Chapter 45 – Defensive Battle (2)
10 p.m., inside a one-room officetel near Heukseok-dong.
Screeeech!
“Ughhhh…”
The door opened, and a man with a fierce, intimidating face staggered in carrying a plastic bag.
Go Gwang-jin.
He was the editor at Jangsan Publishing in charge of Min-hyuk.
The heavy dark circles under his eyes and the deep double eyelids told the story of just how much fatigue had built up.
“Meowww!”
As Gwang-jin reached the middle of the room, a cat from the cat tower approached, tail swishing gently.
“Aww, good boy, Madang? Dad’s home.”
“Nyaaang, nyaaaang.”
Gwang-jin smiled in a way that completely clashed with his scary appearance and gently stroked the cat’s head.
Once the cat seemed satisfied and climbed back up the tower, Gwang-jin collapsed onto the small sofa in the corner.
“Haaah… I’m dead.”
Lately, Go Gwang-jin had been ridiculously busy.
Shin Pil-ho, Kang Min-hyuk.
Both of his assigned artists’ volumes were selling well, so he had to visit every major distributor to handle promotions, drink rounds with the relevant contacts… and thanks to those results(?), he’d been flooded with new work from rookie discovery contests and the like.
Honestly, these days he felt resentful that he only had one body.
Rustle.
Gwang-jin roughly pulled himself up, taking out a can of beer and a triangle kimbap from the plastic bag.
“But still… it’s fun, so it’s fine.”
Even though his body felt like soggy seaweed soaked in water, somehow the corners of Gwang-jin’s mouth kept rising.
How should he put it…
Compared to drifting aimlessly with nothing proper to work on, this was infinitely better.
“My artists are rising like rockets—this is a blessing, right? Absolutely.”
He had dreamed of becoming a comic artist, but with zero talent in drawing or storytelling, he chose the path of an editor… a former physical education major turned semi-unemployed, Go Gwang-jin.
For someone like him, the current situation was practically a dream come true.
“I’m going to keep pushing like this.”
Editor-in-chief, department head, director—no, even president.
He was going to ride this momentum and become a major figure who dominated the comic industry.
Just thinking about his dazzling future made it impossible for Gwang-jin to stop the grin from spreading.
He was savoring that small happiness when—
Bzzzzz!
The phone he’d carelessly tossed aside started vibrating loudly.
‘Who the hell at this hour?’
Frowning, he picked it up—and tilted his head in confusion.
The name displayed in the center of the screen was…
[Kang Min-hyuk Artist]
“Huh? What’s up with him?”
Gwang-jin pressed the call button firmly.
“Call connected.”
<<Ah, sorry for calling so late, Editor Go Gwang-jin. This is the only time I have free to make calls.>>
“Haha, no no, it’s fine. So, what’s up?”
<<I want to revise some manuscript pages.>>
“Hm? Revise what?”
<<The Brave King pages from chapter 11 to 14 that are already done. If possible… I want to revise all of them.>>
“…S-Suddenly?”
In an instant, Gwang-jin’s eyes widened dramatically.
“Artist Min-hyuk, the storyboard was fine, and… those are already finalized drafts. Why suddenly revise them?”
<<Because I want to win. Against Artist Yang Jae-han.>>
“Huh? Yang Jae-han?”
<<Yes. His new series launches right around the time chapter 15 goes up, doesn’t it? Or am I wrong?>>
“Y-Yeah, that’s true… but even so, why tear apart perfectly good pages?”
<<They’re save copies anyway. I’d rather regret not fixing them than regret fixing them. Once I overhaul everything, I’ll feel at ease.>>
Gwang-jin’s expression darkened.
‘Isn’t this a bit risky?’
Well—if this were an ordinary artist… even if it felt uneasy, he might have just accepted it.
After all, desperately vowing to hold onto the number-one spot was something praiseworthy in an artist.
But Kang Min-hyuk was still a student.
