The presentation was down to its final two pieces.

“Let’s move on to the next painting,” announced the professor, signaling the ninth artwork’s turn in the spotlight.

The title of the piece was Clouds. A bold choice of theme, though perhaps overly ambitious for execution.

In art, knowing one’s limits is crucial. You can tell by the lines and strokes whether an artist has bitten off more than they can chew. Seeing is one thing; understanding is another.

“Wow, this is something. Doesn’t it almost look like the clouds are alive?”

“They’ve overreached. The artist clearly couldn’t contain this within their grasp.”

“But couldn’t we also view this as a bold display of ambition?”

Praise and critique volleyed back and forth as usual, though the praise seemed to outweigh the criticism.

The ninth student came forward, nerves visible in their shaky demeanor.

“Ambition was there, but they ran out of time to polish the finish,” I mused.

Time is the lifeblood of an artist. But for a “painter,” as opposed to an “artist,” there’s always too much of it.

I’d know—I’m just a painter right now.

“This section on the left, what does it represent?” asked an older professor, pointing at part of the canvas with a kind smile.

“Uh, um, well… hold on a moment…” The student clutched their head, clearly overwhelmed.

The professors waited patiently, though I found it all rather dull.

Each piece had been given five minutes for presentation, and with only one more slot left, it was clear the final turn was mine.

The Final Act

“And now, we come to the last piece. I’m very curious to see what awaits us.”

The professors’ expressions shifted to something far more expectant than they’d shown for the earlier works.

Of course, they already knew what was coming. Who didn’t? Thanks to YouTube, my work had already been broadcast worldwide.

The centerpiece of the display, Peach Blossom Village (도원향 桃園鄕), was carefully brought forward.

“The title is Peach Blossom Village. What do you think, Professor?”

“Ah, as the painting shows, there’s a smiling young girl. Could it represent her ideal world, free from the burdens of academics?”

“But isn’t her expression too lively for that interpretation? Wouldn’t escaping academics evoke more of a carefree relief?”

“Well, emotions vary from person to person, don’t they?”

Their debate over my painting began to grate.

“Given the title, Peach Blossom clearly refers to the peach being personified here.”

Correct.

“And the apple? What does it signify?”

Wrong. The apple had no deeper meaning. Unless they wanted to ask my sister about it.

“Didn’t students recently debate the merits of apples versus peaches?”

What nonsense was this?

“Notice the technique employed here—pure fine art, isn’t it?”

The middle professor’s comment caught my attention. Fine art, or purism, prioritizes the spiritual and artistic value of a piece rather than its practical applications. It’s a technique I frequently use, though few recognize it.

“That’s right.”

“Look closely—this part seems slightly distinct from the others.”

Even the “bad cop” professor nodded in agreement.

“And the background? The school and uniform? Those are done in gouache, aren’t they?”

...Now I was starting to get nervous. Professor, please stop.

Indeed, I had used gouache to make the girl’s presence pop, ensuring the background didn’t overwhelm her.

When the critique ended, my name was called.

“Good luck!”

“Fighting!”

Encouragement from Ha Soo-Yul and Choi Ye-Seo accompanied me as I stood, shoving my hands casually into my pockets.

No blazer, a relaxed gait—I might as well have been advertising my status as a delinquent.

Students who knew me looked unsurprised, while others widened their eyes in disbelief.

I ascended the stage and stood confidently before Peach Blossom Village.

“And now, I make my entrance.”

The professors, stunned by my nonchalant attitude, stared at me in shock.

Before they could speak, I decided to strike first.

“First of all, let’s clear up a misunderstanding. This apple?”

I pointed at the half-eaten apple in the painting.

“It’s a leftover my sister didn’t want and handed to me to finish.”

“......”

“......”

“...Excuse me?”

Two professors froze, while the third looked utterly bewildered.

But I wasn’t done.

“Also, the technique used here isn’t what the professor in the middle mentioned.”

What followed was a detailed explanation of every aspect of Peach Blossom Village.

From the methods I employed to the subtle nuances in the textures and tones, I laid it all out.

“See this part? Doesn’t it look slightly carved? That’s because I used this technique here…”

For three full minutes, I broke down the painting with surgical precision.

By the time I stepped off the stage, the professors were still sitting there, mouths agape.

I returned to my seat with a satisfied smirk.

“That felt amazing.”

Waiting to welcome me back was my teacher, looking utterly defeated by the ordeal.

***

“...Is this really happening?”

“Quiet. I’m still processing this.”

