“The Ana Group’s stock has been plunging day after day. It has now emerged that the U.S. subsidiary of Ana Incorporated is under investigation by the Internal Revenue Service for tax evasion. As a result, shares across the entire group have fallen more than forty percent. Securities analysts are also advising investors to watch the group’s financial ratios closely, citing reckless expansion, including Ana Life and the takeover of Daeung Shipbuilding. With signs of a global financial crisis emerging, the government’s response to the troubled management at one of Korea’s ten largest groups…”

“Heh heh.”

The sweet, sweet news on the car radio had been making me happy for days now.

I wanted to invent a hashtag or something and spread it everywhere.

Robert had them squarely in his sights.

He’d put his lobbying skills to full use and even brought in the IRS.

Tax evasion by a foreign subsidiary in America—you only had to dig a little to find that.

For big companies, the real point of setting up a subsidiary wasn’t making money; it was laundering it.

Everyone knew; they just let it slide because the fish were too small.

Robert used that to start whipping up public opinion.

A few Korean news outlets jumped on board.

There’s nothing money can’t do.

Once opinion started turning, the netizen warriors, who’d already had it in for the Ana Group, piled on.

The atrocities of the Ana Group’s chairman and his sons were dragged out into the open all over again.

People were angrier than you’d believe about the chairman and his son throwing their weight around.

The timing was great, too.

Bad news out of America that wasn’t even in my memories kept breaking, one blow after another.

The Ana Group’s reckless expansion became an issue too.

So far, the financial authorities hadn’t been able to do anything about the foreign short selling.

With the government changing hands, the agencies weren’t in sync.

Senior officials who’d served through ten years of democratic governments were locked in an unseen standoff with the conservative occupying force now in power.

As opinion soured, every listed Ana Group affiliate’s stock crashed.

Fear that the group might go under set off panic selling.

Foreign capital and retail ants were dumping shares together, and the Ana Group gave up trying to stop it.

Even the National Pension fund pulled out.

I’d also heard through Attorney Jo that the banks were putting on the pressure.

The provocations aimed at me had stopped.

“By the time you come to your senses, you’ll wish you were dead. Make sure you survive and pay for every one of your sins.”

Not just the Ana Group—plenty of groups had grown up inside a fence of loopholes and lawbreaking.

They were next.

Vroooom.

My sleek car glided down the road.

Monday, March 3, 2008.

It was the first day of the semester, and the roads were quiet now that rush hour was over.

I’d skipped every first-period morning class.

Since this was my second time around at college, I’d kept my schedule light.

I didn’t need to build a résumé for a company job or kill myself studying for the bar.

Hello, darkness my old friend~♬

Old-guy pop I used to love in my last life came flowing from the speakers.

A Simon & Garfunkel classic.

It fit the cloudy March morning strangely well.

I liked how the opening line greets the darkness like an old friend.

I’ve come to talk with you again.

The next line, about coming back to talk once more, went straight to my heart.

I guess that’s why the great songs never fade, however old they get.

I hummed along.

I soaked up the spring breeze through the open window; it felt cool and fresh now.

Meanwhile, the school’s main gate came into view.

There were a lot of cars around, maybe because of the entrance ceremony.

“Heh. Hanguk University’s no different.”

On the first day of the semester, spring always comes first to a college’s main gate.

Female students back from the long break filled the campus in short skirts.

All dressed up, they stood out against the drab guys.

They went perfectly with the fresh spring air.

Even the Hanguk University students, who’d seemed like monsters in my last life, were no different.

Excitement for the new semester showed on their faces.

It was on a whole different level from high school.

I drove through the parking gate.

Undergraduates couldn’t get a parking permit.

The rich got richer and the poor got poorer here, too.

Luxury cars whose owners didn’t care about parking fees rolled in one after another.

Undergrads who couldn’t afford parking fees of up to forty thousand won a day walked or took the bus.

Hanguk University students were experts at high-paying part-time jobs, but that didn’t mean they all had money.

The campus was so damn big that buses ran around it.

I slowly parked in the law school lot.

It was the first day of the semester, so a lot of spots were empty.

I’d dressed like a student: jeans, a plaid shirt and a sweater.

I got out of the car with a simple backpack.

“Nice.”

It felt so fresh.

Moisture, like spring’s own life force, glistened on the parking lot that had been frozen all winter.

It was only asphalt, but that first step on the first day of the semester felt special.

To be honest, I’d talked my parents out of coming to the entrance ceremony today.

It was spring planting season, so Dad was busy.

Mom was focused on the work she’d been putting off, too.

