School Visit
“I’m heading out.”
It was a morning scene no different from any other. Harin left the house with a light greeting, and I sat at the table eating toast.
But this was no ordinary day. Today I intended to make a special outing that would never come again in my life.
Today was the day of the confrontation interview. And for the first time ever, I had decided to go to school as Harin’s father.
It was pure irony. Harin had gone so far as to abandon the election just to stop me from visiting, while Eunju had made one last request, desperate to seize any chance she could.
From the beginning, though, the only person who could go to the school was Harin’s dad. In the end I would have to disappoint them both somehow.
Rattle…
I opened the dresser to get ready for school. Folded carefully in one corner, hidden from everyone, was the Cheonji High uniform.
Suddenly I remembered the first time I had put it on. That day I had stood in front of the mirror wearing the uniform as if possessed, trying to dig up the secrets Harin would never tell me.
Of course I had no intention of wearing the uniform to school today. More than that, the moment I hurt Eunju yesterday I had already made up my mind.
I would never cosplay as a high-school boy again.
I had overreached from the start, and that was why things had turned out this way. A matter that should have been approached with the patience of an adult I had tried to solve with a thoroughly childish mindset.
As a result I had hurt another child. For someone like that to put on a uniform again, walk into the school, and deceive people was simply unthinkable.
I looked away from the uniform and pulled out an old box sitting in the opposite corner. Setting it on the bed and lifting the lid, a familiar outfit came into view.
A blue dress shirt so vivid it was almost primary-colored. A white peaked cap stamped with a large emblem, and sunglasses shaped like dragonfly eyes.
It was a taxi driver’s full uniform. At the same time, it was one of the few keepsakes my father had left behind.
That’s right. My father had been a taxi driver. Not just any ordinary driver, either—a model taxi driver, no less.
I had no memories of the father who died when I was two. Yet the outrageous tales of his exploits had been told so often that even now it felt as if he were still alive somewhere in the world.
Stories like racing an expectant father from Seoul to Busan in three hours flat so he could watch the birth, or helping police chase a drug dealer by deliberately causing a twelve-car pile-up that netted the whole gang.
In the end he was just another common taxi driver who dozed off at the wheel, smashed through every guardrail in sight, and dove straight into the afterlife. I never imagined I would end up benefiting from that.
Standing in front of the mirror, the image of a father I had never actually seen was reflected back at me. Dressed in the uniform, peaked cap on, face half-hidden behind the oversized sunglasses—an all-too-familiar silhouette.
Naturally I had no plan to show up at school bare-faced. With my face already known, this was the last disguise left to me.
Clomp, clomp…
Looking for all the world like a taxi driver hunting for a drivers’ cafeteria to grab brunch, I set out. Sunglasses and a mask pulled tight—no one would recognize me.
Cheonji High School
I arrived at the main gate I had passed through any number of times. Yet because today’s cosplay was completely different, the tension refused to fade.
Surely no one will recognize me? With both eyes and mouth covered, even less of my face is showing than usual.
Of course the unusual getup would draw stares, but if I slipped in and out between classes, no one would know.
Vrooom!
Just then a car pulled out through the main gate. A black 850i.
“...?”
The same model as Eunju’s father drove. No—given that she was currently enrolled here, it was obviously the same person.
Why did he suddenly come to school? Was he summoned over the election mess?
If something that big had blown up, he would have come even without being called. He doted on Eunju as if she were his own blood, after all.
“What brings you here?”
“I’m Kang Harin’s father from Class 2-2. I have an interview.”
The security guard clearly had no idea I was the same student who had been late any number of times. Having completely fooled the gatekeeper, I felt a little more confident.
“Ah-at… You can wait over here.”
I went straight to the teachers’ office looking for Teacher Kim Eunju. She guided me to the reception room right next to the principal’s office.
“This is the first time we’ve actually met, isn’t it? I didn’t realize you were a taxi driver, though.”
“It’s a sort of family business. I took over the work my father used to do.”
“So that’s why the name on the badge…”
Teacher Kim Eunju asked while looking at the name engraved on my chest: Kang Cheolgu. Come to think of it, the name of that imaginary fifteenth-cousin of mine was Cheolgu too, wasn’t it?
Well, it was a name I would never use again, so it was fine. And meeting Teacher Kim Eunju would end today as well.
