Koreans Can't Hold It In
As soon as I woke up early that morning, I splashed my face with cold water and dressed for school with a flutter of anticipation.
The uniform was the classic gakuran style—high-collared jacket—complete with a student cap and a long cape that fluttered dramatically when I moved. I stood before the small hand mirror hanging on the wall, taking in the full ensemble, and had to admit it looked pretty sharp.
You're truly magnificent, sir!
Waaaaah...!
I hummed a few meaningless lines from some old meme, slipped on my shoes, and stepped out into the yard. Fresh morning air filled my lungs.
“Huu.”
My wallet was nicely stocked, the landlady’s daughter had packed me a lunchbox, and my wristwatch told me it was still early. I had everything ready for school. I opened the gate, feeling satisfied—only to realize one massive problem.
I had no idea how to get there.
“Am I an idiot…?”
The original Baek Chulyeon would have visited the school on orientation day, but I hadn’t inherited that particular memory. Obviously I should have checked the route in advance. But—
It’s because I got too used to 21st-century life.
In that era, you could go anywhere for the first time with nothing but a map app and public transit. The very idea of memorizing directions beforehand had never crossed my mind. On top of that, after returning to the boarding house last night I’d stayed up late thinking about my future plans and collapsed into bed without considering how to actually reach the academy.
The admission guide did list the school’s address, of course. But I’d never been familiar with Seoul’s geography even in my original life, the addressing system here was completely different from the 21st century, and without K-public transit or map apps I had no clue which bus or streetcar to take.
I should have asked Song Byeong-o yesterday.
I stood there foolishly in the middle of the yard, wondering whether I should hail a rickshaw, when I heard the creak of a door behind me.
I turned. The landlady’s daughter was poking her head out from the room she shared with her father, blinking sleepily.
“Heading to school?”
“Yeah.”
“Have a safe trip…”
She yawned and started to close the door. I quickly asked if she knew how to get to Gyeongseong Hunter Academy. She blinked a few times, then answered.
“…Huh? How would I know that?”
“You don’t?”
“Well… you’re the one who should know, right?”
“…Fair enough.”
It really was ridiculous. What kind of student didn’t even know the way to his own school? Even I thought it was absurd; I could only imagine what it looked like to someone who didn’t know my circumstances. Afraid she’d get the wrong idea, I hastily made up an excuse.
“Ah~ on orientation day I took a taxi with a friend. Now that I’m going alone I’m not sure which way to go~.”
She stared at me for a moment, then sat up straighter.
“Do you have the address?”
“Yeah. It’s written here.”
“Let me see.”
I handed her the admission guide. She rubbed her sleepy eyes and peered at the paper.
The guide was written in Japanese mixed with kanji, not Korean. People of this era—especially the young—could usually speak Japanese fluently, but reading it was another matter. From what she’d said yesterday, she hadn’t even finished regular schooling. I wondered if she could actually read it.
“Can you read it?”
“I did attend elementary school, you know.”
She gave me a slight glare, then read the address with a pout.
“Jeongneung-ri 12, Seungin-myeon, Goyang-gun… That’s near the entrance to Bukhansan from Jeongneung.”
“Really?”
“Yes. If you’re going from here… turn right just ahead, go down the main road, and you’ll see a streetcar stop. There’s a bus stop right beside it, so take the one heading to Jeongneung. I’m not entirely sure, so ask the bus conductor when you get there. Or if you have money, just call a taxi… yawn…”
“Thanks.”
“Sure… Safe travels…”
She covered her small mouth with her hand, yawned hugely, and closed the door. I left the boarding house feeling much lighter.
Good thing I asked. I’d almost become the country bumpkin who couldn’t even find his own school because he didn’t know how to ride a bus. When you don’t know something, you really should ask.
I took a different alley from yesterday and reached the main road. Just as the girl had said, there was a streetcar stop with a sign reading “Donamjeong Terminal.”
Streetcars, huh…
I’d wanted to try riding one of Gyeongseong’s famous attractions at least once, but the lines here only went into the city center. Since the academy was near Bukhansan on the outskirts, I had no choice but to take the bus.
I turned toward the nearby bus stop and immediately noticed a female student standing there.
She’s from the academy too!
