Ha-neul lowered her voice, her gaze flickering briefly to the Hanyeong students who were loudly ordering iced americanos at the counter.
"It started twenty years ago," she began, spinning her fork in the crumbs of her muffin. "Back then, there was only one school. The Seoul Academy of Arts. It was legendary. And it was run by the grandfather of our current Chairman."
"Chairman?" I asked. "You mean the Principal?"
"No, the Chairman of the Board. The money behind the school," she corrected. "He had two sons. Park Jin-ho and Park Jin-su. They were both geniuses, but they hated each other. They had... different philosophies, no one knows what happened exactly between them. That's just the story they put in the brochures"
She pointed a finger at my navy blazer.
"The younger brother, Jin-su, believed that art should be beautiful. Polished. Commercial. He wanted to create stars that would shine globally. He wanted perfection, discipline, and the best facilities money could buy. He wanted to build a 'Palace of Art.'"
"Kirin," I whispered.
"Exactly," Ha-neul nodded. "But the older brother, Jin-ho... he was different. He believed art should be raw. Painful. Real. He hated the idea of 'idols' or 'manufactured stars.' He wanted to create artists who bled for their craft, regardless of whether it sold or not."
She glanced at the crimson uniforms across the room.
"When the father died, the war started. They couldn't agree on the direction of the Academy. So, they split it. Literally."
"Literally?"
"The younger brother took the endowment fund, the land on the hill, and the connections to the broadcasting stations. He built Kirin Arts High. The 'Castle on the Hill.' The school for the elite, the beautiful, the future stars. He had sponsors from the government which supported him."
"And the older brother?"
"He took the faculty," Ha-neul said darkly. "The toughest, scariest, most talented teachers. He took the old practice rooms in the valley below the hill. He built Hanyeong. The 'Fortress of Spirit.' He was supported by the Chairman. Since then their Grandpa(Chairman) keeps a neutral position, only occasionaly appearing in public."
She leaned back, crossing her arms.
"That's why they hate us, San. To them, we aren't students. We're 'products.' We're the sellouts who chose air-conditioning and pretty uniforms over 'real art.' And to Kirin students... Hanyeong kids are just jealous, gritty barbarians who are stuck in the past."
"So it's a civil war," I realized.
"It gets worse," Ha-neul added, her voice dropping even lower. "Because every year, at the National Arts Competition, it's not just about the trophy. It's about proving which brother was right. The 'Product' or the 'Soul.' And for the last three years..."
She hesitated.
"For the last three years, Hanyeong has won the Grand Prize."
My eyes widened. Kirin, the shiny palace, was losing?
"That's why the pressure is so high this year," she whispered. "That's why Jun-seo is stressing about the band. That's why Chae-rin is insane about her performance. If Kirin loses again... the Board might actually fire the Principal. It's an existential crisis."
"Okay, okay," Mrs. Lee interrupted, her voice sharp. She set her empty cup down with a definitive clatter. "That is quite enough history for one evening, Ha-neul."
"But Mom, he asked—"
"I know," Mrs. Lee said, signaling for the check. "But looking at San-gun's face, he looks like he is about to throw up his muffin. The politics of dead men are not his burden to carry. He just needs to pass his classes."
She stood up, smoothing her dress.
"And besides," she added, glancing at the Hanyeong students who were now leaving, casting one last sneer in our direction. "Rivalry or not, their manners are terrible. Let's go home."
We walked back to the car in silence. The city lights of Seoul were flickering on, painting the sky in purple and orange.
As Mrs. Lee navigated the car back toward the quiet safety of our neighborhood, I leaned my head against the cool window.
"Routine," I muttered to myself, closing my eyes. "Ha-neul said this was the routine."
I had a feeling my "routine" was about to get a lot more complicated.