Chapter 3 – The Romantic Era
1994: The Romantic Era.
A patricidal animated film—in which a young lion throws his uncle off a cliff to his death—achieved massive success.
Not just ordinary success, but a worldwide mega-hit.
The result brought many people to tears.
Industry peers wept from feelings of inadequacy in the face of its overwhelming perfection.
Others felt their stomachs twist in agony at the fact that a mere “cartoon” had raked in a staggering $760 million.
But if you consider the South Korean government’s stance at the time…
They were firmly in the latter camp.
—“For future growth, Korea must focus on knowledge-based industries! Animation, comics, and games that only Koreans can create! We must produce so-called K-content!”—
Under the government’s resolute (and heavily funded) policy, enormous sums of money poured into the animation sector.
Countless venture companies sprang up overnight, and just as many frauds flicked their forked tongues in pursuit of government subsidies.
One of the many byproducts of this frenzy was the birth of so-called “animation-specialized high schools.”
Move aside, Mickey Mouse!
Here was the cradle of talent that would produce Korea’s own Lion King—producers of true K-content!
(They never actually used that slogan.)
Thus, with great pomp and circumstance, Korea Animation High School was launched.
How exactly was it created?
First, they rounded up art teachers, comic artists, and animation experts from all over the country and crammed them into the faculty.
Next, they borrowed the curriculum from CalArts—the school that sends dozens of talents to Disney every year—reworked it to fit Korean regulations, and produced a flashy promotional video to distribute far and wide.
Come to Animation High School.
You can go to Disney too!
You can create your own Lion King!
Perhaps because of that…
The schools overflowed with applicants, and everyone’s hearts swelled with hope for the future.
That is, until “that” animated film—which should never have seen the light of day—was released.
Beautiful Life! The hope of domestic animation, the blockbuster that would change the Korean market!
The project that boldly declared it would conquer even the Japanese market… failed spectacularly.
Not just failed—collapsed in a way that defied imagination.
And it didn’t stop there.
—“Korean comics are dead. Fucking dead…”
During this period, aspiring artists who dreamed of becoming the “gods of manhwa” were left with only two choices:
Draw educational comics to at least put food on the table, or get a steady job at some factory.
Or cling to comics that paid nothing and live like a madman.
In any case, 2005 was a gloomy year.
For comic artists, animators, and even game developers.
With the industry in such dire straits, imagine the students at animation high schools whose futures were plummeting into the abyss.
—“Do you really have to go there?”
—“It’s called an animation school, but it’s just a poverty factory.”
As the entire nation sank into despair and self-esteem hit rock bottom under the onslaught of Japanese content…
The faculty at animation high schools were all desperately awaiting the arrival of a hero—a knight in shining armor on a white steed.
And this year, a once-in-a-generation savior who could fulfill everyone’s desperate wishes finally appeared.
“How can we be this complacent?!”
BAM!
A middle-aged man slammed his fist on the conference room table repeatedly as he shot to his feet.
His face was flushed red, veins bulged on his forehead, and he ground his teeth audibly.
A face so fierce that if you passed him on the street, you’d expect the Red Sea to part.
“Eek! P-please calm down, Department Chair!”
“Y-you’re right! Let’s sit and talk!”
The other teachers seated around him flinched in shock, but the red-faced madman paid them no mind and continued pounding the table.
“Calm down? How can I calm down when Korean comics are on the verge of extinction?!”
Ma Dong-hyun, Department Chair (45 years old / single, as expected).
A 15-year veteran comic artist who won the prestigious Korea Manhwa Award three times—in 1999, 2002, and 2004.
Now, six months into his role as head of the Manhwa Creation Department at the animation high school, he was a passionate, raging… no, professional educator.
“Don’t you all have any opinions? Opinions! We’re supposed to develop the future of Korean comics! We’re here—earning fat salaries—to nurture the next generation that will lead the industry!”
“…”
‘I’m just doing it for the money.’
