《A Second Canvas: A Master Painter Reborn In The Body Of A Lazy Art Student》


 Episode 1

    I''ve spent almost my entire life painting. Hours upon hours of my life spent with brushes in one hand, easel in the other, staring at a blank canvas, trying to conjure something beautiful, something worth spending time to look at and ponder.


    As I gaze upon the blankness of it all, the questions I''ve spent most of my life pushing to the back of my mind now echo loudly within me.


    What''s it all for? Why do I even bother anymore?


    When I was younger, I believed that art had the power to change the world. I thought that through my paintings, I could connect with people, make them see the world in a new light. But through the years, I''ve concluded that art doesn''t really matter. It''s just a pastime for me, a way for me and others to distract ourselves from living.


    I used to be so full of passion, driven to create something with meaning and purpose. I''d spend weeks, months, sometimes even longer, working on a single painting. I poured out all of my heart and soul into my paintings in an attempt to depict some elusive truth about life or the universe. Now, though, I find myself going through the motions as I mindlessly and mechanically apply paint to canvas.


    Don''t get me wrong, though, I''m not just an artist, I am damn good artist. All those electives in high school and five years in art school drilled that into me, to the point where I can put color to canvas effortlessly.


    When I think about those years where I had to maintain my grades to keep my scholarship, I''m reminded of a gladiatorial battle, but thanks to that, I still have the technical skill and the ability to create something beautiful.


    However, I go back to my original question: what''s the point? Who cares? It''s all just a bunch of lines and shapes of varied colors on a canvas, something to be admired for a brief moment before being forgotten.


    I don''t know when it started, but back then, I used to have so much faith in the power of art. I thought that if I could bring something truly great to life on canvas, something that spoke to the soul of humanity, that I could make a real difference in this world.


    I mean, it did make a difference for me, as art was me and my family''s ticket out of poverty, and from there, brought me fame and fortune.


    Now? I realize that all of that was just my na?ve idealism speaking. The world doesn''t need my paintings... or anyone else''s paintings, for that matter.


    I''m not sure when this voice began to echo in my head. For that matter, I''m also not sure when I realized it was futile to resist it. If I were to venture an educated guess, it most likely started soon after my first exhibition.


    Back when I was young and stupid, my older contemporaries had a phrase for it: "being unable to break through the sky".


    I laughed it off in my youthful enthusiasm, and after everything I did to get to the top of the art world and stay there, I then realized that no matter how good my art was, it was but a mere drop in the ocean of human creativity.


    Or maybe... it was after I saw just how little the average person cared about art, as something relegated to the fringes of society and only the wealthy and privileged could afford to appreciate.


    It could be more than that, too. It might have been the slow accumulation of disappointment, the realization that no matter how hard I worked, no matter how talented I was, I would never be able to escape the fundamental meaninglessness of existence.


    It might also be my desire to hold onto my greatness as long as possible.


    With all that, it''s really hard for me to tell what the straw that broke the proverbial camel''s back was.


    Now, though, I can''t help but wonder what the point of all of this is. Why bother creating anything when everything we do is ultimately futile? Why bother trying to express ourselves when no one really listens?


    I used to think that art was one thing that could save us from our own insignificance. That by creating something beautiful that spoke to the human heart, we could somehow transcend mortality. Now, I realize that art is just another way of distracting ourselves from the fact that we are all on the slow march towards oblivion, and that everything we do ultimately won''t count.


    I don''t know, though. Maybe I''m just going through what''s called a midlife crisis. I mean, it''s starting to show. I''ve started to feel the aches and pains that come with growing old. Maybe I''ll snap out of it in a few weeks, and start painting again with renewed vigor. Or maybe, this could be the end of the line. I might have finally reached the point where I''m ready to give up, to accept that everything I''ve done and worked for has been for nothing.


    Sure, it''s a depressing thought, but I''ve always been kind of an optimist, even in my cynicism. Like, how hitting rock bottom can also liberate me from my attachment to art, to the idea that I can somehow make a difference in the world. I can then finally be free: to do whatever I want, without worrying about whether or not it matters.


    Stolen story; please report.


    But then again, what would be the point of that, when I''m ultimately headed nowhere?


    I mean, I am a painter, though I don''t know if I can call myself that anymore lately. I don''t feel like a painter anymore, but I still love the process of painting. It''s a paradox, a contradiction that I can''t seem to reconcile within myself.


    Once upon a time, my passion about painting used to be all-consuming, the drive to create something out of nothing, making a blank canvas come to life.


    Nowadays, though, I feel like there''s nothing left inside of me to create. My paintings are empty, hollow, devoid of any meaning or purpose. Sure, I keep on painting, but sometimes I wonder why I keep trying to create something meaningless. Could it be force of habit or routine? It might also be my own fear of letting go of the one thing that defines me.


    As I look back at my old paintings, I feel a sense of nostalgia accompanied by a deep melancholy; a reminder of my youthful energy and purpose. Now, I feel like I''m just going through the motions of painting, like an automaton. Sometimes I wonder whether I''ll ever feel that passion again, that spark that used inflame my soul.


    I try to remember the feeling of the creative drive within coming to life within me. I try to remember days gone by, when I slept with a brush still clutched in my hands, so eager I was to begin the next day and see what wonders I would paint. Now, those days feel like a lifetime ago, like they belonged to somebody else.


    Yes, I admit that part of my problem is my cynicism. I look at the world around me and I see so much pain, suffering and injustice. I find myself wondering if anything I create could bring a moment of joy or peace to someone else''s life or if art is more than just a frivolous luxury in a world that is full of need.


