Chapter 29 – This Kid’s Crazy?
Go Gwang-jin’s eyes widened as he asked,
“You came here fully prepared to throw everything out from the start?”
“Yes, of course.”
“…You’re serious?”
“Dead serious. That’s exactly why I rushed to finish it as fast as possible and brought it here.”
Min-hyuk’s eyes were filled with pure sincerity, and there wasn’t the slightest hesitation in his voice.
“We have to pass the review, don’t we?”
How should he put it…
He wasn’t sure if the analogy fit, but from Min-hyuk, Gwang-jin could feel the aura of a beast baring its fangs toward the single goal of securing serialization.
Gwang-jin lightly licked his dry lips.
‘Is this kid really a third-year middle schooler…?’
He scanned the storyboards, planning document, and character sheets once more with his eyes.
It was obvious how much time this boy had poured into creating this.
‘If he produced this just one week after we talked… he must have pulled all-nighters.’
At the very least, dozens of hours of grueling work.
Gwang-jin knew better than anyone how bone-crushing that kind of labor could be—which was exactly why editors were extremely cautious about casually telling their artists to scrap or revise anything.
In fact, among the artists Gwang-jin had handled in the past…
–Editor Gwang-jin, if you keep doing this, I can’t work anymore!
–Do you even know how long this took me to draw?
There had been more than a few cases where such words had completely ruined their working relationship.
Especially for rookie artists with little experience, this was an area where editors had to tread very, very carefully.
Yet this kid—a third-year middle schooler—was the one stepping forward first, saying he had come prepared to throw it all out from the beginning.
Gwang-jin could only shake his head in disbelief.
“Anyway… you do have feedback you want to give, right? Then please tell me quickly.”
At Min-hyuk’s urging, Gwang-jin stroked his chin and slowly began to speak.
“Overall, this work is really good. The premise feels fresh, and it’s fun. The character designs are solid across the board, the dialogue is good, the directing is strong, and even the central theme is excellent…”
Gwang-jin rattled off praise for a long while.
But eventually, he got to the point he actually wanted to make.
“But… it’s a little lacking in distinctiveness.”
“Distinctiveness… could you be more specific?”
“Min-hyuk, do you remember the visual characteristics in GETZ? The characters, the spatial backgrounds… that kind of thing?”
…Visual identity.
Min-hyuk stroked his chin in thought for a moment before snapping his fingers.
“Black tones, and an SF-style design. That’s probably it.”
“Exactly. That’s the image people immediately associate with GETZ. Since the premise is fighting against aliens, that aesthetic fits perfectly. So what I’m trying to say is…”
“The concept and visual design of this work aren’t fully in sync. Or rather… it lacks a strong, defining identity. Is that what you mean?”
“Yes. That’s exactly what I wanted to say. Even without it, this work is already plenty fun. But if we fix that part, I think the overall quality of the piece could rise to a completely different level.”
“Hmmmmm…”
“Of course, this is just my personal opinion. The choice is entirely yours. Like I said earlier, even without making these changes, I think this is already a strong enough work to have a good shot.”
Min-hyuk rested his chin on his hand and nodded slowly.
‘He really hit the nail on the head.’
A death game set against a Korean backdrop.
He had thought that combining this premise with good characters would be enough, so he hadn’t properly established a unifying visual concept for the entire work.
He knew full well what kind of problems that usually caused in comics.
‘The explosive impact drops.’
Comics are an art of symbols.
If the representative image—the defining symbol—is unclear, no matter how fun the work is…
Its potential to spread and resonate among readers becomes limited.
‘Especially, I made a huge mistake with the host character.’
The host character, depicted simply as a black-bodied weirdo.
Even just thinking about it—back in 2024, he had seen countless webtoons where similar characters were deliberately designed with distinct visual traits like goblins, fairies, or yokai to match the tone of the work.
In the version he had drawn, that aspect was completely missing.
In a way, he had gotten so caught up in other elements that he overlooked a fundamental mistake.
But Min-hyuk didn’t feel disappointed or regretful.
On the contrary…
‘This work can become so much better.’
Thump! Thump!