She left the reception room saying she would bring some tea. I sat in one of the two chairs set in the center.
Before long the teachers who would take part in today’s confrontation interview entered. Principal Lee Jaeseong, Vice Principal Kim Munyeong, and Teacher Kim Eunju herself—homeroom teacher to both Harin and Eunju, the parties concerned.
I could understand the addition of Foundation Director Park Jiwon as a kind of inspector. But why was Ma Haejin here as well?
“Um… Harin’s father? If it’s not too rude, could you take off the sunglasses and mask?”
“I’m sorry. I’m a model taxi driver, you see.”
“...”
The vice principal glanced at the principal as if asking what they were supposed to do about this. But if I wanted to keep them on, what could they do?
“Hoo… Then let’s begin.”
“One person still hasn’t arrived.”
As Principal Lee Jaeseong tried to start the interview on time, Ma Haejin spoke up, looking at the still-empty seat that belonged to “the other me.”
“Ah-at… He contacted us saying he can’t come today.”
Teacher Kim Eunju answered. Principal Lee Jaeseong tilted his head as if he couldn’t understand.
“Can’t come? Does he not realize how important this is? Does Eunju know about this?”
“Yes… Eunju herself relayed the message.”
Teacher Kim Eunju answered in a dying voice. On top of that, because they didn’t even know the name, they couldn’t go fetch him.
“Just start, then?”
Ma Haejin answered while still leaning crookedly against her chair. Somehow she looked more like the principal than the actual principal.
“Hoo… Understood. Harin’s father is a busy man as well, so we’ll proceed right away…”
Creeeak…
Just then an uninvited guest opened the door without even knocking. If this had been a pure-hearted hot-blooded webtoon, third-year Ban Chulgyu would have had a late change of heart and barely made it to the interview room.
But I was Ban Chulgyu, so that was never going to happen. The identity of the uninvited guest was someone no one could have imagined.
“Ch-Chairman? What brings you here?”
Foundation Director Park Jiwon hurriedly rose from his seat to greet the presence outside the door. Yet that so-called chairman was rather bizarre.
Whirrr!
A middle-aged man seated in an electric wheelchair. His body was so massive that the belly fat spilling over the armrests looked painful.
His name was Park Jinhyuk. Chairman of the Cheonji Foundation and, for all practical purposes, the owner of this school.
I had only ever seen his greeting message on the school homepage; this was the first time I was meeting him in person. I hadn’t known he had a disability either.
“I heard something very interesting was happening, so I came. An unprecedented incident has broken out at the school, and as chairman it didn’t seem polite for me to simply sit and watch.”
Park Jinhyuk smiled kindly as he looked around. But the chairman showing up here? Wasn’t that putting a little too much pressure on me?
“Someone who can’t even walk on his own and just tortures an innocent wheelchair—what are you doing all the way out here? No matter how hard you mash those buttons with your fingers, you won’t lose a single gram.”
“...?”
What… the hell… is this? The foundation chairman himself had arrived, and who on earth was running their mouth without an ounce of fear?
I looked to see who it was, and of course it was Ma Haejin. The principal, the vice principal—everyone had stood up for inspection, yet she alone kept the same posture as before, hands shoved in her pockets.
“M-Ms. Ma? Even so, the chairman has come in person. You should stand and greet him…”
“Huhu… It’s fine. I haven’t heard Ms. Ma’s voice in a while, so it’s actually nice. Her sharp tongue is as lively as ever.”
“And Chairman, you haven’t changed a bit either. The tax audit’s over, so isn’t it about time you ditched the wheelchair? How do you stand it, wanting to get out on the golf course so badly?”
What is even happening right now? I knew Ma Haejin wasn’t an ordinary teacher, but was she really allowed to act like this in front of the chairman?
The principal, the vice principal, even the foundation director couldn’t stop her. Even the highest authority, Park Jinhyuk, just laughed it off with an empty chuckle.
“Let’s set our personal chat aside for now. I’ll watch from the side, so Principal, please proceed with the interview at once.”
“Y-Yes, sir.”
The somewhat noisy introduction ended and we finally entered the main game. Teacher Kim Eunju laid two sheets of A4 paper on the table in front of me.
“Harin’s father? You’ve probably heard the rough story from Teacher Kim Eunju, but these are the campaign pledges of the two teams running for student council president this time. Can you tell which one contains the content you helped with?”
