Chapter 49 – School, So Busy
Even if you wring a chicken’s neck, dawn still comes.
The hectic first week at Korea Animation High passed like a dream, and the second week arrived in the blink of an eye.
And by now…
“Mi-naaa!”
“Kyaaa!”
The kids, who had grown noticeably closer, were already making a ruckus the moment they arrived at school.
Small groups formed naturally, chatting and laughing—the overall atmosphere bright and lively.
The only real difference from regular high school students was…
“Did you watch this week’s episode of Fesna?”
“Kuhhh… the Blood Temple part was insane.”
“Woo-wool Teacher was hilarious too.”
The main topics of conversation were almost exclusively comics or anime.
And naturally, for Kang Min-hyuk…
“Uhu hu hu! Min-hyuk-kun, how’ve you been?”
“Yeah, good.”
His desk mate—and weekend jjajangmyeon comrade(?)—Oh Dong-gyo had somehow become his soulmate in spirit.
Sure, Dong-gyo’s way of speaking could feel a bit overwhelming at times, but fundamentally he was serious about comics, so they got along surprisingly well.
“But Min-hyuk-kun, why do you look so tired?”
“Do I?”
“Yeah, you look like a sickly baby chick.”
“…Haha… I’ll just collapse for a bit.”
Dong-gyo really had sharp instincts.
‘I did push myself a little too hard.’
Saturday night: Brave King storyboard finalized.
To prepare for the battle against Yang Jae-han, Min-hyuk had rushed straight to the work studio on Sunday morning the moment he opened his eyes and started drawing.
Since he’d personally burned through the saved buffer, he had to refill it somehow.
For the first time, he painfully felt the absence of his once-outstanding(?) assistant, Oh Seung-heon.
But the real problem was…
‘On top of all that, I still had to do that thing too. What a hellish weekend.’
But what could he do?
It was his own fate, his own destiny.
Besides… doing that was actually pretty enjoyable in its own way.
So while everyone else spent Monday morning in high spirits, Min-hyuk was quietly exhausted.
“Alright, no absences today, right? Let’s all power through classes this week too! Don’t miss any assignments!”
“Yessss!”
With homeroom teacher Choi Jung-an’s energetic morning greeting, the second week of classes at AniGo officially began.
General subjects and practical classes proceeded as usual.
“Okay, who wants to present on this part?”
“Me!”
Compared to the first week, most students now participated with noticeably more ease and confidence.
Time passed, and eventually…
“Bow to the teacher!”
“Hello!”
“Hi everyoneee~”
It was finally time for Choi Jung-an’s class: “Understanding Comic Direction.”
And this class was…
“Alright, everyone finished the assignment, right?”
“Yessss!”
In the very first session, she had assigned each student to submit one storyboard.
Most of the kids looked proud and confident—they’d clearly put real effort into it.
Choi Jung-an lifted the corner of her mouth slightly and said,
“For today’s first period, we’ll go from the leftmost seat. One by one, come up, show your storyboard, give a short presentation, and we’ll discuss it together. Let’s start with Kang Hyun.”
“Ah, yes!”
And so the presentations began.
“Um… I chose a topic I’ve always wanted to draw and made a one-shot storyboard. I reinterpreted the traditional folktale of the rabbit and the turtle, adding gag elements…”
After each student finished, Choi Jung-an gave a brief comment.
“Okay, everyone—let’s hear your thoughts on Kang Hyun’s storyboard.”
“The gags were funny, but I think exaggerating the turtle’s slowness even more with the directing style would’ve been great. For example, breaking the cuts into smaller panels like this would make it feel more frustrating and build tension…”
“Ah!”
The students freely shared their opinions on each other’s work.
The presenter got to hear perspectives they hadn’t considered, discovering blind spots in their own work.
Those giving feedback got to practice thinking more deeply about direction.
Watching it all, Min-hyuk clearly understood what this class—and what Teacher Choi Jung-an—aimed to achieve.
‘Balancing input and output.’
It was a problem that plagued aspiring creators and even active professionals.
When someone was too focused on serializing and churning out work, they often neglected new input—reading other comics, studying theory—and fell into a rut.
