Chapter 2
This world is full of teenagers who fail to fully realize their talents and wander aimlessly. They either never find them at all, or even if they do, they miss the right timing and opportunity, letting their gifts rot away. That's undeniable misfortune! But everyone knew about the problem and had no choice but to accept it. No one—not even the parents who gave birth to and raised them—could accurately discern a person's talents.
That was certainly true until the revolutionary P appeared.
"Human history underwent a massive change with the emergence of P. This marked the starting point of the famous Career Revolution. Thanks to the Aptitude Test machine invented by P, humanity was able to stop wandering and live efficient lives...."
"Teacher!"
"Got a question?"
"Yes. There's a rumor that P was an alien—is that true?"
"Rumors are just rumors. No one knows the true identity of the revolutionary P. Not even their appearance, let alone gender or nationality."
That's why P is called by so many different names: Master P, Doctor P, Genius P, Jesus P, Professor P, Super P.... Just looking at that list shows how shrouded in mystery the figure is.
"The Career Revolution—"
"Teacher."
I raised my hand, calling the social studies teacher who had been lecturing quietly.
"Does student Kang Moon-soo have a question too?"
"Yes. What happened to the people who suffered because of the Career Revolution?"
"I don't quite get the intent of your question."
"There must be cases where the Aptitude Test results came out wrong..."
"None."
The social studies teacher declared it without the slightest hesitation. It shut me up cold, but I quickly regained my composure and pressed on stubbornly.
"What about people who lost their jobs because their Aptitude Test results were bad?"
"No government compensation, of course. It's a cutthroat competitive society then and now. Does that answer your question?"
"...Yes."
His unflinching response—straight out of a civics textbook—left me waving the white flag.
"Teacher, have some understanding. The guy's Aptitude Test result was totally weird."
"Yeah, his job is... something else."
"Moon-soo's job is kinda off, right?"
"If I were Moon-soo, I'd march straight to the Ministry of Education."
"Same here."
My classmates gossiped about me like it was a spectacle.
Then,
"It's shaman! He's a shaman!"
The kid next to me couldn't hold it in and blurted out my job.
"Shaman?"
"Yeah, shaman."
"I see. After class, grab the cleaning supplies and come to the staff room."
"Huh?"
"Publicly revealing someone else's Aptitude Test result like that is extremely rude. As punishment, you'll clean the staff room."
"T-Teacher! That's unfair! Everyone already knew...!"
"I didn't. I didn't know student Kang Moon-soo's Aptitude Test result."
"Argh...."
"This is school, so cleaning the staff room is all you'll get. Out in society, in a workplace, that kind of uncouth behavior could violate the Personal Information Protection Act—or even defamation, depending on the situation. Got it?"
"Yes."
I lowered my fist gently, seeing my friend's shoulders slump in defeat. You got lucky, pal.
As things wrapped up, the social studies teacher turned to me.
"Student Kang Moon-soo."
"Yes."
"You're not happy with the result from revolutionary P's Aptitude Test machine?"
"Yes."
Why ask such an obvious question? Anyone would hate it.
"Not just you, student Kang Moon-soo—listen up, everyone. No profession is noble or base. Especially in our modern specialized society after the Career Revolution."
"Even shaman?"
"Yes, even shaman. Someone out there needs it."
"Ah, yes."
"And an Aptitude Test result isn't your whole life. Life is a long journey you carve out for yourself...."
"And you, teacher?"
"What do you mean?"
"What was your Aptitude Test result?"
"...High school social studies teacher."
"I see."
So where's your life-carving adventure?
"......"
"......"
"Ahem. That's class for today. Spend the last ten minutes or so in quiet self-study."
* * *
There's a saying: a word unspoken travels a thousand miles.
"Shaman Kang Moon-soo!"
"Moon-soo, read my fortune!"
"A shaman at school?"
Rumors spread like wildfire.
"...Rude my ass."
A sigh escaped me. How had I fallen from yesterday's all-around prodigy to this?
The culprit was obvious: my Aptitude Test result!
The word "shaman" echoed everywhere I went in school now, enough to give me a stress-induced stroke.
Of course,
"The future president is passing by!"
"Mr. President! Hire me!"
"My aptitude is secretary. Remember that!"
"Oh! Mr. President! Your policies?"
Some kids reveled in having their aptitudes as labels.
"When you run for president later, vote for me!"
My friend, whose result was "president" for some reason, was strutting around campus like a legendary politician campaigning for election.
And then the opportunists and sycophants joined in, playing their parts from their own results!
"I'm a journalist."
"You'll need a broadcast writer too."
"Use me as security!"
"Journalist here. What's your take on becoming president?"
"Mr. President, appear on our show."
"Outta the way! Kids, outta the way! His Excellency the President is passing!"
It was clownery too juvenile for the word, but not a single student mocked it. Why risk making an enemy if the guy actually became president someday?
"Lucky bastard...."
"I'm jealous...."
Seeing the stark contrast only boiled my blood more.
"Shaman Kang Moon-soo!"
"Moon-soo! See any ghosts?"
"When do I get married?"
Students full of laughter kept swarming me.
Curiosity was tolerable at least.
"Moon-soo, can you talk to gods?"
"Tsk tsk, didn't you know? God's in Moon-soo's contacts."
"No way! Do they take atheists?"
"Say hi to God for me!"
The blatant teasers stuck to me like leeches every break, piling on my irritation.
"Whoa...."
Even I had to applaud my own patience for holding out.
No, keep this up and I'll end up in a psych ward.
Time for drastic measures. Violence and cursing were last resorts. So?