The thought that this creation born from his own hands could improve dramatically made his heart race with excitement.
Min-hyuk looked at Gwang-jin with eyes blazing with determination and said,
“I think that’s excellent advice. I really want to fix that part too.”
“If you feel that way, then I’m glad.”
He was accepting it this readily?
Even Gwang-jin himself, the one who had brought it up, scratched his head awkwardly.
Of course, whether he felt awkward or not—
Min-hyuk pressed forward with even more intensity.
“Do you have any concepts in mind, Editor?”
“Hmm… I was thinking maybe something with medieval armor or weapons… adding a bit of fantasy flair. But even that feels a little vague in terms of distinctiveness.”
“…Hmm. That does feel a bit ambiguous.”
“Right? Yeah, it does.”
Gwang-jin momentarily wilted under Min-hyuk’s sharp, decisive cut.
After that, the two of them sat with arms crossed, groaning in their seats.
‘Visual concept, huh.’
‘Ugh… did I say something unnecessary? I can’t think of anything solid…’
They had identified the problem clearly, but concretizing how to fix it was proving difficult—the classic stuck situation.
Just as their heads were starting to overheat—
Go Gwang-jin suddenly stood up from his seat.
“Huuuh… I need another smoothie. Min-hyuk, you want anything else?”
“No, I’m good.”
“Alright, I’ll be right back.”
Gwang-jin headed toward the counter.
Min-hyuk’s gaze naturally followed him without much thought.
‘Visual concept… Depending on the concept, the design of the enemies appearing in the story will have to change too… Something sleek yet perfectly conveying that sense of hopelessness and despair would be ideal.’
His mind was spinning faster and faster.
At that moment, his eyes drifted to the café wall—black and white tiles arranged in a perfect grid.
He stared blankly at it for a second, then huffed through his nose.
‘Huh… it looks exactly like a chessboard.’
And then—
‘…Huh?’
A single thought flashed through his mind like lightning.
‘Chess… chess?’
The keyword that suddenly surfaced.
It triggered a chain reaction, pulling together all the scattered fragments floating in his head and beginning to form them into a single coherent shape.
Min-hyuk grabbed his pencil and started scribbling furiously across the sketchbook.
A short while later…
“Strawberry smoothie is ready.”
“Thanks.”
Gwang-jin returned, sipping noisily on his fresh smoothie.
Right then, Min-hyuk looked straight at him and said,
“Editor, I got it.”
“Hm? Got what?”
“The concept.”
“…Already? In that short time?”
“Just take a look.”
Flip!
Min-hyuk pushed the sketchbook toward Gwang-jin.
On the page, the word “CHESS” was written huge in the center, surrounded by a chaotic storm of scribbled notes.
The contents were…
- Metaphor of being used as chess pieces by the host.
- Black & White base. Knights, pawns, rooks, bishops, etc… Use chess piece designs as motifs for each character’s appearance and abilities.
- Plenty of narrative elements that can incorporate chess rules into the in-story games.
Promotion (advancement), en passant (sacrifice), etc…
Scribbled haphazardly.
But just reading them was enough for Gwang-jin to instantly understand what Kang Min-hyuk was trying to do.
And it wasn’t just words.
‘He came up with this in that short amount of time?’
Next to the notes were rough doodles Min-hyuk had drawn.
Chess pieces—knights in particular—reimagined as armored characters in black and white bases, wielding weapons.
They looked incredibly sleek…
‘Unique…!’
Just looking at them gave the immediate impression: ‘This visual belongs only to this work.’
Seeing it all laid out like this, a flood of thoughts and ideas suddenly rushed into Gwang-jin’s previously blocked mind.
Then Min-hyuk asked,
“What do you think, Editor?”
“Good. Really good. It’ll need a lot of polishing and concretization… but the metaphorical feeling of the kids being manipulated as pieces by the host comes through clearly. And I can already see how to weave chess rules into the games in concrete ways.”
“If anything comes to mind, just say it all.”
“For example, in chess the game ends when the king dies, so maybe one character takes on the role of the king…”
Scritch scratch!