Ahn Dae-Min, head of the Korea Drawing Planning and Promotions Division, had just endured three minutes of utter shock.

What was meant to be a teaching moment for professors had flipped into a lecture by a middle schooler.

That middle schooler—HAEUN—had not only corrected the professors’ interpretations but highlighted flaws in their understanding of artistic techniques.

Two professors sat visibly disheartened, their earlier confidence shattered.

“...Can this even go public?”

If this ended up on the internet, it would undoubtedly be headlined, “The Second Coming of Van Gogh! And He’s Only 16?!”

Ahn couldn’t help but imagine the reaction storm brewing.

“Did a middle schooler actually paint that?”

A wave of disbelief surged through him. If Peach Blossom Village truly was the work of a middle schooler, it was beyond extraordinary.

But doubts lingered. Could this boy, standing so casually on stage, truly be the artist?

Ahn gestured discreetly to Seol Yun, his assistant.

“Wait by the main gate after this. Let’s gauge the situation from there.”

“Got it! I’ll trust you, boss!”

Little did they know, their plan was doomed from the start—HAEUN had already decided to leave through the back gate.

"Got my painting. Time to head home."

After school ended, I swung by the auditorium to collect my painting. Since I’d need to bring it to the awards ceremony, I figured I might as well handle it now.

“Ha-Eun, can I visit Ha-Yun today?”

“Do what you want. But she doesn’t like you much.”

“Wha—?! Really? Did I visit too often?!”

“Just kidding. She actually thinks you’re about as sharp as she is.”

“...Do you want to die?”

Even though Ha-Yun is a sixth grader already called a genius, my idol friend Choi Ye-Seo somehow manages to match her energy—and her intellect.

It’s impressive.

As we headed out through the back gate, Ha Soo-Yul showed me something on her phone.

“Look, your painting’s already making headlines.”

I glanced at the screen. Sure enough, online chatter about Peach Blossom Village was everywhere.

But the comments weren’t all positive.

[There’s no way a student painted this LOL]
[What? No way a middle schooler drew this.]
[It’s breathtaking… but is this really a middle schooler?]

Some were outright rude, while others doubted my age or authenticity.

Thankfully, supportive comments also surfaced.

[Wait, I recognize that frame from YouTube!]

Turns out, some of my YouTube subscribers had recognized the signature frame I use to display my artwork.

My mom moderates my channel relentlessly, removing hateful comments, and my dad even built a program to automate the task.

Say what you will about them—they’re dedicated.

The supportive comments came from familiar usernames, longtime fans who’ve followed my art journey.

“You shouldn’t let the jealous ones get to you!” Choi Ye-Seo exclaimed, patting me on the back.

“Right! They’re just envious because they can’t do what you can,” Ha Soo-Yul chimed in.

I wasn’t crying, but their concern was oddly touching.

“Do I look like someone who cares? Let’s just go home.”

After a long day, I wanted nothing more than to see Ha-Yun and unwind.

A Week Later—Awards Day

The long-awaited awards ceremony had arrived.

“Mom, why does it feel like you’re showing up out of nowhere all the time?”

“What are you talking about?”

Despite my complaints, Mom decided to tag along, refusing to let me go alone.

For the record, it was a weekday, so Ha-Yun was at school.

“Oh, right. Look at this!”

Mom suddenly shoved her phone into my face. It was my YouTube channel.

“Check out your subscriber count!”

“...A hundred thousand?”

I hadn’t been keeping track, but my channel had hit a massive milestone.

“You’re earning more than your dad now, you know. Ad revenue is through the roof!”

Mom puffed out her chest and placed her hands proudly on her hips.

“Okay, okay. Enough already...”

Could she not make a scene? We weren’t the only ones on the bus.

“What? Embarrassed of your mom?”

Her exaggerated pout made my day feel that much more chaotic.

“...A little.”

“Oh, you!”

She pinched my cheek, but not hard enough to hurt.

Why is it that no day in my life is ever normal?

The bus eventually pulled into the Cheongdamdong stop, where we disembarked.

As we stepped onto the bustling street, people’s eyes naturally gravitated toward Mom.

“See? Your mom’s still got it!”

“You’re impossible, Mom.”

“Oh, stop!”

Honestly, though, Mom did look young for her age. People often mistook her for being in her 20s, though I’d peg her as a mature late-20s or early-30s at best.

“Ugh, it’s so hot! Let’s get moving!”

Before I could correct her, she grabbed my arm and marched off.

“Mom, wrong way! It’s the other direction!”