"Hey! Keep bugging me and I'll curse you all."
"What?!"
"Huh?!"
"Don't believe me? Test it. I'll show you why I'm a shaman."
Was it all the pent-up stress exploding at once? The kids backed away, overwhelmed by my vibe.
"...I'm out!"
"Me too!"
"Whoa! Let's go!"
They scattered like defeated soldiers—trusting the Aptitude Test meant fearing curses too.
"...Phew."
Confirming the break-time pests were gone, I sighed in relief and returned to my seat.
Thud!
I faceplanted onto my desk right away.
Curse? As if.
If I had any mystical superpower like that, I'd have used it ages ago. I'm just your average high schooler who knows zilch about the occult. Hell, I'm an atheist who doesn't vibe with religion.
"A curse...."
"Shamans can curse...."
"Yeah, the curse...."
My classmates whispered and glanced at me.
Rumors spreading already? They'd been dying to talk to me moments ago; now they avoided me like the plague.
Yeah. Better this way.
With my head cooling off, I pondered my future.
Most urgent issue: money!
How do shamans make cash? Is there shaman part-time work?
This was insane.
* * *
"Teacher's coming!"
"Everyone to your seats!"
"Quiet! Quiet!"
Scrape—
Our third-year high school homeroom math teacher slid open the door and entered the classroom slowly. Before starting homeroom, she scanned her students' states, her gaze lingering on the back of one boy's head slumped over his desk.
Shaman.
The first such Aptitude Test result since the school's founding.
She'd looked into it herself. She could just let him graduate half-assed, but her own result wasn't just "high school math teacher" for nothing.
Duty, mission, professionalism.... She genuinely wanted all her students to succeed.
"Did everyone have a good class?"
"Yes!"
"Yess~!"
Everyone but one answered energetically. Every teacher in the country—from their Aptitude Test results—was a pro at this. Teaching well was baseline; their passion never faded with time.
In this environment, could class quality ever drop? Fat chance.
"Did the future president have a good class too?"
"Hahaha!"
"That wasn't a joke to laugh at."
"Yep!"
"Having presidential qualities doesn't make you president automatically. Dozens come out every year. Will they all become president?"
"Uh... no?"
Not unless presidential terms were under a month.
"Here's a question: What if you can't become president?"
"Uh...?"
The "future president" froze, never having considered it.
"To hire people to help with your campaign, you need money. How will you get it? Ask your parents?"
"Sponsors...."
"Who'd donate after seeing that pathetic display at school today? What if it's recorded and leaked far in the future?"
"......"
He'd tank before the race even started. Not that dumb, the "future president" went pale.
"Think about it."
"Yes...."
Turning from her student plunged from heaven to hell, the math teacher said firmly,
"An Aptitude Test result is a beginning, not an end. Society's full of competitors with the same aptitude. Without your effort, that result sheet is just scrap paper. Remember that."
"Yes!"
"Yes, teacher!"
The students seemed inspired, but as a third-year homeroom teacher, she copy-pasted similar advice every year—no big deal.
However,
"Hm...."
She glanced sideways at Kang Moon-soo.
What advice for this lost kid? Shaman. Even she struggled to speak up about such an unfamiliar result.
Ironic.
P's Aptitude Test—meant to guide humanity from wandering—causing wandering? Exasperating, especially since she trusted the system.
"Moon-soo."
So she spoke gently, not scoldingly.
"Yes."
"Come to the staff room after homeroom? It won't take long."
"......"
"I've invited someone to school who can help you right now."
"Huh?"
"Sorry for deciding without asking, but think of it as career counseling follow-up."
"...Yes."
Getting the response she wanted, the math teacher ended homeroom with relief.
"An Aptitude Test result is a beginning, not an end. Tomorrow, no tardies—dedicate yourselves to studies sincerely."
"Yes."
"Yess~!"
* * *
Homeroom ended in a somewhat heavy atmosphere, and I followed my homeroom teacher to the staff room.
Someone who can help me?
A bit curious.
"Teacher, can I know ahead who you invited to school for me?"
I asked casually.
"Secret."
"......"
Not a satisfying answer!
"Someone famous enough for TV."
"Ah, yes."
A famous person for me? My rock-bottom self-esteem perked up a tiny bit.
"Don't mess up with any rudeness—we went to great lengths to bring them."
"Yes."
Creeak—The homeroom teacher reminded me once more at the staff room door, then opened it and led the way.
But....
"Math teacher!"
"Teacher! Stop him, please!"
"What's going on here?!"
Other teachers already in the staff room cried out to her like complainers.
What the hell was happening inside? I peeked in after her and....
"Wooo! Ghosts weary from studies, begone~! Shoo~!"
Splash!
I froze like ice seeing a man dancing, yelling, and spraying liquor from his mouth everywhere.
A real shaman? His outfit and antics screamed it.
"......"
The staff room teachers looked merely startled, but I felt utter despair.
Is this my future too?
Dizziness hit.
"Shaman Yuil-am! You can't do this in the staff room!"
"Ghosts~!"
"More important than a potential student of yours?"
"Begone—Huh? Ah! Teacher."
The man rampaging wildly froze.
"Moon-soo."
"...Yes?"
"Greet him."
"Ah, yes. Hello. I'm Kang Moon-soo, third-year high schooler whose Aptitude Test came out as shaman."
I bowed politely, deploying my perfectly polished manners from part-time gigs to make a good first impression—
"You know my name, right? Genius Shaman Yuil-am."
"Uh.... Yes."
Totally clueless, but admitting it felt wrong.