#01_Beast's Playground (1)

He set down the coffee cup. Unlike its sharp taste, the fragrant aroma of the coffee was a tremendous help against his deep fatigue. The coffee machine in the counseling room was a fairly old model, but the beans he'd personally sourced were from a reasonably famous brand.

"Sorry, where were we?"

"What the hell, sir~ I was talking my heart out here."

"I pulled an all-nighter last night, so the exhaustion's piling up. My bad."

"That Seohyun girl starts dating Changju, right? And then she goes out drinking with those two guys from Class 3? Like... last week Saturday or something? I saw it myself."

Students' interests were all pretty much the same. In the prison that was a cram school, where they had to bury themselves in studies all day, even gossip that might've been brushed off lightly in high school became something they dove into with serious faces. Sure, in their lives, all that stuff was drama, big events. But listening intently to tales of some nobody in the academy two-timing with someone else was pretty exhausting work.

"Hmm, can't she have a drink or two with a guy friend? CSAT prep builds up stress, so they need to vent sometimes. Moderate stress helps maintain tension, but releasing it is important too. What day is it today?"

"Um... February 2nd."

"CSAT's on November 16th. Prep is a marathon—breathing control is key. Especially for a type like you, Yujin, who can't focus on one thing for long, right?"

Why were girls so chatty? Yujin, who'd shown up during lunch under the pretense of a quick counseling session, hemmed and hawed for about five minutes before spilling all sorts of trivial nonsense. He subtly steered the scattered topics—like a cat flailing in water—but Yujin just furrowed her brow and vented her complaints.

"You're just glossing over it with CSAT talk! Not even listening to me! That's why you don't have a girlfriend, sir. Ugh, such a waste of a handsome face."

Winter was ending, and the days were warming a bit, but the biting wind still stung the skin. After grabbing a quick lunch at the fast-food joint outside the academy and coming back in, Yujin shrugged off her puffer jacket now that her body had warmed up indoors.

"I've never been interested in dating."

"What about me, then?" Dressed in a white blouse and brown cardigan, Yujin poked her head forward with a playful eye smile.

Hermès' Eau des Merveilles Bleu. A sweet-salty floral scent mixed with a slightly heavy woody note and cool aquatic freshness tickled his nose. A bit pricey for a repeater, but Yujin was such a spoiled rich girl that he didn't need to worry about it. Still, if he had to critique, it felt a touch off for late winter—something brighter and fresher would suit the season and her better. Eau des Merveilles Bleu was more of a spring or summer fragrance.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"Studying's completely on the back burner for you. I'd get flak if we dated. Aren't we, like, twelve years apart? Your ID starts with 00, right?"

"Come on~ I've been legal for two months now! Honestly, sir, you're a bit older, but... like a trendy old guy? Kinda? I'll take care of you. My family's loaded."

"If you get into S University, I'll think about it."

"Yeah, right. As if I could get in there."

Perfectly straight black bob haircut, faint double eyelids. How did such huge, sparkling light-brown eyes fit on that tiny face? Not a single flaw in her delicate features. She'd been stunning from the first sight—enough to startle—and lately, she'd gotten into dolling herself up. The eyeliner she drew so clumsily, the blush and tint on her cheeks—they changed brands every week.

"Kids at top universities were good at studying from the start? Nah, they repeated and tripled like you, grinding late nights, getting eye infections and hemorrhoids, forcing their way in."

"Eww, I couldn't do that."

Whining and waving it off, Yujin picked up her mug of coffee. She'd only come here pushed by her mother's nagging anyway—she'd never cared about studying. Knowing that, Yuchan had no intention of forcing it on her.

"Then just hang out with your friends. Not some old guy like me."

"For real, if the academy kids followed your class even halfway, I'd date one of them. I like older guys. Same-age dudes are idiots."

Not something for a girl who could barely scrape 300 across five subjects to say. He swallowed that thought. No need to voice it—it might hurt her feelings even as a joke. She wanted a comfortable, reliable man. Not some cheeky same-age boy trading barbs. And anyway, grades didn't always match intelligence. If Yujin were just a dumb girl, no matter how beautiful, Yuchan wouldn't have taken such interest.

"Finish your coffee and get back to studying."

"But Korean's so boring..."

"Come on, no more whining."

Pouting, Yujin stuck out her tongue and fidgeted with her hem discontentedly. All those things restricted by law that she couldn't do even if she wanted: motel sex, booze, smokes, hanging at arcades past 10 p.m., hitting clubs she couldn't enter before. Her friends, freshly freed from student life, must look like they were indulging in adult pleasures. Putting all those sweet fruits aside for hated studying? Yeah, she'd hate it. He couldn't empathize, but he understood. Couldn't relate, but could predict.