She wore the same dark blue sailor uniform and short shoulder cape as the Japanese girl Renka had yesterday.
Of course, that style of uniform was common in this era, so the clothes alone didn’t prove she attended the same school. What convinced me instantly was her hair color.
In the 21st century, awakened people often experienced hair color changes due to mana influence. The exact shade depended on their individual mana pattern. Song Byeong-o, the glasses-wearing guy I’d met yesterday, had dark brown hair with a greenish tint. Renka’s was black with a reddish sheen.
This girl’s long, neatly braided hair, tied with a traditional daenggi ribbon, was a beautiful silver with a faint watery blue tint.
Whether the technology to create such glossy silver hair even existed in this era was beside the point—there was no way an ordinary student would dye her hair that color. She had to be an awakened.
I can just follow her.
It was still early, so few people were on the streets and the stop was empty except for us. Cherry blossoms from the roadside trees drifted down around us as I stood a polite distance behind her and waited for the bus.
I hadn’t meant to stare, but watching her long braid sway gently made me wonder—
Is this her first day too?
She held a large trunk in one hand and a piece of paper in the other, constantly glancing back and forth between the paper and the bus stop sign with obvious anxiety. It looked like instructions on which bus to take. She probably hadn’t attended orientation and was heading to the dorms, judging by that huge trunk.
Watching her flounder around made me a little uneasy about following her…
Soon a rickety bus arrived. It was a boxy vehicle with a protruding hood like a jeep, probably seating around twenty. A sign on the front window read “Jeongneung-ri—Jongno—Namdaemun.” This had to be the one the landlady’s daughter mentioned.
The door opened. I moved to stand behind the girl. But then—
What the—?
She suddenly bent at the waist and started taking off her shoes! What? Holy shit, what is this? My common sense was collapsing. Did people in this era ride buses barefoot?
I briefly wondered if I should remove mine too, but the conductor—a female attendant standing by the door—looked just as shocked.
“Student! What do you think you’re doing?”
“Pardon?”
“Why are you taking off your shoes?”
“Um…?”
The silver-haired girl in the daenggi braid stood there awkwardly, looking up at the attendant with an expression that said she had no idea what to do.
The attendant stared at her in disbelief, then noticed me standing behind her.
“Hey, wait. You too, the student in back. Both of you are heading to the Hunter Academy, right?”
At that, the daenggi-braid girl turned to look at me. She seemed startled to realize I was there, but her eyes held a glimmer of hope that I might somehow resolve this awkward situation.
I answered over her shoulder.
“That’s right. Why?”
“The academy is in the opposite direction from this bus. You need to catch it on the other side of the street.”
The attendant pointed across the road with her thumb. Sure enough, there was another bus stop over there. I’d assumed this was the right one because I saw a girl in the same uniform…
I thought I was the only one who might accidentally follow the wrong bus because I didn’t know the route. Turns out there really are others.
I’d nearly been led astray by this girl. I bowed to the attendant.
“Thank you.”
“No need for thanks… Oh, here it comes. Hurry and get on.”
A bus was indeed approaching from the opposite lane. The attendant added, looking at the girl,
“And you don’t take buses with your shoes off. What, did you time-travel from the Joseon Dynasty? Honestly… All right, come on!”
She rapped on the side of the bus. The one we had almost boarded pulled away. The girl’s face was bright red as she silently followed me across the street.
Once we were safely on the correct bus, I asked the attendant whether it passed the Hunter Academy and where we should get off. Only then could I finally relax.
Whew. What a chaotic morning. Who knew going to school would be this difficult…
I gripped the handrail inside the rattling bus to keep my balance and glanced at the girl standing to my right.
Still… she’s kind of fascinating.
I hadn’t meant to stare, but seeing her again, I couldn’t help noticing how striking she looked.
Silver hair was rare even in the 21st century, and the old-fashioned daenggi braid made for a strange combination. Carrying that huge trunk and clearly unsure how to ride a bus, she seemed like she had just come up from the countryside.
Yet she didn’t give off any rustic vibe. If anything, she projected a sense of dignity. She reminded me of a well-bred young lady from some noble rural family.
I was observing her not out of romantic interest, but simple curiosity. Despite her clumsy first impression, something about her felt refined and graceful.