    Still, I also know that there is something inside of me that still believes in its power, that beauty and creativity can make a difference in the world. I don''t know how to reconcile that belief with my current hollowed-out state, but I know that it''s there, lurking somewhere beneath the surface.


    That''s why I keep painting, even though it feels like I''m just going through the motions. I keep searching for that spark of inspiration, that moment of clarity when everything falls into place and I know exactly what I want to create. Sometimes it comes, sometimes it doesn''t. Even then, I keep painting anyway, because I know that if I stop, even the possibility of feeling that spark again will be gone.


    Even now, I try to find motivation in other places as well. I read books, watch movies, listen to music, even play video games, all in the hope to find something that will reignite my creative spirit. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn''t. Every now and then, I feel inspired by a particular character or scene, and I try to capture that feeling on canvas. When it doesn''t, I just go back to old habits and go through the motions.


    Unfortunately, I''ve lived by the adage "anything worth doing is worth doing well, anything worth doing well is worth doing perfectly". It''s served me well, up until the point where I fall short of the high expectations that I set for myself.


    It''s kind of like when you''re on top of the mountain, you have a target on your back, and every other artist is gunning for you. And when I see other artists whose work I admire, I am struck with the need to go even further, to exceed their level of skill or creativity.


    I know that comparison is the thief of joy, but it''s what kept my artistic edge sharp for so long.


    Heck, looking back, the sheer effort of staying on top is more exhausting than the harrowing climb to get there.


    You would think that all this self-reflection would get me somewhere... but it doesn''t.


    Because I''m standing here, in a ratty auditorium, filled to the brim with people who don''t acknowledge my existence, and are here to talk about their spouses and children.


    High school reunion.


    That''s right, high school.


    I''m standing in a corner, plastic cup filled with "fruit punch" clutched in one hand, an islet of sanity in the middle of the sea that is poofy-haired women, neon-colored ties and idle talk.


    I''m five seconds away from just up and vanishing from here when someone unfamiliar approaches me.


    "Leonard... Variel?" the girl who looks like she''s two decades too young to be in a reunion like this asks me, and I nod hesitantly.


    "Fantastic! I bugged my folks to make it here since you were their classmate in high school. The name''s Adele. Huge fan," she continues, her white blouse complemented with blue a contrast to everyone else''s loud colors.


    "Huge fan, huh?" I ask as I quirk an eyebrow at her.


    "Yeah," she answered, nodding rapidly. "We had to do a paper on the ''Nomenclature of Exhilaration'' for our Artistic Studies final... I just want to ask: how did you do it?"


    "How did I do what?" I ask, confused.


    "You put so much love in that painting, I want to know how you did it," she answers me.


    Wait, the Nomenclature of Exhilaration?


    That''s neither my masterpiece nor my favorite painting. Heck, I put it together in two hours when I was reminiscing my time back in art school when a female friend decided to experiment with me...


    ...I made it on a whim, then forgot about it. Didn''t know it would end up that famous.


    "Well, it''s a long story..." I say, right before I took a sip of that ''fruit punch''.


    ***


    Several minutes and glasses of ''punch'' later, I wrap up my story about how that painting came to be, and Adele is looking at me like I''m some kind of deity of art descending upon the world to provide his grace, thanks to the hastily-drawn sketch of her I based off said painting.


    "That''s an inspiring story," she finally says, clutching the paper to her chest like it was a precious treasure or something. "Thank you."


    "You''re welcome," I reply with a sad smile; that snapped her out of it.


    After giving me a slight bow and walking away, she took a glance at her watch to look at the time.


    "Oh no!" Adele exclaims, "my folks already left!"


    I took several steps forward, my bravado covering for my sense of balance.


    "I''ll walk you to a cab," I offer, and for a moment, the distress on her face seemed to melt away. "It''s for wasting your time here."


    My gallantry nearly fell flat on its face like I did, but I managed to grab the wall.


    After Adele gave me a surprised look, I try to shrug.


    "Reunion ''punch''," I explain. "You''ll understand in a few years. For now, though, let''s get you that cab ride home."


    And to think, we were so close to the cab stop when I had to push her into the bushes thanks to me seeing two lights heading straight towards me.


    Next thing I knew, I saw myself floating above the car that totaled itself on the post, an obviously drunk man staggering out the driver''s side door, Adele freaking out, and my mangled self, flung several feet away by the impact.


    Moments before a white light washed over me, I thought: this sucked.


    I also hope the East German judge will give me at least a 7.

 Episode 2

    Once upon a time, I watched this movie based on a book that asked a very important question, about whether waking up in a different place or different time opened up the possibility of waking up as a different person.


    I open my eyes to an unfamiliar ceiling, pull myself up to sit down on the side of a surprisingly comfortable bed, I turn to a huge mirror to see a face that isn''t mine.


    Strangely, I find myself a bit surprised at this. Indeed, if I wasn''t as apathetic as I was before the accident, I would have been freaking out already.


    Instead, I just mouth a barely-audible ''oh'' as I see someone that''s not me open my mouth and speak with a baritone that''s definitely not the higher-pitched voice I''m used to speaking with.


    Before I try out my new voice, I run my tongue along the inside of my mouth, taste something disgusting, and say my first words here.


    "What the heck is this?" I gurgle as I pull myself out of bed and notice the trail of a disgusting yellow substance out of the corner of my mouth.


    Bathroom it is, then.


    Thankfully, this body still has some sort of lingering memory left as I make a beeline to the bathroom and rinse my mouth out with water before brushing my teeth.