This class forced them to both create (output) and actively engage with others’ work (input), creating a healthy cycle.
Min-hyuk quietly nodded to himself.
‘She’s really good at this.’
The class flowed naturally, everyone learning and growing bit by bit.
And so the second week of AniGo life began in earnest—busy, chaotic, but undeniably alive.
They might consume new works or study theory diligently, but without producing anything from it, their skills stagnate—that’s output deficiency.
In the end, what truly raises a comic artist’s level is striking that exquisite balance between input and output.
That’s why, in Min-hyuk’s eyes, Teacher Choi Jung-an’s teaching method felt incredibly well-suited.
Moreover, watching each student’s individual storyboard like this…
‘It really lets you see their skill level at a glance.’
Just from layout, cut distribution, speech bubble placement, directing sense, dialogue timing, character design—everything—it was immediately clear.
Of course, a few pages of storyboard couldn’t reveal someone’s full character-design ability, but differences in impact from the opening scene or the detail in planting emotional seeds were stark and unmistakable.
Overall ability, storytelling, and even the raw drawing skill visible in rough lines.
Honestly, even with just five A4 sheets of storyboard, it was possible to roughly gauge where each person currently stood and what direction their growth should take.
And as expected, the ones who stood out the most were…
“Hehe, this time it’s the story of a male student who returns to his hometown after remembering a childhood promise with his childhood friend.”
Oh Dong-gyo—solid fundamentals overall, topped with a strong sense of subcultural ideas and flair.
“I started from the idea that it would be nice if my doll came to life because it’s so cute. That’s the concept behind this storyboard.”
Kim Rok-hee—almost obsessively highlighting character charm while naturally tying it into gags.
“I just wanted to try noir. The content is exactly what you see.”
Han Yu-ra—simply a perfect hexagon, excelling across genres without gaps, a literal monster.
There were a few other students with decent skill too, but those three were clearly on a completely different level.
Even at this point, they already felt like they were operating at a near-professional standard.
“Okay, next student, please present.”
The presentations continued…
And soon, it was Kang Min-hyuk’s turn.
Expectation flickered across everyone’s faces.
Everyone here already roughly knew the level of Kang Min-hyuk, the grand prize winner of the competition.
Especially Han Yu-ra, who openly narrowed her eyes and stared intently.
In that strangely tense atmosphere—
Choi Jung-an smiled gently and spoke quickly.
“Um… Min-hyuk has circumstances, so he wasn’t able to prepare, right?”
As far as she knew, Min-hyuk was currently working on Brave King manuscripts.
Even that alone was an overwhelming workload, and on top of it, he was carrying out major revisions to prepare for a head-on clash with Yang Jae-han.
So she knew better than anyone that he couldn’t possibly have completed the assignment too—and she preemptively gave him consideration.
“Let’s skip Min-hyuk for now and move on to the next student…”
But just as Choi Jung-an tried to smoothly pass over his turn—
Thud!
Min-hyuk stood up from his seat and walked forward with deliberate steps, holding a thick stack of A4 sheets.
“Teacher, it doesn’t have to be exactly five pages, right?”
“H-Huh?”
“As I worked, the flow felt a bit dragged out, so I ended up adding two more pages.”
“Ah, th-that’s fine. Five was just the minimum guideline…?”
What is he saying right now…?
Choi Jung-an blinked in confusion as Min-hyuk naturally placed his storyboard on the enlargement projector and began explaining.
“The storyboard I prepared is about a man left alone in an underground bunker after the world ends. He wants to drink alcohol so badly that he tries brewing it himself. I wanted to study the emotional line he goes through and the directing focused on craving a single object—alcohol.”
Page by page, Min-hyuk’s storyboard advanced.
Just as he’d said, the entire piece was laser-focused on that one theme.
What stood out immediately…
‘There’s… no dialogue at all?’
The storyboard was constructed without a single line of spoken text.
At first, some thought he simply hadn’t had time to add dialogue.
But by the time the third page appeared, everyone watching understood.
‘He did it on purpose.’
‘Huuuh…’
The character expressions and detailed bits were clearly drawn, and the directing flow was strong—making it obvious.
