The "No" Epidemic
I burned the entirety of Saturday, then spent Sunday resting like there was no tomorrow.
I'd hand Nabi a current-events program for kids and munch on the leftover snacks while killing time watching variety shows on my phone. Sweet, blissful relaxation, you might call it.
What made it even sweeter was that I'd left my phone on all through Sunday and not a single call or message came in.
I was worried my face got plastered across the news after being caught on camera in all its glory.
Well, what do you know — turns out I was the one who caught the celebrity disease.
Anyway, the conclusion: I enjoyed a peaceful weekend without anyone's interference. And that's exactly why, even as a teacher, I dreaded going to work come Monday.
[What's "work"?]
"Hell."
[Hell? You don't like it?]
"It's... not exactly my favorite, no?"
However cute and sweet the children waiting for me might be, I was still human. Even I hated going to work.
[Then shall we go to eternal rest? It's nice there.]
Whoa. Fully awake now.
"No, actually, come to think of it, work doesn't seem that bad. Eternal rest can wait."
Bless you. Thanks to you, I've got my motivation back.
I promised to live long and healthy and put off that visit to eternal rest as long as humanly possible.
But for all my newfound zeal, a terrifying infectious plague was waiting for me at the kindergarten.
"Ugh, I'm dying. Who started this trend?"
"Thank goodness our little ones are still so young~ This is why epidemics are terrifying."
"Won-Gang and Dayeong too.... They've been repeating the exact same thing all day."
"We all know who the culprit is."
The utterly exhausted adults lay sprawled around the teachers' lounge, muttering one complaint after another.
I took a sip of coffee and gave Kang Sagwa an awkward smile.
"Haha, Noah definitely does have a knack for that sort of thing. Very trend-sensitive, our Noah."
Sharp glares shot across the room.
Wow, so now a man can't even joke.
If even Park Edeun, normally so deferential to me, was looking at me like that... then yeah, it must really be rough.
Not that I could do anything about it. Because this was a chronic illness with no cure, no vaccine, nothing. Time heals all, as they say.
"Just hold out, and eventually it always passes. All right, let's power through the rest of the afternoon!"
I pumped my fist in the air for show and beat a hasty retreat from the lounge.
I'd tried to smooth things over with a brave face, but truth be told, I wasn't in any better shape than the rest of them.
Today's been an uphill battle for me too.
I climbed to the third floor and opened the door to the Dolphin Class classroom.
"All right, everyone — has everyone put away their toys?"
When I called out in my gentlest voice, the little heads turned toward me one by one.
A sly, knowing grin.
A delighted smile.
A startled face.
Hands scrambling to clean up in a panic.
And yet, the sentence that came out of every single mouth was somehow all the same.
"No! I wasn't playing with them!"
"Me neither! Lee Seora didn't do it either!"
"Making a mess is more fun."
"Teacher, Noah says you're not supposed to tell him what to do."
"Um... this is how you say it, right?"
...Yes. That plague, the one sweeping the kindergarten, was the "No" disease.
Also known as: the advanced stage of the "I don't wanna" disease.
Patient zero? Our very own Kim Noah.
Noah, buddy. Right up until this weekend, we were friends, weren't we?
We survived a brush with death together and made it back alive! Granted, you didn't seem to have any idea what was going on...!
Thank goodness you didn't know...!
Still, this feels a bit like a betrayal.
Whatever part of it he found funny, Noah had spread the "No" disease to all his friends the moment he arrived at school. And if that wasn't enough, during the short group activity time that morning, our class had gone on to infect the entire student body.
Truly staggering infection rates. Only the 3-year-old classes had narrowly escaped the plague, thanks to their tender age.
-You just have to say NO! No matter what!
-Aidh yeo?
The 3-year-olds couldn't even get the pronunciation out.
...Which is why every teacher except Yoo Jinchae, who handled the 3-year-old Jellyfish Class, was dying on their feet.
Everything triggered a "No!", and from age five and up, countless mutated strains of the disease were being generated on the spot.
Behold, everyone. This is the dignity of a 7-year-old.
"What exactly is it called when you clean everything up and then insist you didn't?"
"I'm gonna mess it up again now."
"Lee Seoro is? Then me too!"
"No~ no~ no~"
"Noah, you're gonna get a smack if you keep that up."
"......Um."
I rested my hands on my hips and looked down at them for a while.
Three children hopelessly, completely absorbed in saying "No." One child whose participation was optional at best. And then...
One child who seemed to find even the word "No" itself difficult.
Cheonji.
"......No... yes?"
When our eyes met, her voice trailed off at the end, shrinking smaller and smaller.
I glanced sideways at Cheonji, who was acting different from usual.
Hm?
The "No" epidemic raged on for quite a while after that, and naturally, my workload doubled along with it... but it also produced some genuinely funny moments.
In the afternoon, we headed out to the outdoor playground.
Nestled among the children playing house in the sandpit, I naturally got roped into their game.
"Teacher, try this."
I accepted what Taejae politely offered up with both hands.
"Ooh~ this looks delicious!"
...A sand rice ball studded with pebbles.
But I am a professional.
Convincing the kids that I was genuinely eating it? No problem at all.
As the sand rice ball gradually vanished, Noah clapped beside me and handed over something else.
"Wow! Teacher, you really ate it? Then try this one too!"
...Are you messing with me?