‘I don’t exactly have that kind of grand calling…’
‘I’m from the Animation Department, you know.’
‘Hey, don’t demand that from a part-time instructor, man.’
Everyone had plenty they wanted to say, but the table looked ready to flip if they did, so they kept quiet.
“Isn’t that right?!”
“Y-yes, sir!”
“The future of comics! It’s important! Heh heh! Right, everyone?”
“Yes, yes, of course!”
“We’re… concerned too, in our own way. Heh heh…”
Everyone nodded vigorously, desperately trying to end this atmosphere as quickly as possible.
Just then, Ma Dong-hyun let out a long sigh and spoke in an icy voice.
“Then what should we do?”
“Pardon?”
“If you’ve thought about it, you must have some ideas, right?”
A moment ago he had been like an active volcano on the verge of eruption…
Now the chill in his tone felt like it had flown straight from Antarctica.
Everyone instinctively knew: one wrong answer, and things were going to get very tiring.
“We haven’t really thought that far…”
“Ahem.”
‘Why is he doing this to us?’
Silently chanting “As long as it’s not me,” everyone desperately avoided eye contact.
At that moment,
“How about a contest? Simple as that.”
A young female teacher raised her hand high and spoke up.
She was petite and round-faced, but strangely large eyes sparkled with an intense light.
The very definition of a clear-eyed madwoman.
Choi Jung-an.
Winner of the 2004 Newcomer Manhwa Award, an active comic artist, and the newest teacher in the Manhwa Creation Department.
In short: a second bomb who hadn’t yet been fully tempered by society.
“Teacher Choi, a contest is a bit…”
“It’s tight on preparation time, and the effectiveness is questionable.”
The others waved their hands frantically, trying to shut it down.
All the teachers gathered here were on the cusp of sweet summer vacation.
If someone actually proposed holding a contest?
One wrong move and…
‘I’d have to deal with that bomb…’
‘My vacation is over.’
Just as everyone was fighting tooth and nail to protect their break,
BAM!
“A contest? What kind of contest?”
The madman—no, Department Chair Ma Dong-hyun—bit the bait hard.
The balding vice-chair, sweating profusely, quickly interjected.
“W-we did hold contests until the year before last. Back then it was situational drawing and panel comics. But since there wasn’t much real benefit, there’s no need to do it again, right…?”
Choi Jung-an’s eyes gleamed as she jumped in.
“That’s exactly right. Panel comics, situational expression—it’s all just entrance-exam art. Doing well at that doesn’t mean you can pick out students who are actually good at real comics.”
“See? Teacher Choi gets it. So instead of tiring ourselves out with that kind of format…”
‘Good, if we keep going like this, we can patch things up somehow.’
Hope flickered across the teachers’ faces.
CLENCH!
Choi Jung-an clenched her fist and shouted,
“Let’s make it a 16-page comic!”
“…”
A brief silence.
The vice-chair adjusted his glasses and asked again.
“Um, Teacher Choi… what did you just say?”
“Sixteen pages—the weekly serialization amount for print manhwa! We gather the students and have them draw that in a single day! That way, we can truly separate the real ones from the rest, right?”
Everyone’s mouths hung open, speechless.
‘What is this woman saying?’
‘Is she insane? Sixteen pages?’
The vice-chair cried out in panic.
“That’s ridiculous! They’re middle schoolers, middle schoolers! Which middle schooler could draw sixteen whole pages in one day? That’s absurd…”
But then,
BAM!
Ma Dong-hyun slammed the table and roared,
“That’s it! We need to set insane conditions exactly like that to attract the real lunatics! Ahahaha!”
The other teachers had already given up on the conversation, sighing heavily and looking away.
Only the balding vice-chair clung to the last shred of hope and continued.
“Please calm down, Chair. If we hold a contest with conditions like that, will any students even participate? And if it flops, we’ll be utterly humiliated…”
“If they won’t participate, we just throw out bait to make them!”
