After returning to the dormitory, avoiding the eyes of reporters,
I barely had time to shake off my fatigue before being thrust into a new situation: a contact request from a global agency.
They had reached out through Hanul’s office, saying, “We’d like to send someone to speak with you,” and, upon acceptance, promptly dispatched a staff member to Korea.
It took about three days from the moment the email arrived
to when we met face-to-face at a café on campus.
Their efficiency was downright terrifying. Considering the distance between New York and Korea, it felt like they’d booked a flight the moment they read the email.
And the dispatched employee, unfazed by such a long journey, appeared remarkably neat and energetic.
The woman, a Chinese-American named Rebecca, greeted me with a charming smile. She wore a flawless suit and exuded a subtle scent of perfume—she was the epitome of a “competent corporate employee.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Rebecca from ‘Lao Hu Agency’ in New York. We run a program supporting promising new writers. Of course, I’m here to invite you, Go Hana, to join us.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you—an exceptional Korean writer who has inspired countless others. Our CEO is especially interested in your work.”
“Oh… I see.”
“Yes, your bold and distinctive artistic style is incredibly unique. As a writer, your professionalism is on par with many seasoned adult authors. The work you presented at the Japan Exchange Exhibition, your student projects, and even the solo exhibition you independently organized—it’s extraordinary to see such achievements at an elementary school age. Talent like yours is rare, even on a global scale. Personally, I was amazed.”
Rebecca shared a brief reflection, marveling that someone like me actually existed.
Though her words were full of praise, I felt oddly dazed.
To be honest, I found Rebecca—coming all the way from a major New York agency—more fascinating than anything.
‘Lao Hu Agency, huh…’
Weren’t they the agency notorious for scooping up talented modern Asian artists using Chinese capital? Even before Chinese investments became widespread, they were already the most prominent contemporary art agency in New York. Twenty years later, they would dominate galleries and auction lines.
True to their fierce name, meaning “old tiger” (老虎), Lao Hu Agency was known for its bold and aggressive marketing.
They propelled relatively unknown artists—or those only active in local circles—into the global market in the blink of an eye.
In an art industry where history is power, they grew as fast as a tech company.
And they did it at the forefront of modern art, in New York, the center of capital.
Rebecca, as expected of someone from such a powerful company, was highly capable. As she continued speaking, she pulled a sleek, modern laptop from her briefcase.
“After reviewing all your works, it’s clear that the central theme of your art revolves around ‘discourse on existence.’ While the discourse itself is quite classic, the way your expression evolves from traditional forms to media art—is captivating.”
Her meticulousness matched her perfectly arranged hair.
She’d researched my portfolio so thoroughly that it even included my pre-Hanul Youth Art Exhibition drawings. The detailed preparation was enough to make me inwardly nod and think, “What a capable agent… Proceed.”
She concluded her presentation with clippings of the newspaper articles from Japan that had created a buzz about my work.
“From a pure artistic question, you’ve built something that transcends the boundary between commercial and fine art, leading to the concept of ‘virtual personas.’ It’s a carefully calculated drama that delivers a profoundly moving narrative.”
I found her choice of words intriguing.
“A drama?”
“Yes. Most people are more drawn to the ‘story’ behind a work than the work itself. Highlighting that narrative is crucial when introducing your art to the market. You need to emphasize not just the work, but the story intertwined with it.”
“…I never thought of it that way. Most of my pieces just came out of deep thought in the studio.”
Some of my ideas, I thought, weren’t even my own—weren’t they borrowed from the future thanks to my regression cheat?
But Rebecca shook her head and said,
“Crafting that narrative is also a crucial part of succeeding in the market.”
“…”
In short, she was telling me to sprinkle some seasoning on a bland story.
For someone like me an artist who values sincerity above all else and thrives in a solitary creative space this kind of flexibility felt almost alien.
Rebecca looked at me with a pleased expression and said,
“And to think that the protagonist of such a drama is a beautiful, pure young girl… You’ve developed your artistic vision in a remarkably sharp and sophisticated way.
The first quality of a star is the ability to think about ‘how to present oneself.’ Writing a script that highlights the protagonist is no small feat.”
“Aren’t all kids around my age bright and cute by default?”