    As I go through the motions of mundane and daily activity, my thoughts wander a bit, mostly involving wondering what kind of gunk did I have to wash out of my mouth ¨C but it''s only a matter of time before I find myself finished and looking at my reflection in the mirror.


    Full head of hair, average facial features, physically fit, possibly less than half my age when that drunk driver sent me flying... I''d like to say this is an upgrade from where my body was, the last time I was on this merry-go-round, but I still have to see how that will go.


    With that in mind, I walk out of the bathroom and into what looks like a nicely-furnished studio apartment, the faint smell of paint hitting my nostrils as my eyes wander towards the half-finished paintings and hastily-scrawled sketches strewn everywhere.


    I almost trip over some dumbbells as I go towards the paintings and drawings and can''t help but scrunch up my nose when I lay my eyes on these things.


    What kind of talent does this guy have, anyway?


    But that aside, given this body''s age and the drawings everywhere, I think this guy''s some kind of art student... well now.


    And, with what I know and what I''ve been through, no art student worth their salt goes around without a trusty bag with most of their important stuff in it.


    After a few minutes of searching, I find the bag, and start poking around to find an identification card: Freshman at Silver Ridges University, Fine Arts... Kain Park.


    Interesting. Kain with a "K" instead of a "C"?


    I''m about to search the bag further when I hear banging on the door.


    "Kain! Can''t believe you''d choose today of all days to be sleeping in!" a girl''s voice said from the other side of the door.


    "Give me a minute to get decent," I call back, as my hand was already on the doorknob by the time I realized my current state of undress.


    "Hurry!" she says as I hurriedly search for a pair of boxers and a shirt to put on.


    A rather attractive girl wearing the university''s uniform for girls is looming before me as I open the door, her arms folded as she wears a look of disappointment on her face.


    "Come in?" I ask hesitantly, and she takes the cue to barge in and look around my apartment.


    "Heavens," she mutters before raising her voice again. "What have you been doing over the weekend?"


    I shrug.


    "This and that..." I answer noncommittally. "It''s all a blur to me ¨C what''s all the racket about, anyway?"


    "You... you don''t know? Today''s the Art Theory midterm, and if you flunk this one like you''ve flunked every other Art major, they''re throwing you out on your ass!"


    "What¡ª" was all I could reply before she inerrantly found a bath towel to throw at my face before frog-marching me back to the bathroom.


    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    "Shower, now!" she declared imperiously while dragging me. "The test is in an hour."


    "Maybe I''ll go faster if you wash my back?" I ask cheekily, and before I bother to see how she''d react, I close the door to the bathroom behind her and immediately take said shower.


    ***


    Tessa Lee was at a loss.


    She had taken on the challenge of being Kain Park''s study buddy on account of their circumstances, hoping to both make their way through art school by helping each other out.


    Unfortunately, this arrangement had ended up extremely one-sided, because everything she taught the trust fund baby to help him get through art school just seemed to go in one ear and out the other.


    She would have been fine with it, had her fortunes not been tied up with his ¨C if he failed this test, not only would he then be thrown out of Silver Ridge, but she would lose her scholarship as well.


    It was one thing to endure his personality ''quirks'', but it was another thing to deal with the comments on her appearance ¨C nothing she hadn''t heard since she was an early bloomer, but with her proximity to Kain Park, it was something she had to deal with nearly all the time.


    And let''s not mention how hard said trust fund baby partied.


    She''d done what she could to make sure his lifestyle wouldn''t put their studies in Silver Ridge in jeopardy, but with this test looking like another colossal failure, it wouldn''t be enough.


    Still, there was that one comment he made earlier, about washing her back... she had heard her fair share of bawdy humor from Kain Park, but there was something about this one that surprised her.


    He was joking when he said it: no malice or lasciviousness whatsoever.


    The running of the shower ending just as his crappy falsetto did to a really old anime song brought her out of her thoughts.


    ***


    I stepped out of the shower, and the girl before me... wait, I read the name "Tessa Lee" as ''project partner'' on some of Kain Park''s documents.


    All right, let''s give this the good old college try.


    "All done, Tessa!" I declare as I triumphantly emerge out of the bathroom and into my apartment... only to get my uniform shoved in my face for my trouble.


    "No time to tidy up, this is our ¨C no, YOUR last chance!" she imposes on me, and I quickly get the rest of the morning''s business taken care of, all while she''s keeping a wary eye on me.


    I turn away from her. Don''t want to catch myself staring, because honestly, that expression she''s wearing is pretty cute.


    ***


    Kain''s acting weird.


    Not weird, more like acting weirder than usual.


    If I don''t count the thing he said before he took his shower, there''s him buying both of us a hurried breakfast of some toasted dim sum meat buns before we take a five-minute walk towards Silver Ridge''s Freshman Hall, where the Fine Arts midterm is due to take place in half an hour.


    He was barely out the door when I handed him the review notes I took for the Art Theory midterm together with his phone, and the most infuriating thing about this isn''t how out of it he is, it''s how lightly he''s taking this whole affair!


    Sure, it''s just five minutes from his apartment to the testing center, and the food cart''s just outside his building... but at this point, he absolutely can''t afford to be taking the scenic route on the way while just skimming the notes I photocopied!


    He even stops to pull out a pen and scribble his own notes on the sides! Is he even taking this seriously? We''re both about to be thrown out on our behinds here!


    We''re now just outside the testing center, and while I''ve done what I can to keep this partnership going, I still have to do what I can to keep myself in the running here.


    Wait, what''s with him now?


    He just gave me back my notes, why is he just... strutting into the classroom?


    And why did he just turn and give me a wink? He''s the one who''s supposed to be freaking out before exams, not me!


    Still, though... that wink.