“What kind of bait?”
“For the grand prize winner, we offer special admission to our school! And we throw in a huge cash prize too! That’ll bring every comic-crazed maniac running!”
“Pardon? B-but even if we generously allow special admission… you know very well our school contest doesn’t have a big budget allocated, right?”
Special admission? A huge prize?
If it were that simple, everyone would be doing it.
‘What kind of nonsense is this guy spouting…’ they all thought.
“I’ll pay for it myself.”
“Pardon?”
“I’ll personally donate 10 million won to this contest. That should be enough to make it happen, right?”
“…”
The madman didn’t even try to hide his madness.
But unfortunately for everyone, that madman was the department chair of the animation high school.
Every teacher’s mouth fell wide open.
***
As the sun began to set.
Min-hyuk, having returned from Seung-heon’s house, sat on the edge of his bed, staring intently at the blank notebook in his hands.
A few lines were written on it.
[Korea Animation High School Contest]
- Grand Prize: 5 million won cash, plus special admission eligibility.
- Complete a 16-page comic on official paper within 8 hours. Theme announced on the day.
‘The world is on my side.’
The corners of Min-hyuk’s mouth curled up into a wide grin.
They say people aren’t always doomed to die—here was a way to live.
A path to the animation high school that didn’t require fixing his terrible grades or taking a practical entrance exam.
With this, he definitely had a shot.
No—to be honest, he believed taking anything less than first place would be unacceptable.
Even if he hadn’t worked much in traditional analog methods, he had, after all, debuted as a professional.
Losing to middle schoolers would be its own kind of problem.
In any case, this was a heaven-sent opportunity.
‘And the prize money is perfect too.’
The grand prize of 5 million won, boldly advertised.
In the era after his regression—when he was active as a webtoon artist—contests with 100-million-won grand prizes were common, but that was the future.
In this past, offering that kind of money for a contest aimed at middle schoolers was downright unprecedented.
After taxes, 5 million won would easily cover at least a full year of tuition.
If he took first place, he could catch two birds with one stone.
Min-hyuk’s fighting spirit boiled over.
‘There’s still about three weeks left—plenty of time to practice.’
The situation was perfect, his confidence was sky-high.
There was just one wall left to climb.
“I… have to tell her, right?”
Min-hyuk let out a deep sigh, scratched his head, and the face of one person naturally came to mind.
Hong Mi-seon.
His proud mother—who had suffered her whole life because of a womanizing deadbeat father, working day and night… to keep him fed.
If he couldn’t convince her, the contest, the school—everything would be pointless.
Whether he’d been reincarnated or some gate had opened to make him an SSS-rank hunter, he was still Hong Mi-seon’s son.
As family, if he wanted to go to animation high school, he had to persuade Mom first.
That he wanted to draw comics.
That he wanted to attend animation high school.
Of course, in his previous life… he had failed spectacularly.
—Kang Min-hyuk, you can do that kind of thing when you’re an adult. Things are already hard enough for Mom—do you really have to do this too?—
Even now, he vividly remembered the look on her face back then.
Could he stubbornly insist on drawing comics while facing that expression?
‘It’d be unfilial. Pure unfilial behavior.’
But he knew all too well.
That one choice back then had left him with lifelong regrets.
And the current him wasn’t the third-year middle schooler Kang Min-hyuk from before.
He was the 34-year-old Kang Min-hyuk—who had survived every hardship in a public corporation, risen to section chief, gritted his teeth, and debuted as a webtoon artist.
The middle school Min-hyuk couldn’t convince Hong Mi-seon.
But
the current him could.
Min-hyuk crossed his arms and exhaled sharply through his nose.
‘Come at me if you dare, Madam Hong Mi-seon.’
I’m not the same person I was back then!
He rolled around on the bed, watching TV for who knows how long.
Clink. Clink.
“I’m home.”
The sound of the front door opening was followed by Hong Mi-seon’s voice echoing through the house.