“Today’s lecture topic is ‘Art in Games.’”
If the essence of a lecture is giving listeners what they truly want to know, then Taeyeon was an excellent speaker.
He spoke frankly—from average starting salaries for art designers, to how art departments are structured, to each role’s duties, to the industry’s treatment and perception of artists.
This wasn’t just talk; he even showed charts he had prepared.
An hour flew by and his planned material was finished, yet the students stayed put.
“Encore! Encore!”
“Please take questions!”
“Questions over here!”
Such enthusiasm!
Even the professors seemed surprised. Glancing at the dean—now standing at the back—Taeyeon pointed to his watch. The dean smiled and shrugged: Do as you like.
“All right—let’s take a few questions.”
Taeyeon picked a student he had already marked: a boyish girl with a strong “girl‑crush” vibe.
“What’s your name?”
“Seong Taehee!”
[Seong Taehee]
(Fine‑arts student, aspiring concept artist)
Animation 4/10
3D Modeling 4/10
Concept Art 9/10 (15)
Cinematics 7/10
Environment 9/10 (15)
FX 6/10
Affinity 6/10
“What’s your question?”
“I’m about to graduate and want to be a game concept artist. I heard from a friend that breaking in as a rookie artist is really hard, and that concept art is the most competitive field. Is that true? If so, how should students like us prepare?”
Taeyeon gathered his thoughts.
“To a point, yes. Right now, even experienced artists find switching jobs in concept art quite tough.”
“Ah…”
Murmurs of disappointment; Tae‑hee’s face darkened.
Taeyeon’s voice grew firmer.
“But that doesn’t apply to artists with solid fundamentals, talent, and passion!”
The atmosphere flipped; dim eyes lit again—none brighter than Tae‑hee’s.
“First: any portfolio that screams ‘art‑school exercise’ or has the instructor’s fingerprints all over it—art leads toss those immediately. Oddly, you can always tell. Must be a Math Essentials of drawing or something…”
Laughter bubbled out.
“The problem is, such portfolios are the majority—and I’ve seen plenty of pictures that barely look like pictures. Even among veterans, many are frankly sub‑par.”
After a sip of water, he continued.
“Of course, some talented folks have trouble because timing or conditions don’t line up. In that case, face reality and lower your sights a notch—it solves itself fast.”
“PD‑nim, you said you’re starting a new project—are you hiring concept artists there?” Tae‑hee asked.
“Absolutely. Just a few days ago we hired an art director and concept‑art lead—perfect mix of career, personality, and skill—and we’re working together now.”
“Then if I send my résumé and portfolio today, you’ll review them?”
“Of course.”
He flipped to the last slide: a sky‑city drawing of Pantheon the husband‑and‑wife artists had whipped up, plus the art‑team job listings.
“Wow…!”
“Unbelievable…!”
Gasps everywhere.
“For reference, this was done during a brainstorm. Took almost no time. They wanted to toss it as a rough; I begged to bring it. Amazing, right?”
“Yes!”
“They sketched like taking notes—blew me away. Top‑tier art designers really are on another level.”
The art students didn’t just gape; they whispered critiques and ideas. Tae‑hee’s eyes shone brighter than ever.
Seems experts see something special, Taeyeon thought, smiling.
“Any more questions?”
Hands shot up like spears.
He spent an extra thirty minutes before ending at last.
“You really outdid yourself!”
Seona was elated. The “nice restaurant” she’d promised turned out to be a daylight beer hall—fried chicken and cold draft on her.
“PD‑nim, you’re a natural lecturer! Friends of mine sat in, and they were thrilled!”
“I’m glad the prep paid off.”
“Thank you so much—please keep helping us.”
Taeyeon smiled quietly and sipped his beer.
Next day another résumé bomb arrived from HR—Tae‑hee’s included.
Elite really is different.
Her art résumé gleamed; both realistic and stylized work spotless, at least to his eye.
But an expert might see it differently…
He forwarded the art applicants to Hong Min‑seok. Deciding not to add any note about Tae‑hee:
Hiring artists is the AD’s call.
If she was good enough, she’d be chosen.
Four straight interviews for planners and programmers later, it was 5 p.m.
Another day lost to interviews.
The specs of applicants—ones he’d have never dreamed of meeting back at DreamSoft or Bless—were stellar, yet none sparked the feeling: I want to work with this person.
Maybe just make Baek the planning lead…
Baek was studying design and scenario hard, already attached to Pantheon. With no perfect candidate appearing, Taeyeon leaned that way: Baek’s lesser specs could be filled by support and good teammates.
Program‑lead candidates will still have to come from interviews…
He had already sounded out former programming leads from Sword of Empire and Breakthrough, but all declined—content where they were.
Good people are either settled or already chosen.
Frustrated, he headed to the cafeteria.
Huh? Seona?
Crowded, yet she stood out—white blouse, mini‑skirt, hair neatly tied back.
Sitting with her: a young man in a suit. Taeyeon tried to look away but kept glancing.
Just grab coffee and go.
Ordering at the kiosk, he felt his phone buzz.
[Left side! ☜]
Turning, he saw Seona waving happily.
As he approached, she introduced the man.
“We were just talking about you. This is Kim Myungwook, manager from Business Development.”
“Pleasure. Kim Myungwook, IP Business Team lead.”
“Yoo Taeyeon, Universe Studio.”
Clearly she’d brought him with purpose. After exchanging cards, Taeyeon looked to Seona.
As he thought.
“Manager Kim has a knotty problem, and I told him PD Yoo could help.”
“A problem… Is it IP‑related?”
Instead of answering, Seona glanced at Kim; he smiled.
“If you have time, could we talk?”
The IP Business Team handles projects using Nexple‑owned IPs or importing external IPs. Whatever Kim carried had to be about that.
“Everything I tell you is off the record,” he began. Taeyeon nodded.
“Recently Nexple competed with several firms for publishing rights to the famous Japanese game ‘Monster Eater Online.’”
“Ah!”
Monster Eater—world‑famous console hunting action series. Its PC online version, launched globally a few years back, was posting astounding revenue.
“We offered ₩15 billion (~$10M). Our biggest rival, PlayFuns, bid roughly the same.”
PlayFuns, though not Nexple‑size, was one of Korea’s big four game companies.
“The issue isn’t money—it’s Producer Takizawa Satoshi. He insists on launching with a reliable local producer.”
“You haven’t found the right person?”
“It’s been tough. The few qualified people all declined…”
Kim sighed heavily.
“The first person I approached was PD Choi Jonghak.”
“He turned you down.”
“Yes.”
“He’s already juggling two games.”
“I begged anyway… When I was stuck, I heard about you. Director Son and Director Lee spoke highly of you—and Seona here is practically your fan. They said you nailed two outside lectures?”
“I’ve never seen an encore in a lecture before!” Seona chimed. “It was wild!”
“It wasn’t that big…”
Embarrassed by the praise, Taeyeon rubbed his neck. Kim leaned forward, face earnest.
“I’m asking with all sincerity—please, help us!”
Just as Taeyeon had guessed. He glanced at Seona; she pretended innocence, sipping through her straw looking at nothing in particular.
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