    It''s even weirder than Kain''s usual behavior. Almost like he wants to tell me that everything''s going to be all right.


    The proctor''s heading towards me with my paper now, and for a minute, I almost believe that he has everything in hand.


    Everything is riding on this one exam: this isn''t just my future here, it''s also his... so I have to do my best for the both of us.


    ***


    Man, I must have been in a really bad funk if I can''t quite recall what the year was when I got run over by a drunk driver.


    Furthermore, with all these notes... I don''t want to brag, but I''ve already been here, know all of this, and I even have the t-shirt to prove it. Art Theory''s one of those subjects that tell you the ''rules'' of painting you need to master, before you can start bending and even breaking them.


    Unless you''re a madman like Pollock or just plain mad, like Van Gogh.


    Some theorists even said that Van Gogh''s madness was due to tapping into the same vein of creativity HP freaking Lovecraft did... yeah, but that''s not relevant to this Art Theory midterm, though it''s fun to speculate and all that.


    Speaking of midterm, this test is ten years too early to try and challenge me, as that saying goes. Won''t even make me break a sweat.


    I''m examining this weird thing Tessa called my phone in between skimming those notes when we get to the classroom.


    I don''t know what got over me, but with everything I already knew, this test was going to be easy, so I enter the classroom and swagger towards my seat like it was a literal walk in the park.


    I put the "phone" away along with my notes, bring out my pencil and put my game face on.


    The proctor, a severe-looking middle-aged man whose face I can barely remember from somewhere, gives me a look that says ''oh, you think you know what you''re doing, huh'', and I give him a confident smile in return.


    I turn to where Tessa is sitting, and with how she''s carrying on, she looks like she''s close to becoming a nervous wreck. Why wouldn''t she? It''s obvious she''s worrying for two people.


    Might as well show her that I''ve got this.


    Turn towards her, give her a smile, and wink.


    There we go, everything''s taken care of ¨C all that''s left is the Art Theory midterm.


    The proctor hands me my paper, and my eyes nearly bug out at the questions.


    I strongly resist the urge to laugh out loud.


    This is what they''re calling an ''Art Theory'' midterm? I could answer this exam upside-down and blindfolded!


    "Exam starts in two minutes," the proctor announced, and a savage grin blooms on my face.


    I''m not just going to ace this exam ¨C I''m going to slay this exam, cook it, eat it, and put it up on social media, to boot.


    The buzzer signals the start of the exam, and I put my pencil to paper.


    Showtime.

 Episode 3

    It had been a lifetime ago since I went to art school and took an Art Theory test, and this was no exception: it seemed that in the two decades I was... away... midterms didn''t really change that much.


    That was the reason for my confidence as I sat in the classroom, waiting for the test to begin. There were some things that I had forgotten, but it''s just a simple matter of making proper connections between concepts and artists, and I''m back in the saddle, so to speak.


    When the paper finally got to my hands, there was a line crossed. This wasn''t a test I would do well in ¨C this was a test I would ace with no problems whatsoever. I scanned the questions carefully before the test began, and took a deep breath to center myself.


    Still, there was that little voice in the back of my head telling me to expect the unexpected.


    Yeah, yeah. Been there, done that, got the t-shirt and all, but it wouldn''t hurt to just do the test; I mean, the only way out is through.


    When the professor started the test, I was already answering questions.


    The first question was a doozy. It asked about the connection between color and emotion in the works of impressionist painters, and required me to cite specific examples to support my argument. I took a moment to gather my thoughts before getting right into the nitty and gritty of my answer.


    I started my answer with how van Gogh used warm colors like red and orange to convey emotions like passion and energy, and onto how Monet used blue and green to evoke calm and serenity.


    Another fat pitch of a question came afterwards, and it was about the definition of art. I took the page from a fictional art critic, teacher and spy, and said that ''art'' is one of those things you instantly recognize when you see it, and that categorizing the meaning of ''art'', more often than not, is used to justify those who cannot or will not create under the limitations given by humanity''s sense of aesthetics.


    As I wrote, the words flowed from my pen with ease. I felt like I was in a state of flow, completely immersed in the task at hand. I was in my element, discussing the nuances of art theory and the techniques used by some of the most famous painters in history.


    And when I turned to the back page, that was where everything started to go wrong.


    The first question there was about the influence of technology on contemporary art.


    This was a point where I felt truly at a loss. I thought of a possible answer, and then I recalled how, at the close of the 20th century, there was a thing called ''the internet'' starting to become popular. With that concept in mind, I wrote down something about how it could help make art more accessible to people.


    From there, a lot of the questions were about movements that I wasn''t around to understand.


    The test was about to end as I had meandered a bit on the questions I knew, so I had to resort to a time-honored student tradition: throw stuff at the wall, see what sticks.


    Five minutes were spent frantically writing possible answers that I didn''t know would work or not.


    Thankfully, I was able to sufficiently wing it, and hand in the paper with time to spare.


    I liked my chances of passing, what with the detail I put into those questions about color and the nature of art and the steady shift from realism to impressionism, but the other questions were shots in the dark.


    It''s not what I was truly capable of, given that I was blindsided ¨C no, I am still blindsided by being placed two decades into the future ¨C that I have to spend some time getting myself used to this time.


    Well, I hope I put a good enough showing that Tessa won''t freak out.


    ***


    As it turns out, she did freak out a little, because I ended up with a grade that was more than what she expected.


    I did end up spending my weekend trying to get myself used to my new circumstances, first of which was that black thing Tessa said was my ''smart phone''.


