The Devil Wearing a Mask (Part 1: Innocence)
Five years ago. Spring 2020.
March sunlight streamed through the windows of Korea National University of Arts, painting golden rectangles on the polished floors. Cherry blossoms drifted past the windows like pink snow, and the air hummed with the nervous energy of new beginnings.
Kim Se-na stood at the entrance of the Sculpture Department building, clutching the straps of her oversized canvas bag. She was twenty-two years old, and this was the first day of her new life.
Her appearance then was nothing like the woman she would become. Long black hair fell straight down her back, catching the sunlight. No makeup—just clear, pale skin and eyes that shone with unmistakable passion. She wore a simple white t-shirt and jeans, practical clothes for an artist.
But it was her eyes that told the real story. They were alive. Hopeful. Filled with dreams that hadn't yet been broken.
Se-na took a deep breath and walked into the building.
The orientation hall was packed with first-year students, all chattering excitedly. Se-na found a seat near the front, her heart pounding with anticipation.
A woman in her late fifties walked to the podium. Professor Cha Eun-young, the department head. She had kind eyes and silver-streaked hair pulled back in a neat bun.
"Welcome, everyone," Professor Cha began, her voice warm. "You are here because you have talent. But talent alone is not enough. Art requires courage. It requires vulnerability. It requires you to open your soul and show the world what you find there."
Se-na leaned forward, hanging on every word.
"Art is the language of the soul," Professor Cha continued. "In this department, you will learn technique, yes. But more importantly, you will learn to protect and nurture your artistic spirit. The world can be cruel to artists. It will try to corrupt you, commercialize you, make you compromise your vision."
Professor Cha's eyes swept across the room, seeming to linger on each student.
"Promise me something. No matter what happens in the years to come, protect your purity. Your authenticity. That is the most precious thing an artist possesses."
The words resonated in Se-na's chest like a bell.
'I want to express what's inside people,' she thought. 'The parts they hide. The truth beneath the surface. That's what I want to create.'
Two weeks later, Se-na stood in the sculpture studio, covered in clay dust, completely absorbed in her work.
The assignment was simple: "Create a sculpture that represents yourself."
Most students had made abstract pieces or symbolic representations. But Se-na had taken a different approach.
Her sculpture was of a woman kneeling on the ground, head tilted back, arms reaching toward the sky. The figure's face was tilted upward with an expression of desperate hope—as if she were drowning and reaching for the surface, or trapped in darkness and reaching for light.
The piece was raw. Vulnerable. Honest.
Se-na stepped back to examine her work, clay-covered hands on her hips. She'd worked for three days straight, barely sleeping. But it was done.
"Aspiration," she murmured, deciding on the title.
"Extraordinary."
Se-na jumped. She hadn't heard anyone approach.
Professor Cha stood behind her, eyes fixed on the sculpture. The older woman circled it slowly, examining it from every angle.
"The technical skill is impressive for a first-year student," Professor Cha said. "But what's truly remarkable is the emotional honesty. This piece... it breathes. It feels."
Se-na felt her cheeks flush with pride.
"You're a genius, Se-na," Professor Cha said, meeting her eyes. "I haven't seen a student with this much raw talent in years. You're going to do extraordinary things."
Se-na bowed deeply. "Thank you, Professor. I'll work hard to deserve your faith in me."
As Professor Cha walked away, Se-na turned back to her sculpture, her heart soaring.
She had no idea that this moment—this recognition of her talent—would be what caught a predator's attention.
One month later.
Se-na was in the studio, sketching preliminary designs for her next project, when she felt someone's gaze on her.
She looked up.
A man stood in the doorway. Late forties, tall and lean, wearing a black turtleneck and wire-rimmed glasses. His hair was perfectly styled, his posture confident. Everything about him radiated sophistication and intelligence.
Professor Kim Tae-sung.
Se-na had heard about him, of course. Everyone had. He was the department's star professor—a renowned contemporary artist with gallery shows across Seoul, articles written about his work, connections throughout the art world. Students competed fiercely for his attention and mentorship.
And he was looking at her sculpture.
Se-na held her breath as Professor Kim approached "Aspiration," his footsteps echoing in the quiet studio. He circled it slowly, just as Professor Cha had done, but his examination was more intense. Clinical.
Finally, he turned to her.
"You made this?" His voice was deep, cultured.
"Yes, Professor."
"What's your name?"
"Kim Se-na. First year."
Professor Kim nodded slowly, his eyes moving from the sculpture to her face and back again.
"Your work has a soul," he said. "Most student sculptures are technically competent but emotionally hollow. Empty exercises. But this..." He gestured to her piece. "This speaks. This feels. You're not just copying techniques—you're actually creating art."
Se-na's heart hammered. This was Professor Kim Tae-sung—the Kim Tae-sung—praising her work.
"You're special," Professor Kim continued. "Different from the other students. I can see it."
He moved closer, his eyes intense behind his glasses.
"How would you like to receive private instruction from me? I only take on one or two students per year. Those who show... exceptional promise."
Se-na couldn't believe what she was hearing. Private lessons with Professor Kim? Other students would kill for this opportunity.
"I—yes! Of course! I would be honored, Professor!"
Professor Kim smiled. It was a warm smile, paternal and encouraging.
"Excellent. We'll start next week. Tuesday and Thursday evenings, my private studio. I'll send you the address."
He turned to leave, then paused.
"Oh, and Se-na? Don't mention this to the other students. I prefer to keep my mentorship arrangements private. It prevents jealousy and... complications."
"Of course, Professor. I understand."
After he left, Se-na stood alone in the studio, barely able to contain her excitement. She wanted to call someone, tell someone, but Professor Kim had asked for discretion.
Across the room, she didn't notice Professor Cha standing in the doorway, having witnessed the entire exchange. The older woman's face was troubled, her lips pressed into a thin line.
Cha Eun-young wanted to warn Se-na. Wanted to tell her to be careful, to keep her distance from Kim Tae-sung. She'd seen this pattern before, years ago, with another promising young student.
But she had no proof. Only suspicions and a bad feeling in her gut. And Kim Tae-sung was powerful. Tenured. Connected. The last person who had tried to accuse him had found their career destroyed.
Professor Cha watched Se-na's happy expression and felt her heart sink.
'Please,' she thought. 'Please let me be wrong this time.'
But she knew she wasn't.
[End of Chapter 3]
Next: Chapter 4 "The Devil Wearing an Angel's Mask (Part 2: Grooming)"