“Um…”
It seemed I wasn’t the only one paying attention. The girl approached hesitantly, eyes still fixed on the scenery outside, and spoke softly.
“I thank you. Thanks to you, I was able to avoid embarrassment.”
Wait, why does she talk like that?
I wasn’t one to judge—coming from the future—but had she stepped out of the Joseon Dynasty?
Even Song Byeong-o’s old-fashioned “-ne” speech patterns made me want to smack him in the philtrum. The “-ne” form was still common among young people in this era, but using the ultra-formal “hao” style? A seventeen-year-old girl speaking like a character from a historical drama felt… off. This wasn’t some 2000s internet role-player.
“No need to thank me… Oh, right.”
Her speech made me realize something. I had assumed we were the same age since we were both new students and had spoken casually. But in this period it was common for students to enter school late or repeat years.
People in the same grade could easily be different ages. Song Byeong-o might actually be older than me.
Which means I’m the rude one for speaking down to her when we just met.
I asked carefully.
“By the way… how old are you?”
“My age…”
She hesitated a moment, then lifted her head and answered.
“I was born in the Sinyu year… If you are also a new student, are we not the same age?”
Damn it, what year is Sinyu?
I groaned and did the mental math. Gap-eul-byeong-jeong-mu-gi-gyeong-sin-im-gye… 4-5-6-7-8-9-0-1-2-3… As far as I knew, years starting with “Sin” ended in “1” on the Western calendar.
The current year was 1939. She didn’t look 37, 27, or 7, so that left 1921. That made her seventeen—the same age listed on my own family register yesterday.
“Yeah. Same age.”
When I nodded, she glanced up at me shyly and spoke again.
“S-since we have met like this, it must be fate… Might I ask your honorable name? I am called Yuha of the Lee clan.”
She introduced herself directly. The name tag on her dark blue uniform read “Lee Yuha.” I was about to show her my own tag when I realized it displayed my Japanese surname—Shirabayashi. I had a strong feeling she would hate me on sight if she saw it. Even Song Byeong-o had misunderstood at first. And this girl gave off the impression of a pure-hearted noblewoman. I could practically hear her shouting,
“How dare you! So you are the son of a pro-Japanese traitor!”
I hid my name tag with the edge of my cape and answered.
“Baek Chulyeon.”
“Baek Chulyeon…”
The bus rattled on for another twenty minutes or so. When it finally stopped at the foot of the mountain road leading to the academy, I paid five jeon and stepped off. Only then did I truly feel I had arrived in the right place.
This is it.
An arched gateway stood at the entrance to the mountain path, with a signboard that read “Gyeongseong Hunter Academy.” The school had to be further up the trail.
I checked my watch. I’d left early to avoid being late and still had thirty or forty minutes to spare.
Plenty of time… Maybe I can grab something to eat.
Most of the area around the stop was rice paddies and private homes, but a few shops—a stationery store and a restaurant—stood near the school entrance.
I spotted what looked like a soup restaurant.
Nothing beats soup for breakfast.
Come to think of it, the only things I’d eaten since waking up in this body were the bland side dishes and barley rice the landlady’s daughter had served last night. I’d skipped breakfast this morning too, so I was quite hungry. I turned to Lee Yuha.
“Have you eaten?”
“I… brought morning meal with me.”
Brought it meaning she had already eaten, or that she was carrying it? From the phrasing, it sounded like the latter. I said,
“Then go on ahead. I skipped breakfast, so I’ll grab something.”
“As you wish…”
“And try not to get on the wrong bus again.”
“……”
It felt a little worrying to send someone who couldn’t even ride a bus properly up the mountain alone. Still… she wasn’t a child, and the academy was just up the path. Other students were already heading up. She’d be fine.
After watching Lee Yuha start up the trail, I lifted the noren curtain at the soup shop’s entrance and stepped inside. It wasn’t just soup—they served seolleongtang, noodles, udon, and more. Basically the 1930s version of a school-front kimbap restaurant.
“Oh! Isn’t that you?”
The moment I entered, a scruffy-haired guy with glasses called out from the corner. It was Song Byeong-o.
“Hey. Morning.”