Recently, I’d been receiving more compliments on my appearance than usual, but I didn’t trust those words not until I passed the dreaded age of 16. In my previous life as Go Hun, I’d been called “cute” up until I was 14.
Rebecca smiled warmly at my response.
“Who knows? I can’t predict the future, but in my personal judgment, your beauty will only grow, not fade. I wouldn’t be surprised if, for the next decade, you dominate art-related TV programs and magazine covers.”
“…”
“A beautiful, pure individual bringing hope to people living in a dim and gloomy world… It may sound cliché, but I think it’s a deeply compelling story that resonates with human nature. Like a fairy tale for adults.”
She then launched into a commercial analysis of how such a narrative and artistic vision could appeal to the public.
I nodded along, though marketing was a field I knew little about.
“It’s interesting to see how art is viewed as a ‘product’ for sale, If I said this outside, people would probably call her a money-grubber, but at the same time, it’s true that artists without financial success often don’t get attention at all. That’s just reality.”
As I listened to Rebecca’s analysis, I found it refreshing.
Rebecca then wrapped up by explaining the “program.”
“If you join Lao Hu Agency’s talent development program, we will provide you with a studio and living space in New York until you reach adulthood.
Through systematic management, we’ll help you rise to the level of a star artist. Of course, we’ll also assign dedicated staff and a manager to support you.”
“Rebecca.”
“Yes, please go ahead.”
“If I accept this contract, I won’t be able to live as freely as I do now, will I?”
“…”
Rebecca hesitated for a moment. But she quickly erased her pause, returning to her calm, gentle smile.
I looked her in the eye and asked,
“What about school and my family?”
“For security reasons, commuting freely to school and interacting with people outside the program will likely be difficult.”
“And my creative work? Will there be restrictions?”
“We will respect your artistic vision as much as possible, but there may be times when your work will need to be adjusted to align with the agency’s market analysis and public demand.”
“…”
It felt similar to the process of grooming a star actress.
According to Rebecca, if I succeeded in building my “brand” in New York by the time I reached adulthood, I could achieve a level of commercial value I had never even imagined.
Even at the lowest end, I could earn a salary comparable to that of a sports star.
It was a path for the chosen few—an elite route, streamlined and flawless. This path led to a much broader world than Hanul, the most prestigious art school in Korea, could offer.
But it also meant adhering to the strict, even intimidating, regulations of Lao Hu Agency.
“Seeing them talk about TV shows and modeling, it’s clear they’ll stop at nothing to get my face out there. After all, that’s how they succeeded in the future. Now that I’ve become a woman, they’ll push even harder—it’s obvious.”
But it was also a very simple condition.
For a child who once huddled with her uncle in a freezing semi-basement to save on heating bills to live like a princess in a towering skyscraper in New York, that is.
For someone, this could be an opportunity so rare that even contemplating it would seem like a luxury.
My heart was swaying endlessly.
“This is the fastest way for Go Hana to succeed. It’s the undeniable right answer.”
Rebecca, as if driving the nail further into my heart, handed me two pieces of paper.
One was a contract to join the Youth System of the Lao Hu Agency.
The other was information about an upcoming modern art fair in New York.
“If you sign this contract officially, our company will begin managing you alongside your full debut as an artist this fall. At this year’s largest art fair, we promise you a position that will attract unparalleled attention.”
“…”
This felt like… being spoon-fed success. Even if I only went out to play hacky sack or show off some party tricks, they’d turn me into a star artist.
At the same time, I felt a small twinge of rebellion.
“Is it really right to just trust and follow what these people are saying?”
It was a rebelliousness reminiscent of what one might feel toward adults preaching the “right path.” A childish defiance, even as I recognized that their method was indeed the correct answer in a capitalist society.
“I’ve just barely started to step away from Go Hun’s artistic legacy, trying to establish myself as Go Hana, an artist in my own right. And now they expect me to crawl back into a gilded cage? Is that the right thing to do?”
If I had been willing to compromise like this from the start, I could have continued replicating Go Hun’s works until they were no longer marketable. That would’ve been a way to print money. Then, by the time the “young prodigy” title wore off, I could’ve retired and invested in real estate.
That would have been the quickest and easiest answer in this second chance at life.
But I didn’t choose that path.
I wanted to wrestle with my identity as Go Hana and move forward. I even borrowed the concept of a “VTuber” from the future to share and express something new.