"But for real, if I get into S University, you'll meet me, right?"

She narrowed her eyes. In the hazy blur like magic eyes, the phlox at her chest fluttered. Faint, like oil paint bleeding off the canvas. Phlox meant 'don't touch me.' The first image that came to mind: a precarious fruit ready to burst at a poke. It painted her fragility. Probably because that image had taken root in him, projecting into her psyche.

Yuchan stared intently at the phlox shifting from ultramarine to pale purple. This symbol (상) reflecting her subconscious carried meaning in its hue too. Yuchan called these visions Black Boxes. Purple—an artificial shade rare in nature. A longing, fantasy for deviance impossible in reality. Melancholy, anxiety, wounds, lust. He couldn't pinpoint which fit her Black Box best. But it was the color he saw most in the phlox at her heart. And why he liked her.

"What? You're staring all blank, not even answering."

Twirling her hair around her finger, Yujin made an embarrassed face. Yuchan gently coaxed her along, keeping the smile until the door clicked shut behind her.

2.

Cheonsanggye Self-Study ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Repeat Academy. Yuchan's workplace was a 300-student self-study repeater cram school in Ilsan. For a self-study joint, monthly fees neared 2 million won—a system more suited to Gangnam or Daechi-dong. Unlike comprehensive repeater classes, all studying was self-directed. TAs handled subject questions, assistants made study schedules. For weak subjects, they hired lecturers for special lectures.

Yuchan's role was unique: psychological counselor. A vent for students buried in studies all day, stressed by non-academic stuff. He had no counseling credentials, but it didn't matter. The counselor's job was a show for parents: 'We run an advanced system,' 'Not just grades—we care for mental health too.' Like garnish on a fancy sushi plate. Students depended just knowing someone was there to listen, so maybe he filled that garnish role.

Yuchan thought it suited him well. No certs, but his interest in human nature gave him master's-level counseling knowledge. Plus, his ability let him peek into minds—via unique symbols and colors.

"I'll head out first."

"Yuchan, heading home?"

"You should too, Miss Min. It's already 9."

"Some kids are still here. Gotta answer their questions."

"Can't the TAs handle it?"

"They always hold back, then come next day with a pile."

Before leaving, he gave a light greeting to the Korean teacher. Most teachers left by 8, but diligent Minjeong ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was still fielding questions.

Do Minjeong. Korean instructor. Single, 25. A University Korean Education grad. Yoga hobbyist. Independent since college, lives alone. No boyfriend, last relationship three years ago. Symbol: hermit crab. Color: navy blue. Long straight hair, elegant even when weary—like an actress. Always student-first, the truest teacher here.

"You're always so dedicated. You'll collapse before the students do."

"It's work I love."

"I recommend a herbal clinic to my students. Maybe you should brew some tonic?"

"I'm fine. I do yoga."

Minjeong flexed her arm playfully with a grin. Light farewell, and he stepped out.

3.

Honestly, the academy wasn't in a great spot. Massive commercial districts perfect for fun were 15 minutes away—two of them. Next door: PC bang and billiards hall. Nights still chilly despite warming days; he buttoned his coat tighter. Destination: home. Two-room officetel cluster, 30 seconds from the bustle.

Grabbed snacks and water from the convenience store, tossed the water in the fridge, headed to his desk. Filled the coffee pot with tap water. He had a steam machine, but no beans to grind. Too lazy. Body screamed for sleep against fatigue, but work remained. Caffeine to fight drowsiness: essential.

He opened the notebook, its front emblazoned with Yujin in ornate script. Leather-bound hardcover, 100 pages crammed with subject observations. His memory was sharp, but rereading lines recalled the mood when he wrote them—a fine pastime.

He opened the desk drawer, picked a sticker from the 640-color array closest to her Black Box, and stuck it on the page. Their meetings still short; notebook barely past the start. When full... what symbol, what color would she shine in?

Yuchan licked his lips greedily, feeling his heart thump after so long. A pleasant thrill tickled it, like a hideous beast panting.

Closed the notebook, headed to the bathroom. Iron-tang of blood. Funk of meat left three days. He'd gotten sodium nitrite for preservation, but the ice in the tub had melted some. Outside so cold, yet indoors warm enough to thaw tub ice. Small gratitude for a cozy nest in such weather; Yuchan pulled out the torso—upper body only.

Post-smartphone era, with laws, surveillance, walking CCTV phones—humans always had more trouble disposing than killing. Blood drained properly, so sawing wouldn't splatter much. Still, sweaty work. Shower after.

Grabbed the toolbox from the bathroom shelf, glanced in the mirror. At his own Black Box. Symbol: canvas. Color: white. The pristine canvas's edges were staining red, bit by bit.