I wasn’t a kid; an entrance ceremony was no big deal.

When I parked, some guys smoking in front of the law building stared at me.

“Who’s that punk? What’s he showing off his car for?”

“Looks like a freshman…”

“Hah, kids these days pull every stunt in the book. Does he think his seniors are pushovers?”

The seniors’ jealous remarks drifted over on the wind.

They’d been jealous at orientation, too, and nothing had changed.

People who’ve got it going on always live on a diet of envy.

It’s a fate I’d have to carry anyway.

I pretended not to hear.

“That’s him.”

“Who?”

“Hot Candy.”

“What? That punk’s Hot Candy?”

“What’s Hot Candy?”

“You don’t know the Arrogant Mouth? That punk’s Hot Candy.”

The whispering seniors were curious about my nickname.

The law school had a go-your-own-way streak other departments didn’t, so I had no plans to kowtow to anyone just for being a senior.

“I should’ve stopped by the office and picked up a coffee from Team Leader Yu.”

Team Leader Yu Se-ra could really pull a shot.

With my full support, she’d gotten her barista certification.

I was hooked on the aroma of coffee from good beans, brewed by a first-rate barista.

“Jang Tae-san!”

I was settling for a canned coffee from the vending machine in the law building lobby when I heard a familiar voice behind me.

There was only one woman at school who’d yell my name like that.

“Senior A-rin.”

“Wowww… you’re really something. After embarrassing me like that on the bus, you should at least buy me a nice meal to apologize. But not even one phone call?”

Senior A-rin was a woman too.

She’d gone all out on her outfit and hair for the first day.

It suited her cute face.

However much she put on airs as a junior, to me she looked like someone just starting out in life.

“Sunbae. You look nice today.”

I let my eyes sweep lightly over her in her skirt.

Just enough not to offend.

“…”

Shutting a woman up comes naturally to me these days.

Nova hyungnim‘s dating skills work in all conditions.

“It’s warmed up, but it’s still cold out. Here, have this.”

I handed Senior A-rin the canned coffee I’d bought.

I even popped the tab for her.

One little gesture like that raises a woman’s opinion of you.

Senior A-rin blinked her big eyes at me.

She didn’t have to be that moved.

I wasn’t hitting on her.

Senior A-rin was involved in student council work, too.

Staying this friendly with her would be pretty useful at school.

And I didn’t mind the way she treated me.

“Huh? Uh.”

One coffee and a few words, and Senior A-rin went quiet.

I bought another canned coffee.

“Everyone seems pretty excited, it being the start of the semester. How about you, sunbae?”

“…Tae-san. Isn’t that the kind of thing I’m supposed to ask you, as your senior?”

“What does it matter? Between intellectuals living in the same era, who cares who asks first how the other’s feeling?”

“Where on earth did you learn to talk like that? Jang Tae-san! You’re a fresh-faced freshman now!”

That’s one of Senior A-rin’s good points.

The way she calls you by name and acts like a tough, take-charge woman is part of her charm.

“I’ll buy you a meal sometime.”

“Where are you going? Aren’t you going to the entrance ceremony?”

“I have a major class.”

“Freshmen don’t have to go to class today. And there aren’t any first-year law classes on Mondays anyway, are there?”

Senior A-rin looked at me, full of questions.

“There are for me.”

“What is it?”

“A major class in another department.”

“Another department’s major? Jang Tae-san, you’re not just throwing your life away, are you? You don’t have to pass by next year. You really put those business school kids in their place, so the professors will think well of you. Don’t put pressure on yourself—take your time studying for the bar.”

Senior A-rin tried to reassure me.

But I’d lost interest in all that long ago.

What I needed now…

Wasn’t a law class.

It had been a while since I’d acquired a new ability from the gods.

I wanted to see with my own eyes just how incredible it was.

“Haaa…”

Son Yu-ri let out a huge sigh.

The first two years were for finding your field; from junior year on, you entered the semi-pro world for real.

She’d prepared all through the break without stopping, but it wasn’t enough.

To earn credit in the junior-year major classes, you spent more nights in the school studio than at home.

She hated that, so she’d prepared a few of the paintings listed in the curriculum for her portfolio in advance.

She didn’t like them.

She’d thrown herself into painting harder than anyone, but she was short on inspiration.

Son Yu-ri had a lot on her mind lately.

It was probably the same in other departments, but even at art school you could only goof off through sophomore year.

With so much work piling up, it was tradition to take loneliness as your lover.

That was why there were more couples in art school than in other departments.

Working late at night, people fell for each other in shared misery. (TL Note: The Korean phrase is 同病相憐, “those with the same illness pity each other”—fellow sufferers feel for one another.)