What Min-hyuk had called “research into the character’s craving” was being realized right here in this storyboard.
Moreover, even with such a minimalist premise, there was still a clear sense of crisis and structure.
A man desperate to drink brews alcohol from grain, adds yeast, fails repeatedly, smashes bottles in frustration, tries again, and finally succeeds.
In the end, when the protagonist downs the alcohol he created after countless failures—the wet, ecstatic expression mixed with tears was…
Gulp!
The sound of students swallowing could be heard here and there.
‘…I want to drink alcohol now.’
‘Why does it look so damn good?’
But that wasn’t the end.
After drinking until he’s drunk, the man begins to hallucinate.
Visions of the happy days before the apocalypse—carefree times drinking and laughing with friends, no worries in the world.
When the illusion ends, the man—face filled with happiness—turns pale and dies.
A lingering, bittersweet aftertaste.
The classroom fell completely silent.
When the last page flipped over.
Everyone’s eyes widened dramatically.
‘Whoa… damn.’
‘This is insane?’
And that sight made Han Yu-ra’s brow furrow deeply.
‘He brought this quality as homework?’
The storyboard she had squeezed out over the entire weekend—pouring her soul into it—felt completely erased from memory the moment she saw Min-hyuk’s work.
The impact was that overwhelming.
“Okay, everyone—feel free to ask questions…”
Min-hyuk smiled lightly and prompted.
“Did you deliberately leave out all the dialogue?”
“Yeah. I thought the intention and directing power would come through stronger without words.”
“That blacked-out background in the bunker scenes—was that intentional to emphasize the oppressive atmosphere inside?”
“Uh… not exactly. I wanted the flashback scenes to pop dramatically against a white background, so the contrast ended up that way. But yeah, it can definitely be read like that too.”
Questions flew from all over the room, and Min-hyuk exchanged opinions freely.
The energy was noticeably more heated than with any other student.
Even to the point where…
“Okay, okay—let’s wrap up Min-hyuk’s piece here and move on to the next student.”
“Awww…”
The atmosphere had gotten so overheated that Choi Jung-an had to step in and cut it off.
With that, all the students’ homework presentations finally ended.
Ding-dong-daeng-dong!
Break time arrived.
“Huuu… bathroom break…”
“Who’s going to the school store?!”
“Me me!”
As the kids jumped up to enjoy their short freedom—
“Um, Min-hyuk? Can you come to the counseling room for a moment?”
“Ah, yes.”
Choi Jung-an approached him quietly.
…
…
A short while later, inside the counseling room.
“What did you want to talk about, Teacher?”
“Well… are you really okay? I know working on your manuscript alone must already be overwhelming. And yet you still did the homework on top of it.”
Choi Jung-an looked straight at Min-hyuk’s face with clear worry.
The deep dark circles under his eyes, the unusually pale skin—anyone could see he was utterly exhausted.
“Like I said last time, we’ve already told all the teachers about your situation. There’s no need to push yourself. It looks like you felt pressured to do the assignment, but the goal of this school isn’t to force students to overwork themselves for results…”
“I did it because I wanted to.”
“Hm?”
“It wasn’t because I felt pressured by anyone. I genuinely got greedy. I came to AniGo. I got the chance to learn from amazing teachers. I thought—if I let this opportunity slip, I’d regret it forever. So I wanted to do it.”
“…But still.”
Choi Jung-an’s round eyes blinked rapidly.
She clearly didn’t know what to say for a moment.
Min-hyuk gave a small smile and replied,
“If it really starts feeling like too much, I’ll ask the subject teachers to let me substitute the assignments then. For now, though… I just want to push as far as I can go.”
Choi Jung-an squeezed her eyes shut, let out a long sigh, and finally answered,
“If that’s what you want, then of course. But… promise me you’ll tell me right away if it becomes too much?”
“I will.”
“Okay then… go back to class.”
“Yes.”
I won’t let go of either comics or school.
My goal is to become the greatest comic artist in the world.
And I…
‘I will never create regrets for myself again.’
As Min-hyuk walked back to the classroom, a rock-solid determination filled his expression.
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