    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    Nifty little gadget, that. Spent a good portion of the weekend seeing what it could do, and what the original Kain Park had done with it... if I wasn''t cleaning up his suite... which is mine now.


    Finders-keepers, Mr. Park.


    And now, I''m about to have lunch with Tessa, all the while talking about the art theory midterm.


    Most of it''s about the talk the professor gave me after giving back my midterm paper, and I remember what that little meeting was about...


    ***


    "Mr. Park, do you understand the kind of trouble you put me through?"


    "No, sir... not specifically."


    The balding man just sighed.


    "Someone from the DEI department read your preliminary and midterm art theory papers and lodged a complaint."


    That got my eyes widening, as I didn''t know what the DEI department was, or what was in those exams was worth complaining about.


    "What kind of complaint, Mr. Han?"


    Professor Clarence Han sighed once more.


    "You dodged a bullet this time, Mr. Park... because I know where you got that answer from, and because I know you weren''t being malicious with your answer. First chapter of the Eiger Sanction, am I correct?"


    Wait, how did Professor Han know my favorite book... no, I shouldn''t be surprised, it''s my favorite answer to go to whenever someone tells me that the definition of ''art'' should be expanded.


    Must have been that question.


    I take a moment to think further. Preliminary and midterms? So Kain Park and I both quoted the same passage from the same book by the same author?


    Hmm, how serendipitous.


    "But, off the record, I agree with your statement. Art ''schools'' and ''styles'' shouldn''t be the sole focus on what aesthetic standards should be, especially in education. But with the administrators being more focused on... fads like advocacy..."


    I smothered my laugh with a cough.


    "...it''s only natural that their pet offense-takers will see your test answers as objectionable. Besides, the way you expounded on the answer cut their objections off, as you used the statement to grab their attention, and then get to the meat of the answer. Still, Mr. Park..."


    "Yes, sir?"


    "I remember you telling me you will ''turn the corner'' come midterms, and I''m holding you to it."


    "Will do, sir."


    "Good. Now enjoy the rest of your week."


    "Thank you, sir."


    ***


    I know I''ve prepared enough for the Art Theory midterm; it can''t be helped, if Kain doesn''t pass this one, his dreams of being a famous painter will be good as gone with the wind.


    I''ve done my due diligence, Kain scanned my notes, and I''m sure he''s going to do well.


    He''s breezing through the first couple of questions... that''s strange.


    He''s always finding the questions related to art history more difficult than more modern methods, which he at least has little knowledge of that I can work with...


    I''m expecting him to struggle in this midterm, hence all the notes I passed to him.


    Kain, however, is not struggling now.


    His posture is relaxed while he''s putting pencil to paper, writing down confidently as he''s going through the questions one after the other.


    Towards the end, he''s having trouble with the test, but it''s to be expected, since he doesn''t seem finished, and there''s only a little time left...


    Come on, Kain. Put it together.


    It''s just under a minute left when he puts down his pencil, relief on his face, and I also sigh in gratitude that he was able to step it up at this really critical moment.


    Still, those first questions were supposed to be his weak points ¨C why did he answer them with a lot more confidence than before?


    ***


    "Kain, you''re not supposed to have your eyes glued on your phone while you''re eating, especially when you''re with someone," Tessa tells me as we''re waiting for lunch to be served.


    We''re at a restaurant just outside the campus and celebrating my passing the midterm with a rather impressive score (for Kain Park, not for someone like I, Leonard Variel).


    "It''s fine," I reply without looking up at her. "Our meal''s not here yet."


    "Kain."


    At her more serious voice, I look towards her, and see her pout intensely.


    "Fine, fine," I answer, and put the smart phone away.


    I''m still nowhere near done figuring out what this gadget can do, so I try to put as much free time as I can in doing so; for all the time I took cleaning up the suite, I still had a lot of time to look through the things that painted a picture of who Kain Park was.


    I said it before and I''ll say it again: this gadget is amazing. It''s like a hundred things in one small device, the versatility is out of this world.


    I would''ve waxed poetic about this, but Tessa''s giving me a mean look; besides, lunch is close to arriving.


    Five minutes later, our meal arrived, some fusion dish whose name I can''t pronounce but goes well with rice, and we started to eat.


    It''s when we''re done with eating and wait for drinks and dessert that we continue our conversation.


    "You should be proud of your midterm score," Tessa said. "I mean, Professor Han gave me an 89."


    I nodded slowly.


    "I could''ve done better."


    "You could, but 78 out of 100 is a very, very good score already," Tessa continued. "I mean, they''re not calling you a ''lost cause'' anymore."


    "Again, I could''ve done better."


    "While I like your new attitude," Tessa said as drinks were served, "you shouldn''t be so hard on yourself. Cherish your victories whenever you can."


    "Well, I guess you''re right..." I replied. Sounds like she won''t let this go. Might as well play along for now. "How about a toast to the midterms?"


    Glasses clinked in a toast, and Tessa wore a smile as we drank.


    ***


    Kain said he''d be doing a bit more studying to prepare for the finals when I left him.


    There''s something odd about him, but I can''t, for the life of me, figure it out.


    He scored great in the art theory midterm, so what Professor Han told me about helping him turn it around may have worked.


    I''m not sure, though... maybe there''s more to this than meets the eye...


    But I will still stand by Kain throughout all of this... after all, it''s what I promised in exchange for being able to study here in the first place.

 Episode 4

    In between classes, I take the time to learn more about where I am in time and what has been happening ever since my abrupt departure more than two decades ago.


    This is also the time where it really sinks in that I live again, this time in the body of an art student named Kain Park.