I can hardly breathe already. Haa.

At Hanguk University, the junior-year three-credit art major classes were run strictly as studio courses.

The days of sitting in a comfortable lecture hall were over.

There were four required major courses alone, at three credits each.

Classes were run under the professor’s watchful eye.

You had to turn out piece after piece before the professor would give you any recognition.

Hmph, Jang Tae-san, you’re so mean!

Jang Tae-san, the guy who’d barged into her life out of nowhere and left her with nothing but longing.

Right about now he’d be at the entrance ceremony, planning his future with the brand-new freshmen.

She hadn’t seen him since their date in Hongdae.

He was busy every day, as if he really was a businessman after all.

They’d exchanged a few texts and calls.

“Haaaaaa.”

Son Yu-ri let out another long sigh.

“The ground’s going to cave in. What, did your boyfriend dump you?” (TL Note: A Korean way of teasing someone for sighing too heavily: “sigh like that and the ground will cave in.”)

Her classmate An Hye-ran came over to her.

They’d gone to the same high school and the same prep academy; they were best friends.

“I can’t breathe. Just thinking about doing nothing but paint for the next two years is killing me.”

“Oh, give it a rest, girl. You’ve been top of the class for two years and you’re saying that? Your family’s loaded—keep your grades up, go study abroad and become a professor. Or else go on matchmaking dates like me~.”

“Huh? M-matchmaking? You went on a matchmaking date?”

“By junior year, the school treats you like an old hen that’s done laying. Getting married while you’re still worth a lot isn’t a bad idea. What am I going to do, with my paintings? A good school and a pretty face—that’s all it takes. Hohoho.”

An Hye-ran laughed like a witch.

Her family wasn’t as good as Son Yu-ri’s, but it was well-off too.

Thanks to some good plastic surgery, people called her a beauty.

Swish.

Just then the front door of the classroom opened.

The fifteen students taking the class this semester were all in their seats, too.

Sitting in the front row as always, Son Yu-ri met the professor’s eyes.

Professor Sim Cheol-su.

A Hanguk University alumnus and a talent who’d won the grand prize at the Korean Art Exhibition.

He’d earned his doctorate at the University of California, lectured part-time and then been appointed professor.

He had a high, broad forehead and a solid build.

He burned with passion nonstop, and his fame was spreading beyond Hanguk University to the world.

But he was notorious for demanding extreme creativity from his students.

His specialty was wringing two hundred percent of a student’s talent out of them before he’d let them graduate.

He smiled.

“I see a few faces I don’t know. It’s the first day of the semester, so how about I take attendance? You all know I won’t be taking attendance again after today, right? A painter speaks with paintings, not by showing up to class. Win honorable mention or higher at any art exhibition and you’re excused from class. Credit guaranteed. And if you create a painting I like… you pass every one of my major classes! How about that? Terrific, right?”

Professor Sim Cheol-su laughed, but nobody laughed with him.

Known as the Hell Course of 108, Professor Sim Cheol-su’s class was a legend at Hanguk University’s art school. (TL Note: 108 is the Buddhist count of earthly passions and torments—hence his nickname, the Buddha of Hell.)

His nickname was the Buddha of Hell.

The only work that would satisfy a professor like that was a world masterpiece.

“Choi Dae-cheol.”

“Here.”

“A sculpture student with guts. Good. I’ll be looking forward to it.”

Plenty of students from other art departments besides Western painting took it too.

Sim Cheol-su slowly called the students’ names, learning their faces.

“Son Yu-ri.”

“Here.”

“You took my class last year, didn’t you?”

“Yes, Professor.”

“I’ll be expecting a lot from you this year too.”

“Yes…”

Son Yu-ri answered weakly at the word expecting.

Last year, for all her frantic effort, she’d barely gotten an A.

That had been the highest grade in the class.

“Lee Han-cheol.”

“Yes!”

“Back from military service? You sound like a grunt, all right.”

Professor Sim Cheol-su called the roll, meeting each student’s eyes.

But…

“Huh? What’s this? What’s a law student doing here?”

“???”

“A l-law student?”

The professor and the students were suddenly stunned.

This wasn’t some first-year general-education course like Understanding Art; it was a required junior-year major course.

Nobody but an art student could possibly keep up.

“Jang Tae-san!”

Professor Sim Cheol-su read the student’s name from the roll.

“Heeeere!”

The law student answered loudly.

“J-Jang Tae-san!”

Before she knew it, Son Yu-ri cried out and whipped her head around like lightning.

(End of Chapter 111)