Min-hyuk pulled out another sheet and began jotting down Gwang-jin’s words at lightning speed.
He looked like a hawk that had just spotted prey.
The meeting suddenly surged forward at full speed.
“Like in GETZ, they earn points by completing missions. What if they later use the chess rule of promotion to advance to a higher rank?”
“I’m thinking of applying the chess motif not just to the characters, but to the monsters that appear as enemies too. For example, even if goblins show up, they won’t just be ordinary goblins.”
“Oh, that’s actually really good… Then how about this?”
Words poured out endlessly.
And the longer it continued, the more perfectly their thoughts began to synchronize…
One single idea crystallized clearly in both their minds.
‘This work… is going to work.’
‘This could seriously cause a huge stir.’
If all these ideas pouring out right now could be properly organized and reborn through Kang Min-hyuk’s hands…
It might not just replace <Aureka>—it might even surpass it. That kind of masterpiece could be born.
In the midst of it all, the female part-timer standing at the counter asked,
“Those two… their voices are getting louder and louder, aren’t they?”
“Well, they’re probably just excited talking about comics. You can tell just by looking at their faces.”
The manager shrugged, and the part-timer tilted her head.
“You can tell?”
“Of course. When this café first opened, I had exactly that same expression.”
“Really?”
The part-timer stared straight at Min-hyuk and Gwang-jin, who were still chattering away nonstop.
“Here… let’s do it like this.”
“Mhm, good. If we use that element and build from there, then revising the existing storyboard in this direction would…”
Their expressions looked almost angry—or wildly excited.
Yet somehow, the way they kept spitting out words without pause seemed strangely joyful.
‘Now that I look… yeah, it kind of does.’
The part-timer quietly nodded as she watched them.
***
Late at night, along the main road.
“Ughhh… I’m dying.”
“Good work today.”
Min-hyuk and Gwang-jin trudged out of the café.
Nearly six hours.
Sitting there talking nonstop had left their throats hoarse, their waists feeling like they’d snap, and their stomachs practically glued to their spines from hunger.
“I’ll buy you food—want to eat before heading back?”
“No, I’ll just grab something simple at home and keep working. There’s not much time left.”
“…Tch, ruthless kid.”
“What was that?”
When Min-hyuk shot him a weird look, Gwang-jin quickly waved it off.
“Nothing, nothing. If the great artist says so, then there’s nothing I can do.”
“My ears must be bad… I swear I heard something about killing someone.”
“…Don’t twist my words.”
The two of them let out tired laughs at the silly banter.
“Anyway, good luck.”
“You too, Editor.”
“Min-hyuk artist.”
“Yes?”
“Let’s definitely… take that <Aureka> slot.”
Gwang-jin clenched his fist tightly as he spoke.
“That’s exactly what’s going to happen. No question.”
With a confident final word, Min-hyuk waved and disappeared down the other end of the street.
Gwang-jin watched his retreating figure for a long time before shaking his head and muttering to himself,
“Damn… what a terrifying kid.”
Of course, at the same time…
He was also insanely excited to see what kind of chaos this out-of-spec genius named Kang Min-hyuk was about to unleash.
“Huuuuh…”
Gwang-jin let out a huge sigh as he walked toward the subway station, then pulled out his phone.
Press.
He dialed the speed-dial number saved as “2.”
The person he was calling…
–Hello? Editor Gwang-jin?
“Hey, Pil-ho artist! How’s the manuscript going~?”
It was none other than Shin Pil-ho—his own assigned artist, and the one who had first introduced him to Kang Min-hyuk.
–Same as usual. Why are you calling? Trying to rush me on the deadline again?
“Hey hey, I’m not some loan shark—what’s with that tone?”
–You kind of are, though.
“Whatever. I just called to chat.”
–Hanging up. I’m dying of busyness.
“Wait wait wait! Why are you like this—It’s about Min-hyuk! Min-hyuk!”
–Min-hyuk? Then talk already.
Gwang-jin let out a long sigh before continuing.
“So get this—this crazy bold kid brought me a manuscript today, and…”
As he chattered excitedly, the happiest smile in the world spread across Gwang-jin’s face.