The decisive difference was that he couldn’t focus solely on work like other artists.
The very reason they had built up such a large buffer of saved drafts was to account for this special circumstance…
And now he wanted to chip away at that buffer to push the work even further?
“Min-hyuk, I get how you feel, but the risk seems too high. The quality of these pages isn’t bad at all—why waste the save buffer? If something goes wrong later and there’s a delay… that could hurt your performance instead. Plus, you’ve got school life too…”
<<I absolutely won’t miss a deadline. And… I’m confident I can do this.>>
“Confidence?”
<<Yes. Right now, looking at this manuscript… I’m absolutely convinced I can make it better. Ah! And I don’t mean I’m going to throw everything out completely. I’ll keep whatever can be salvaged, and if I reuse parts, it might not take as long as you think.>>
His voice was strangely full of fighting spirit, brimming with hope.
Gwang-jin genuinely couldn’t tell.
Was this the foolish bravado of a young artist who hadn’t yet grown up? Or was it genuine confidence that he could actually pull this off?
“Ughhhh… No, even so…”
What should he do?
How could he talk this kid out of it? While Gwang-jin was groaning internally, Kang Min-hyuk spoke again.
<<Then how about this?>>
“Hm? What?”
<<By this Sunday, I’ll send you a detailed plan and revised storyboard showing exactly how I intend to fix it. You read it, and if you’re convinced, we go ahead with the revisions. If not, we stick with the original manuscript and keep moving forward.>>
Today was Thursday, so giving him until Sunday meant three days wasted.
But… at least that was far better than letting him scrap the entire saved buffer.
At this point, Gwang-jin realized it would be hard to outright refuse Min-hyuk’s proposal.
“Ughhh… Really—if I’m not convinced at all, we stop right there?”
<<Yes, let’s do that. Ah! My break time is over now—I have to hang up!>>
With a bright voice, Kang Min-hyuk ended the call.
Thud!
Gwang-jin tossed his phone carelessly onto the sofa and let out a deep sigh.
“No way… Min-hyuk, why are you suddenly doing this?”
His face had somehow taken on a slightly teary, pitiful expression.
Perhaps sensing the mood,
“Nyaaang!”
“Ughhh… Madang.”
The cat had come over at some point and was rubbing its head against his leg.
***
Friday—three days since enrolling at AniGo.
Another hectic day began.
“Here, you have to look carefully at the back half of the sentence to see what ‘it’ refers to…”
“Okay, in basic scenario writing theory, we treat the hero’s journey in its 12 stages as a very fundamental structure.”
“Aaaah…”
He arrived at school at 7:30 a.m., ate breakfast, attended morning assembly, and classes started at 9:00—
“Hehe, Min-hyuk-kun. Have you read this comic?”
“The Age of the Wind? Of course. It even won the rookie award.”
“Ooh, nice! You know your stuff.”
Then lunch, chatting a bit with friends, more classes.
A true medley, a compilation album of nonstop lessons with zero breaks.
At 4:30, cleaning time.
“Okay, let’s work hard again today!”
“Yesss.”
The flower of AniGo—self-directed drawing time—began without fail.
“Hehe, do you know what starts after self-directed drawing time ends?”
“What?”
“Another round of self-directed drawing time.”
“…Damn it.”
Now on the second day, the kids seemed to finally realize this wasn’t just pure fun—their expressions grew serious, and the atmosphere in the room became noticeably heavier.
Meanwhile, in one corner of the drawing studio,
“Ughhh…”
Kang Min-hyuk was intently scanning back and forth between his sketchbook and manuscript pages, one hand roughly raking through his hair.
‘This isn’t easy.’
A manuscript strong enough to defeat Yang Jae-han’s new work.
He had boldly declared to Go Gwang-jin that he would carry out major revisions for exactly that purpose.
But despite the confident declaration, nothing concrete was coming to mind right away.
How should he describe it…
‘I can tell something feels lacking, but… what exactly do I need to fix?’