    Before, I was Leonard Variel, famous painter of portraits and landscapes whose work gave me the title "The Old Young Master". Now... I''m starting all over again, but in this case, I''m living someone else''s life.


    While I''m attending art school and learning what''s been going on, I''m also studying the life of the person known as Kain Park.


    When I first arrived here, I ran into this girl named Tessa Lee. Apparently, she''s my study buddy, and has remarkable grades and artistic skill to go with it, and was brought on to pull up my floundering grades.


    I also woke up on the day of the Art Theory midterm, a subject the actual Kain Park was very bad at, and I passed that test with no problems at all ¨C though I could''ve done better.


    Still, I was here for a few hours when the test started ¨C given the circumstances, I made a decent showing of myself, and kept Kain Park from getting thrown out of this prestigious art school for sheer incompetence.


    Yes, incompetence. I saw the canvases and sketches he made, and while he does have knowledge of art, he has no foundation whatsoever.


    It''s like wanting to draw comics but all you know is tracing already-established panels, and you have not acquired your own style yet.


    Five days'' worth of classes, studying and research pass by quickly, and before I know it, it''s the weekend again.


    Tessa had some things to take care of back home, so I was eating lunch all by my lonesome, looking into some things she left for me, and one of them definitely piqued my interest.


    "Digital Art Community: EaselNet"


    It was a link that Tessa shared to me via social media ¨C and yes, this was one of the ways where I learned who Kain Park was.


    Doing this felt like I was dissecting a person''s identity, but it had to be done. Tessa already had some intuition about what was going on, and an answer like ''I got run over by a car two decades ago and woke up here'' would be too crazy a truth for someone like her to believe.


    That was why I had to do the next best thing here: try to do a passable impersonation of Kain Park himself, and what better way to do it than to look through the man''s life?


    Pages upon pages of social media feeds, comments, and uploads later, I come to a very sobering conclusion: Kain Park has no artistic talent whatsoever.


    I see the ''art'' he posted on social media ¨C not EaselNet ¨C and can''t help but cringe.


    He''s a huge fan of a certain animated series from Japan involving giant robots at war, and a lot of the drawings he posts are about it; even his social media groups involve fans of said series. There''s also the kind of exaggerated posts people make as some sort of internet game where the first one to get angry loses, and he was apparently very good at baiting people to get angry over the internet.


    Pictures of Shiba inu with clever captions aside, EaselNet proved to be the one thing about the internet that would truly inspire an artist such as myself.


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    Some of the sketches I''ve done in my spare time this week have already been ''uploaded'', or whatever that means, while I''ve been navigating Kain''s social media history to acquire insight into who I am now.


    I also wrote several entries into a journal about my memories as Leonard Variel, so that if I become more like Kain Park, I do not forget about who I was before.


    Past lives and reincarnations were things that I paid cursory attention to before, but they''re a reality in this life I''m living now.


    It is with this attitude that I draw and paint during the breaks in between classes, posting them on EaselNet whenever I get the chance.


    I find it very odd that Kain Park has an account on the site, but had never uploaded or favorited anything. That''s why ever since taking that Art Theory midterm, I''ve done my fair share in posting my own drawings, sketches and paintings onto that site; even browsing for some digital artwork done in my style, just to cater to my vanity a little bit.


    Kain didn''t have any classes on the weekend, most likely because his party-hard former lifestyle would make it hard to get up on Saturday mornings, and I use this time to do more drawing or sketching, just to get my bearings back.


    I know that my attitude towards art has been a little flippant, and because of my skill as an artist, never really had problems in art school... but in Kain''s case, because of who he was... it''s like I''m starting at the bottom and working my way up.


    If I have to be completely honest, this reminds me of the time where after my first exhibit, I was told I was but a small fish in a small pond.


    That criticism motivated me to become world-famous, and now, I''m turning that criticism onto myself again to get Kain Park out of mediocrity in this prestigious art school.


    But enough about that; I got a private message on EaselNet asking to meet me in the campus quad from someone who also studies at Moonlight Panorama College of Arts and Sciences.


    ***


    With a few minutes to spare, I make it to the college''s quadrangle; students are gathered here talking about the Voyagers, the college''s varsity team, as they would be heading to the stadium later for the Voyagers'' basketball game.


    It took me several minutes to find the person, as she said she would be wearing a checkered coat and a black beret.


    No, I wouldn''t judge; it''s fine and all. Also makes for easy detection in my book.


    I make my way to the girl I found wearing the combination of clothes, and call out to her.


    "Are you waiting for KP70?" I ask, and she turns around with a smile.


    "Yes, that''s right. So... you''re that guy?" she asks, smiling behind oversized sunglasses as she greets me.


    "That''s me. Kain Park," I answer, extending my hand.


    "Carrie Kim," she says as she shakes my hand. "I''m also a Fine Arts major, but in my second year. Saw your EaselNet works; a lot of our club members also have an EaselNet account."


    "Wasn''t club recruitment finished before the preliminary exams?" I ask, confused.


    "That''s the mass recruitment," Carrie replies. "We can do general recruitment whenever we can, but most of our expertise is in digital art and animation, so our membership isn''t that high."


    "Well, I''m not that into digital art..." I explain, but she stops me.


    "I''ve seen your work. You would be really good for our club, just to put some... spice into it."


    She stopped short of saying please, and then I realized that she recruited me because the club really did need someone like me.


    I suppose I should at least humor her.


    ***


    The clubroom the Animation Club of Moonlight Panorama called home was a mess when I was led in: this was no art club, it was more of an animation club.


    Posters of cute girls with wide eyes doing poses and heavily-stylized mechanical figures lined the walls, and several glass shelves filled with the same kinds of figures and models were what gave the room a peculiar charm.