“Yes. The side with Mok Jihye and Thuy.”
“What do you think of the other side? Don’t you find the two rather similar?”
“Extremely similar.”
“...”
At last a statement acknowledging the similarity came from the original author’s own mouth. Principal Lee Jaeseong turned his head toward Kim Munyeong, and now it was her turn to pick up the questioning.
“What do you think? From Harin’s father’s perspective, do you believe something like this could happen by chance? Or…”
She trailed off, but the intent was clear. As teachers they couldn’t directly accuse a student of theft, so they wanted me to say it for them.
I paused and checked the room. The principal and vice principal were laser-focused, waiting for my answer. Teacher Kim Eunju fidgeted like a calf being dragged to the slaughterhouse.
Stare!
Ma Haejin seemed uninterested in me and was glaring only at Park Jinhyuk. And Park Jinhyuk was staring out the window—utter chaos.
Time to deliver the conclusion, then. I broke the silence and opened my mouth.
“I think it could.”
“Pardon? What could? In other words…”
“I mean the results could coincidentally turn out the same.”
“...”
Had they never expected an answer like that? Even Ma Haejin and Park Jinhyuk, who had shown zero interest in me until now, clearly focused their gazes.
“Coincidence, you say? Looking at this, it seems to me one side completely copied the other.”
That was Foundation Director Park Jiwon. And honestly he was right. Except for the answer that one person had made both of them, anyone could see it was a copy.
“Isn’t it entirely possible? For example… if the system used to create the pledges was identical, wouldn’t similar answers naturally come out?”
“...?”
Every gaze turned toward Ma Haejin. Because they had already heard the exact same words from her before.
Yet just now, the same phrasing had been repeated by someone who had never even met her. So-called cross-verification.
People are simple. There’s a reason they’re called livestock.
Words that had sounded like empty talk until yesterday suddenly come out of a third party’s mouth and you go, “Huh?”
Then you naturally start accepting it as established fact. That was exactly what I had been aiming for.
“Could you explain in a bit more detail?”
The only one maintaining composure was Park Jinhyuk, who hadn’t attended yesterday’s meeting. I immediately laid out my theory.
“Exactly as I said. I wanted to help my daughter, and as an adult I set up my own strategies and principles to create the pledges. But if the other side used the exact same method, something like this could easily happen.”
“What kind of strategy?”
This time it was Ma Haejin. Eyes sharper than usual fixed on me.
“Dogs & Picks.”
“Dogs… and Picks?”
“As the teachers know, it’s an anonymous community that virtually every high-school student uses. You can only enter after school verification, and because only students can use it, the circle’s outer boundary is clear. I got my source material right there. I thought if I went into the space where students pour out their true feelings and learned directly what they wanted, I could raise the odds of winning.”
“But you’re a parent. You shouldn’t be able to access Dogs & Picks, should you?”
“Is there anything that can’t be done in this country? It’s a lot easier than infiltrating a double-locked kid’s room to steal a diary. They said you need school verification to join, but they never specified how that verification has to be done.”
“...”
Even though I was brazenly admitting to identity theft, no one opened their mouth. Regardless, I kept going.
“But the other side used the exact same strategy as me. That’s why we’re in this situation now.”
“W-Wait a moment? I understand how Harin’s father created the pledges. But can the results really be this identical just because the strategies were the same?”
The principal asked again as if he couldn’t accept it. Time to raise the nonsense level a notch higher.
“Isn’t it theoretically possible? Think of the AI that’s popular these days. AI never creates something from nothing. The famous AlphaGo learned 160,000 game records just to understand Go. Then through self-learning it reached a level that surpassed humans. Apply that here the same way. Feed the posts from Dogs & Picks into an AI and have it produce results twice. You’ll get two extremely similar answers, just like what we’re looking at. Because for AI, rationality matters more than anything else. So even if there are small differences, it can’t help but produce similar results every time.”
“...”
It was pure nonsense, but there was nothing that could really disprove it either. Who in the world would waste money trying to verify that delusion?
“Of course neither I nor the student who made these pledges can be compared to a precision computer. But it’s precisely because we’re human that they’re similar. Because people’s thoughts are all pretty much the same, right? Both sides were given roughly the same amount of time, and the possible results are limited. Newton and Leibniz completed calculus in their own ways at almost the same time, yet no one calls that plagiarism. The reason most school trips follow nearly identical courses isn’t because the teachers are lazy—it’s simply because that’s the method that converges on the optimum.”