He had a vague sense that there was a problem, but he couldn’t pinpoint which part. And since he couldn’t identify the exact issue, naturally no solutions were emerging either.
Because he had stared at his own work over and over, it had become too familiar—making it impossible to judge objectively anymore.
Normally, he would have asked Oh Seung-heon to take a look at the storyboard… but right now, that wasn’t an option.
Well, the drawing studio was full of kids who loved comics.
‘I don’t want it getting out that I’m serializing Brave King.’
If word spread, the way the other kids looked at him during assignments or classes would definitely change.
It would become annoying in all sorts of ways, so Min-hyuk wanted to avoid that route as much as possible.
‘Just sitting here staring isn’t going to magically give me an answer anyway.’
He had to come up with a convincing revised storyboard and plan to persuade Editor Go Gwang-jin by Sunday…
But at this rate, he might still be stuck on this even next week, not just Sunday.
‘Ughhh… If this keeps up, I’ll have to stick with the original plan.’
But even that felt like it would cause problems down the line.
He was completely stuck—unable to move forward or backward.
All Min-hyuk could do right now was keep raking his hair and re-examine the manuscript again and again until something clicked.
One hour. Two hours passed.
While he was suffering like that—
Tap!
“Hm?”
Someone tapped Min-hyuk on the shoulder.
When he turned around…
There stood Choi Jung-an, holding a teaching pointer, her expression grave.
“T-Teacher?”
“Shh.”
When she put a finger to her lips, Min-hyuk’s mouth automatically shut.
Then, with her thumb, she pointed toward the door of the drawing studio and walked out.
Clearly a gesture to follow her.
‘Did I make too much noise and get scolded?’
He had been fidgeting like a puppy needing to pee the whole time he was in the studio.
Like getting scolded for talking during evening study hall, maybe she was about to give him a warning.
When he was led into the counseling room—
“Min-hyuk, are you feeling sick?”
“Huh?”
“Your face looks bad, and you’ve been groaning nonstop. I was worried something was wrong.”
“Ah, sorry. The manuscript just isn’t coming together well, so I was worrying for a bit…”
Min-hyuk quickly bowed his head.
Then Choi Jung-an asked again in a serious voice.
“What part isn’t working out?”
“Um… well, just the overall story, I guess. Haha, I promise I won’t make a fuss again.”
When Min-hyuk scratched his head and tried to awkwardly wrap up the mood, Choi Jung-an let out a short huff through her nose.
“I’m not here to scold you. I’m asking what problem came up with your work. You may be a pro comic artist, but I’m your teacher and you’re my student.”
“…Huh?”
When Min-hyuk blinked in surprise, Choi Jung-an crossed her arms and continued.
“If you have any problem related to comics, you can tell your teacher and get advice anytime. Of course, if you don’t want to, I won’t force it.”
“…Ah.”
Right—this was Animation High.
Choi Jung-an.
The artist who won the 2004 Newcomer Manhwa Award and had been serializing in Jump Comics ever since—a current, active pro.
She had excellent directing skills, outstanding character design and dialogue, and had built a solid fanbase.
Even Kang Min-hyuk had read her romantic comedy work <Hello> and found it incredibly enjoyable.
Only now did it fully sink in that the person standing in front of him was also a comic artist—one with enough insight and skill to give meaningful feedback on his work.
‘I was too locked into my own head.’
Wasn’t he here to learn comics in the first place?
Asking questions about comics should be the most natural thing in the world.
But because he still wasn’t fully used to the common sense and behavior patterns at Animation High… he hadn’t even considered this option.
‘My old habit of struggling alone from my previous life is still sticking around.’
Min-hyuk scratched his forehead, then cautiously asked,
“Then… I have some manuscript pages and a storyboard I’ve been working on… Would you be able to take a look and give feedback, Teacher?”
“Of course. Anytime.”
Choi Jung-an smiled gently, her expression warm and welcoming.