“…”
Thinking this far, I began to see things more clearly.
What lay before me was a new cage, simply bigger than the legacy Go Hun left behind.
It meant throwing away my family, friends, freedom, and all the connections I had built up until now, offering myself entirely to the pursuit of success.
It meant treating all the time and relationships I had built as Go Hana as mere stepping stones for a corporate portfolio and discarding them.
But my art, my creative world, was born from those relationships.
From Mari, Mija, Juri, my uncle—thanks to the help of people around me.
In a suffocating environment, I wouldn’t be able to create the way I have so far.
When I realized that, I was surprisingly able to give my answer without hesitation.
“I want to do the things I want to do, right where I am now.
Of course, I know I still have a lot to learn and improve, but I’d like to build things up in my own way, without giving up the connections I have.”
Rebecca’s expression stiffened slightly. But soon, she regained her soft smile and said,
“…I respect your decision. If you ever find that you need the opportunity we’ve proposed, don’t hesitate to reach out.”
She pulled a business card from her pocket and lightly placed it on the table. Written on it was a direct contact number.
“We’re always here for you. Even if you don’t join the Youth System, you’re more than welcome to visit us anytime as an independent artist. It would truly be a shame to miss out on someone like you.”
I held the business card in my hand, gave a small smile, and nodded.
“Thank you. If I ever find myself in New York, I’ll be sure to reach out.”
Rebecca rose from her seat and gave her final farewell.
“I hope your journey ahead is filled with happiness. I’ll be cheering for you.”
*
“…I’m back.”
The Manga Club room was unusually full today, with all the members gathered. Juri and Mari, in the middle of an animated conversation, immediately shouted when they saw me.
“Hana—!”
“You’re here?”
“Ohhh, Hana-chan! How did it go? What’s the story?”
Mija, for once, was actually doing something aligned with the club’s original purpose creating manga.
She was hard at work, connecting her tablet to a computer and sketching intently.
‘Ever since she came back from Japan, she’s been way more serious about her work… I heard she’s still in touch with Goto and Yamada.’
I sometimes got chills when Goto sent those incredibly dense, wall-of-text emails in Japanese, wondering if it was some kind of curse. Luckily, Mija translated them, so there was no room for misunderstandings.
‘What weirdos…’
Looking at Mija, I casually mentioned,
“They just asked if I’d consider moving to New York.”
“Huh?”
Mari tilted her head at my response.
“Wait, you’re going to New York? If you are, I’m dropping out of school, too.”
“No… I decided not to go.”
“Why not?”
“…Good question.”
I gave a vague answer to Mari’s question and threw myself onto the clubroom sofa. Normally, I would’ve been more patient in explaining things to her, but… today, I felt too drained.
“…”
Had I done the right thing?
Had I just thrown away an opportunity?
Closing my eyes, those thoughts started creeping into my head.
-poke poke-
“…Mari. Stop poking my cheek. It’s ticklish.”
“Huh? How’d you know it was me with your eyes closed?”
Because you’re the only one who’d do something like this.
–Though I didn’t say that out loud.
I was just too tired.
“…”
“…”
I lay there for about five minutes.
“…”
“…”
Next to me, I could hear the soft sound of someone breathing.
Eventually, I opened my eyes and turned my head to look.
“…?”
Mari was smiling brightly beside me.
“Why are you smiling…?”
“Just happy.”
“About what?”
“Just.”
“…”
Weird kid.
I turned back and lay down again. Not long after, Juri appeared out of nowhere with a blanket and draped it over me. She was smiling wryly.
“…You did well.”
“…”
She was strangely perceptive for someone so quirky.
And in this clubroom full of oddballs, the restless feeling in my chest began to fade.
Maybe I was a bit of a weirdo myself.
*
Rebecca immediately called the CEO to report the outcome.
Upon hearing her, the CEO Wei Lan spoke in a satisfied tone.
“So, she’s a tiger who already has her own territory?”
“Yes.”
“In that case, the conversation becomes even simpler.”
“Pardon? But… she rejected the offer.”
“A tiger with its own territory is always prepared to step into the hunting grounds. There’s no need to wait for her to learn how to hunt.”
Wei Lan murmured softly,
“All we need to do is prepare the hunting grounds. If we create the perfect arena, she’ll step in when the time is right.”