Let’s see…’
Dong-hyun stood at a non-intrusive distance and observed Yu-ra’s work.
Scritch-scratch! Scritch-scratch!
She’d finished storyboarding in about an hour and was now sketching.
Head practically buried in the paper, arm moving with combative intensity.
Just looking at those fierce eyes, she felt like a pro artist—not a middle schooler.
And…
‘The skill is definitely solid.’
Simply drawing lines with the pencil wasn’t brute force—she controlled strength and weakness, giving rhythm.
The character drawings visible in glimpses were also remarkably complete.
‘As long as the story itself comes out well.’
That part honestly raised expectations.
Unlike the other students—accustomed to entrance-exam art—who dove straight into manuscript paper…
Han Yu-ra had spent nearly the first hour on storyboarding.
‘The scent… the scent of raw diamond.’
The corners of Dong-hyun’s mouth, filled with despair moments ago, twitched upward.
The more talented people, the better.
But…
‘There’s no need to be greedy.’
A genius who could change the industry.
Even one such genius was a blessing.
No need for several.
One per grade!
Just one knight on a white horse could change the comic world.
No—he would make it change.
He’d pour every resource of the animation high school into it—absolutely.
Just then…
Swish! Swoooosh!
“Hm?”
Right in front of Han Yu-ra.
A student was already holding a pen, drawing long lines.
‘#59, Kang Min-hyuk.’
The kid who hadn’t touched his paper for nearly 20 minutes after the contest started—just clutching his head.
He was finally drawing something.
What was unusual… was that on Min-hyuk’s desk, manuscript pages were already lined up with panels inked in.
Not only that.
Some panels even had partial black fills.
Probably…
‘Drying ink while drawing other panels?’
Some deadline-chased artists used that method.
But Dong-hyun didn’t particularly like the sight.
How to put it…
‘Show-off.’
It felt like a kid who’d seen something poorly imitated.
If the skill wasn’t there, it was just empty bravado.
This contest wasn’t a speed-drawing race.
It was to find the genius among geniuses—who could produce a proper comic with consistent quality.
Drawing without even a storyboard, just pushing speed—how could quality possibly come out?
‘No need to look—it’s obvious.’
Without proper planning, forcing story and characters into pre-divided panels… it’d end up a mess—neither porridge nor rice.
Harsh, but that was the honest opinion of pro comic artist Ma Dong-hyun.
‘In the end… the only promising one in this room is Han Yu-ra.’
Well… that’s enough.
He shook his head subtly and slowly walked back toward the podium.
***
Tick-tock, tick-tock.
Inside the classroom, contest in full swing.
‘Ruined. I’m ruined! I’m not even halfway.’
‘Not bad?’
‘Good, page 5 done.’
All sorts of expressions on the students’ faces. The digital clocks in each room now read 12:59 p.m.
A moment later—exactly 1:00 p.m.
“Stop!”
“Everyone, hands off.”
The supervising teachers in each room clapped and gave instructions.
Four hours still remained until the end.
But the reason for stopping work…
“From 1 to 2 p.m. is lunch break. Students who want to eat, follow me to the cafeteria. For fairness, classrooms will be closed until 2 p.m.—take your valuables with you.”
“Yes.”
The kids answered.
“Aaah, I’m starving.”
“Daaamn… I think I’m screwed?”
One by one, they began standing.
As almost everyone filed out of the classroom…
“Phewww…”
Han Yu-ra let out a sigh and stretched her legs.
Just then, her eyes caught Kang Min-hyuk—still at his desk, staring intently at his manuscript paper.
And when her gaze shifted to his pages…
‘What the…?’
Bewilderment crossed Yu-ra’s face.
Because of the drawings on the manuscript paper.