I finished the theory by tacking on the limits of humanity. I didn’t know how they would take it, but I still had one more shot left.
“However, I do not think the two pledges are the same.”
“Pardon? But just a moment ago you said they were similar? You yourself explained that the systems were the same so the results were the same…”
“What I’m saying is that even the systems are different. On the surface they look extremely alike, but in reality the two pledges were created in completely different ways. The different main pledges are the proof.”
“Well? Doesn’t that actually fit perfectly with what you said earlier? The slight difference that appears when you ask an AI for an answer twice—isn’t that exactly this main-pledge section?”
“No. That difference is far larger than you think. Because the pledges of the student named Park Eunju contain one decisive element that mine lack.”
“What is that?”
The initiative of the conversation had long since passed to me. With everyone gathered here focused on me, I revealed the decisive difference between Eunju and myself.
“Conviction.”
“Conviction…? We’re not quite sure what that means…”
“I’m not speaking metaphorically—I mean conviction in its original sense. Standing firm without bending your will. Spreading your resolve even while prepared to lose. Taking the next step while enduring criticism and mockery. You all know what that is, don’t you?”
Whoosh! I unfolded the A4 sheet with Eunju’s pledges and pointed to the top line: Abolish Graduation Gifts.
“This pledge is a mass of contradictions. Because if your goal is to win, you should never put forward a pledge like this. As you all know, a student council election is an extension of a popularity contest. Unlike Jihye’s side’s pledge of Casual Clothes Day, Abolish Graduation Gifts has a built-in structure that inevitably creates enemies.”
“True… The third-years in particular wouldn’t welcome that pledge.”
Because that was exactly why we had pushed that pledge in the first place.
From the start Yuna lagged far behind Jihye in third-year popularity. We decided to consolidate the floating first-year votes onto the second-year votes Eunju already held.
So we boldly decided to throw away the third-year votes that had never been ours to begin with. But these people didn’t know that.
“Yet the student named Eunju recklessly put that pledge front and center. Probably because she judged right and wrong for herself. Throwing a decisive move while prepared to lose—that is conviction. An emotion called ‘courage’ that an AI chasing pure rationality could never possess. But I couldn’t do that. Because winning came first. Because I compromised with injustice just to give my daughter what she wanted. The common adult delusion of mistaking faded emotion for sharpened reason. So claiming the two pledges are the same is an insult to Eunju. I can state with certainty that I don’t even reach her toes.”
Whatever else might be true, this much was sincere. If I had truly wanted to help Eunju, I should have taken that pledge away from her.
All the talk about strategy ultimately depends on the result. If I were truly an adult, I should have guided her down a safer path.
But I had felt the same way Eunju did. I still hadn’t escaped even a little from that childish desire to change the world.
Because I still hadn’t become an “adult.”
“Interesting.”
The one who broke the silence was Park Jinhyuk. Parting his plump cheeks, he showed a satisfied smile.
“Honestly I came half out of curiosity, but I never expected to witness such a rare spectacle.”
“Chairman? Then what should we…”
“You’ve all heard everything, haven’t you? The two candidates’ pledges are completely different. At a glance they look similar, but in truth neither is a copy nor an imitation. So we have no choice but to leave the result in the students’ hands, don’t we?”
“Pardon? But the students won’t think that way…”
The principal and vice principal trying to stop Park Jinhyuk were right. This was nothing more than sleight of hand to cover my own mistake; the students would simply latch onto the similarity of the two pledges and go hunting for dopamine.
But this was the best I could do. Declare that the pledges had not been plagiarized, and let the two of them somehow fight a fair match.
Yet right then something no one had expected occurred.
“That won’t be necessary.”
It was Ma Haejin. She set her phone down on the table and glared at Park Jinhyuk; he asked again.
“What do you mean?”
“Just now Mok Jihye’s side contacted us. They’re withdrawing their candidacy. In other words, this election will proceed as a confidence vote for Oh Yuna and Park Eunju.”
“...?”
What… the hell… is this? I had gone all the way to the school and put on every kind of ridiculous performance, and now Jihye’s side was abandoning the election?
Something flashed through my mind. Harin had told me over and over that I didn’t need to come to school…
So that was what she meant?