“I never imagined a bourgeois like you would set foot in such a humble establishment… Ah, right. I promised not to talk like that anymore. Come, sit here with me. I just ordered.”
“Sure.”
I ordered seolleongtang and sat beside him. The shop was nearly empty except for three male students in the same uniform eating udon a few tables away.
Something occurred to me, so I asked,
“By the way, what year were you born?”
Lee Yuha had turned out to be the same age, but it was still common for students in the same grade to differ in age. It wouldn’t hurt to check with Song Byeong-o too.
He pushed up his glasses as if the question was strange.
“Obviously I was born in the tenth year of Taisho.”
Goddamn it, why can’t you just say 1921? I really want to punch you in the philtrum!
Please, just use the Western calendar!
Stop using these weird era names like Sinyu year or Taisho whatever—it’s so confusing…
“But why ask my age? The Hunter Academy only accepts new students who are exactly seventeen. You must be the same.”
“Huh…?”
A professional school offering higher education only accepted students who were precisely seventeen? In an era without mandatory age-based education, was that even possible?
Then again, maybe it was because of the academy’s unique nature as a Hunter Academy. Most people awakened at fifteen or sixteen. Awakening potential decreased with age. So perhaps they ignored other academic requirements and simply admitted anyone who had awakened by seventeen.
So all the new students are 1921 births, all seventeen. Good—I don’t have to worry about age gaps.
While I was thinking, a steaming bowl of seolleongtang with rice mixed in appeared before me.
“Here it is. Dig in.”
“Oh…”
I wondered what seolleongtang from the 1930s would taste like. I took a big spoonful of the hot broth along with rice.
“Mmm!”
Unlike the increasingly sterile 21st century with its obsession over “wellness,” this was rich with MSG. Yes—this was real mother’s cooking. I opened my mouth in admiration.
“This place’s seolleongtang is truly first-rate. The broth is so thick and—”
“Have you been here before?”
“Just talking. Don’t mind me.”
“Hah, you really are a strange one.”
We traded pointless banter while eating. The male students at the opposite table frowned and muttered among themselves.
This pisses me off.
We hadn’t even been talking that loudly. Was exchanging a few words really a “nuisance”? Koreans eating Korean food and speaking Korean in a Korean restaurant on Korean soil, and these Japanese punks had the nerve to complain. It was infuriating.
But—
Just endure it…
I quietly kept eating.
I had already decided to graduate from this school. Incidents like this would happen often. If I caused trouble every time, it would affect not only my school life but my graduation as well. Any fight would clearly result in school rules being applied against the Korean student—me.
Besides, those Japanese boys looked like delinquents at a glance. Best to avoid getting involved with their kind.
“Let’s go. I’ll pay.”
“Huh? O-okay.”
We had nearly finished eating anyway, and it was time to head up. I took out a few coins, placed them on the table, and said,
“Thanks for the meal.”
I was about to leave when someone lifting the noren curtain walked in and we came face to face.
“…!”
It was a girl with black hair that carried a reddish tint—Renka.
“Uh… Renka?”
Meeting an unexpected person in an unexpected place left me slightly flustered.
…Why was she here, of all places?
The shop did serve Japanese dishes like udon and soba, but it was still just a humble local eatery. In 21st-century terms, it was the equivalent of a kimbap restaurant. Not exactly the kind of place a noble “young lady”—the only daughter of a duke and branch head of a major hunter guild—would visit first thing in the morning.
Sensing my wariness, Renka tilted her head slightly, smiled with her eyes, and said,
…On a hunch? Really?
Feeling suspicious, I threw out a line similar to what Song Byeong-o might say.
While we stood near the entrance exchanging greetings, the Japanese male students who had been mocking us earlier started sneering again.
I closed my eyes, pinched the bridge of my nose, and took a deep breath.
Huu. Just endure it. They say one murder prevents three instances of “endure.”
If it had just been earlier, maybe I could have ignored it. But now Renka was here too. If a Korean like me got into a fight with these Japanese students, whose side would a Japanese noble like Renka take?
At that exact moment, I felt a long strand of black hair brush past me. I opened my eyes and turned.
Renka?
She strode straight past me toward the Japanese boys and—
SLAP!
—delivered a sharp, merciless slap across the face of the one who seemed to be their leader.