    "Guys!" Carrie said as she pushed open the door. "The EaselNet guy is here!"


    Two young men and one young woman turned from the computer screen they were looking at towards me and Carrie.


    "Oh," one of the men said, this one looked a bit older than me. "Jared Kang, third year. The guy at the keyboard is Jon Woo, no ''h'' since it''s short for ''Jonathan'', and he''s already heard enough jokes about doves, hospital shootouts, and Chow Yun-fat. The other girl here besides Carrie is Sherry Yoon."


    "Pleasure to meet you," I replied, bowing to them. "Mind if I ask what this club is about?"


    "Well," Jared replied, "we''re all in the Fine Arts department, and we''re all majoring in animation. We put this group together to study animation techniques, what Japan calls ''sakuga''."


    "Scenes where the quality of the animation increases, right?" I asked, and everyone nodded ¨C even if several of the club members were busy doing other things, they were still hanging on to the words I was saying.


    "That''s right. Say, Carrie, is this really that guy you said you found on EaselNet?" Jon asked.


    "Yeah. Found him while I was looking up stuff for the Variel portfolio for my bachelor''s thesis," Carrie replied.


    Nobody noticed the cold sweat that had broken out over me.

 Episode 5

    I shouldn''t be surprised at all by this revelation.


    Even then, this is still enough to unnerve me.


    I mean, for the past week, I have slowly but surely made progress in understanding my new circumstances, and acclimatizing to them.


    Still... I find it very disturbing for someone to talk about me... while I''m standing in front of them.


    I know I''ll get over it... no, I should get over it. I''ve already rocked the boat with my art theory midterm a week ago, maybe give it a week or so before I start rocking the boat again.


    "Something wrong, Kain?" Jon asked. "You looked a little spooked back there."


    I shook my head.


    "Nothing... it''s nothing," I replied. "I just remembered my family and how long it''s been since I last visited."


    "You''re in luck," Jared added with a grin. "Don''t you remember? Spring break''s next week. You can catch up with your folks during that time."


    For all of my age and experience, there are still times where I can be caught off-guard; this time is one of them.


    "You''re right," I said. "Thank you."


    "Anyway," Sherry added, "you don''t have to join the animation club immediately, if that''s what Carrie brought you here for. Feel free to make it formal when you come back from... wherever."


    "I never expected my recruits to all quit, though!" Carrie exclaimed. "Now we''re one member short of being a formal school organization... so you can understand why I considered it really good fortune that I saw your work on EaselNet."


    "Do you all have accounts there, too?"


    "Sure do," Jon replied. "It''s where we get ideas on how to make concept art and tips on animation, too."


    I nod along to his words; there''s something worth looking into there.


    "So yeah, this isn''t formalized and all that, but welcome to Moonlight Panorama''s ''Animation Club''!" Jon says, and the four of them all spread out their arms to welcome me into their little group.


    "Flattered," I reply with a smile, the shock from being mentioned long forgotten.


    For all the weirdness I''ve seen from their club room, the members of the Animation Club are surprisingly personable, and the hour in their company passes by pleasantly.


    It''s shortly after I leave when I get the call: I need to return ''home'' for spring break.


    ***


    "You sure you''ll be okay there?" Tessa asked me as I was putting the finishing touches to my packing. With the kind of opulence my dorm suite had, someone would most likely get paid to clean it up in the week I''m away.


    "Don''t worry too much about me," I reassured her. Tessa also made for good company along with the Animation Club, but it seems there''s something... compelled about her actions, the way she looks when she thinks I can''t see her... it''s like she''s making herself tolerate my presence or something. "This is a family vacation, it''s not like I''m stepping into a minefield or something..."


    Okay, that was new.


    She looked like I said a really horrible joke ¨C it wasn''t that bad, was it?


    "...anyway, I''ll see you back here next week. We still have finals to polish off, don''t we?"


    Now that I know more of what''s going on, I can see her forcing a smile as she sees me off.


    This deserves a bit more looking into, but I''ll do that when I return here from home.


    ***


    The very next day, Kain found himself pleasantly surprised as a rather luxurious vehicle came to pick him up. As the sedan made its way through the city streets, he found himself marveling at just how cosmopolitan Seoul had become in the years he had been away.


    Previously, he would have thought being here would be second-class compared to some other place like San Francisco or Seattle, but catching the sights quickly disabused him of that notion.


    Based on what few notes Leonard could find that this guy wrote before he ended up taking over Kain''s body and some educated guesses, he came up with a few conclusions.


    First, Kain Park was born to a wealthy family ¨C wealthy was an understatement. Kain Park''s family was absolutely loaded, given the cost of tuition of a prestigious college like Moonlight Panorama... and that was just a half of what the kind of expense studying here would incur.


    That, and he had a suite all to himself.


    There were also other items and things that Leonard had yet to decipher within the suite: a gigantic pipe made of transparent plastic whose contents smelled abominable, a row of empty bottles of expensive wines and spirits... and the childish scrawls he had scattered around that was his half-hearted attempt at trying to stay in a school like this.


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    So... Kain was very wealthy, liked to drink, and just did the bare minimum to stay in school.


    There was also the strange unopened box with 0.01 written on the side he saw upon opening the bedside drawer, but that was before Tessa knocked and ruined his morning.


    He had a hunch about what was inside, and it didn''t paint a flattering picture of the young man whose life he was living now.


    Wealthy, lazy, wild... apparently, he ended up living the life of a college socialite, or what''s called a party animal.


    Kain scrunched his nose as he thought about it.


    If he was really that much of a party animal, why weren''t the other party animals gravitating to him?


    The car was halfway to his destination, and Kain still couldn''t figure it out.


    There would be time to, because he''d have the week off to spend with his family.


    But if that was peace and quiet, why were there lingering feelings of disgust left within this body?


    Kain sighed as inwardly, Leonard braced himself for what he''d run into when he finally returned home.


    ***


    The sedan pulled up in front of an imposing metal gate, the driver procured identification, and the guards at the front let them in.


    Kain couldn''t resist; he had to let out a whistle at what he saw: this place looked more like a manor from England than an estate in South Korea ¨C maybe that was the intention?


    The part of Leonard Variel that was the consummate artist couldn''t help but marvel at the architecture involved in designing the buildings they passed by on the way to the larger house at the end of the pathway.


    He saw perfectly-mowed lawns, a tennis court, a swimming pool, several buildings that looked like housing for the workers who lived here, a hedge maze, a greenhouse, and many other places that reminded Kain more of nobility than anything else.


    With the amenities still fresh in his mind, the car slowed and finally came to a stop in front of a rather opulent entryway.


    Someone opened the sedan door, and Kain Park emerged.


    If he thought that the gate, the yard, and the other amenities here smacked of wealth, the interior blew him away.


    This wasn''t gaudy nouveau riche; everything within the house was decorated simply, but Kain could see with his artist''s eye that the workmanship and materials used here were of the highest quality.


    It was something he remembered from his days studying art from different perspectives: the concept of elegant simplicity.


    With that thought firmly in mind, Kain couldn''t help but look at the d¨¦cor of the receiving room he found himself in, a masterwork of understated opulence.


    "Of course, the art school student would start gawking at the receiving room when he first steps in here after a long time," a familiar voice called out to him.


    Kain turned to see a smartly-dressed young woman carrying a file folder as she smiled at him.


    "Long time no see," she said with a small wave. "Looks like college did you some good... although you don''t look like you remember me."


    "You are...?" Kain asked, slightly confused.


    "Oh, where are my manners... Aria Lim; I''m part of the Park family estate staff. You really don''t remember me?"


    Kain just shook his head.


    "Well, that won''t do! Once you''re all familiar with this place again, we have to catch up. Who knew art school would make you look more..."


    "...more mature?"


    "...less like a brat."


    Kain frowned a bit before chuckling.


    "Fair enough," he said, and hefted his travel bag. "Where are my folks?"


    Aria seemed to deflate a little at that question.


    "Out... on business, but they said they''d make it here later this afternoon. Said they couldn''t miss you returning here."


    Kain strained his ears a bit and caught her whispering "...better if they were here", and finally understood what that strange tension in his chest was.


    "I wouldn''t mind waiting. In the meantime, I''m going up to my room ¨C I''ll see you around, Miss Aria?"


    "Sure. We''ll have lunch prepared for you in case you want to go down for a meal."


    "Thanks," Kain said, and gave the young woman wave before making his way upstairs, to what would be his room since childhood.


    No, he did not get lost on the way there.


    He would deny that forever.


    ***


    "All right," Leonard Variel said as he plopped down onto the bed of what was supposed to be Kain Park''s room. "These past couple weeks have been a doozy. I''m not even half done getting my bearings here, and I still have yet to understand who Kain Park is... if I have to start living his life."


    It looked like a typical teenager''s room, with posters on one wall, a box of various things near the bed, closets full of expensive clothing and shoes, his own computer... and of course, the obligatory secret stash all young men tended to have.


    He made his decision then and there.


    "Who are you really, Kain Park?" he whispered to himself as he began to look through the room for things that would allow him to assume the role of the young man whose body he was now inhabiting.


    Leonard thought he''d have to do so much more for him to start accepting the truth of his circumstances, but with what happened to him like the art theory midterm, it was as if he was thrown into the deep end of the pool and made to swim.


    "Yes, I understand that I made a good showing of myself," Leonard thought as he continued to look through Kain''s things. "Ah, it seems I have found pay dirt."


    It was a box containing photographs ¨C Kain''s childhood, most likely.


    He pulled out the album, opened it, and began to look through the pictures.


    Leonard began to see mental images that weren''t his, as tears began to flow down Kain''s eyes, even as he looked through this young man''s past.


    ***


    It was already close to lunchtime when Leonard had more understanding of who Kain Park was, and it was a fraught Kain that emerged from his room and shambled down to the dining hall like some kind of movie creature.


    He took a seat at the large table, and was still rather deep in thought when the staff of the house immediately presented him with lunch.


    "What''s this?" Kain asked as he saw the strange-looking dish arrayed before him.


    The plate seemed like it was made of cast iron, placed on a wooden holder, the food on it sizzling enticingly even as it looked like something he had never ever seen before.


    "Pig''s ear and cheeks."


    Kain''s eyes widened as he turned to Aria already seated across from him, a plate of the same dish served to her as well.


    "Boiled, chopped, then grilled. It''s got some chicken liver, chopped onions, then seasoned with vinegar and lime juice," Aria explained. "It''s a delicacy from the chef''s home town."


    He took the serving spoon, put a tablespoon of it onto his bowl, and took a bite of it with some rice.


    "This is... really good. Compliments to the chef," Kain declared, right before he continued eating.


    Though he enjoyed lunch, there was something about Aria''s scrutinizing glare at him during lunch that didn''t quite sit well with him.


    But that would be another issue to solve for another time, as there were clear and present things to take care of, one of which was painting a complete picture of who Kain Park was.


    As he finished his meal, the ominous feeling still lingered around Kain, even as he returned to his room to do what needed to be done.