Smiling as Noah offered up a nearby wood chip, announcing it was seasoned wild greens, I played along with that too.
"Well, well. Our Noah... has brought us a very tasty vegetable side dish."
"Yep! Stir-fried spinach! My mommy made it!"
So we're playing the mother card, huh.
I chuckled and gave a masterful performance of gnawing on the hard twig. The trick: pretend to put it in your mouth, then discreetly angle it out of the kids' sight and snap the twig off bit by bit against your shoulder...
"Whoooaa! You really ate it? Teacher, you really are an alien...!"
Convincing enough that they genuinely believed I'd swallowed it.
"Alien?"
At that moment, Taejae cocked his head at Noah's muttering. Noah flinched hard when his eyes met mine — and then shouted at the top of his lungs.
"PUHAHAHA! Teacher, you're such a piggy! You ate the whole thing!"
...Honestly, Noah, I think being outed as an alien would've hurt less.
So it was, around the time I'd finished a few more rounds of pretending to eat the various hazardous materials disguised as food that the children kept handing me, when an unwelcome voice drifted over from the fence.
"Hehe, it's truly no trouble at all. Thanks to the Director taking such good care of things, the kindergarten runs even better than before..."
"Oh, please, you give me too much credit... Oh? Haha, look over there. Watching the children play outside like that really does lift the spirits."
"...Hm? Ah, yes, indeed.... Perhaps it's the nice weather that's brought them all out."
I turned my head to see a middle-aged man in a full suit standing beside the principal.
The two of them stood shoulder to shoulder watching us, then slowly opened the kindergarten's front gate and came inside.
Now what is this?
I was deeply worried they were about to barge into the kids' playtime and ruin the mood for no reason...
But as the principal drew closer, something about his vibe was off. Very off.
He is checking that man's reactions like crazy, isn't he?
From the conversation I'd overheard, this man was apparently a BOND director too.
And yet the way the principal had dealt with the group of directors at the photo time on our last field trip was completely different from this.
How to put it — back then and now, he was equally desperate to curry favor. But with this one, he seemed to be trying harder to come across as, well, a decent human being.
Their conversation, growing clearer as they approached, only reinforced the impression.
"I couldn't personally see the children off on the last field trip — something came up — and I can't tell you how sorry I was about that."
"Oh no, please don't say that. Your donation alone is more than enough. You gave five million won back then too—"
"A donation is hardly difficult. It's just handing over money."
"That's the hardest part of all, sir. Yes indeed, the hardest."
Hold on a moment.
Five million won?
From what I'd heard, the directors who came to the field trip had handed over a grand total of 150,000 won as a "snack fund."
Five million won, my foot — I doubt a single one of them donated even 50,000 won per head.
If this man's words were true, then the director headed toward me right now had given the enormous sum of five million won and, far from bragging about it, was busy apologizing.... Was he genuinely, purely looking out for our kindergarten?
If that was the case, I'd have to verify the facts, obviously... but one thing was now certain.
The principal absolutely cannot afford to lose this man's favor.
And sure enough, the principal's bright greeting rang out from behind.
"Teacher Na Hwiyeon! Are you playing with the children?"
In a polite tone he would never in a million years have used with me before.
I rose from my spot, brushing the sand off, and answered.
A serene smile, free of charge.
"Yes, the weather's just too nice to stay inside."
And I gave a slight bow to the middle-aged man as well. At that, the man smiled warmly and spoke up.
"A pleasure to meet you. I'm just an ordinary uncle? who works at this company. Haha!"
Right, Director. If that's more comfortable for you, ordinary uncle it is.
"Nice to meet you, sir."
"I know you work hard. My, the children are adorable."
The man smiled fondly at our kids, half-buried in the sandpit. The principal, fidgeting anxiously beside him, looked like he wanted nothing more than to escape the scene.
"Well then, if we're not going to stand around here—"
"Teacher!"
But with Noah's sudden appearance, the principal was forced to swallow his words.
"Tell us which one of the things we made tastes the best!"
Noah pointed at the outdoor table, where plastic plates had been laid out.
And at that moment, a brilliant idea struck me.
I smiled.
...Our dear principal, whose entire job description seems to consist of drinking and napping.
Let's see you play along, shall we?
"Sounds great, Noah. But could you share some with the principal too? Delicious things should be eaten together."
And so it came to pass: the Dolphin Class Grand Tasting Contest.
"Haha, I'll just be your ordinary-uncle MC. My, it's been a while since I did something like this — how embarrassing."
At my suggestion, the director — whose kindly smile suited him remarkably well — took the MC's role.
The five little chefs were introduced one by one, and finally, the honored tasting judges were... me, and the principal grinning painfully at my side.
"First up, we have Lee Seora's chocolate muffin!"
Thud.
A lump of mud wrapped in leaves was set down on the table, plate and all. Pebbles pressed into it like chocolate chips — extra credit for realism.
I nodded like a true gourmand and took a big, decisive bite.
Or at least, I performed one.
At a glance, it looks like I really ate it, right?
"Uh, uh, Teacher Hwiyeon...? You actually ate that?!"
The principal asked me outright, flustered, and I shamelessly nodded.
"Yes, it's quite delicious. I give Chef Lee Seora ten points."
Clap clap clap. A round of applause swept past, and then every eye in the yard fixed on one person.
The principal, still holding the chocolate muffin.
Steeling himself, the principal took a cursory pretend-bite of the mud and hastily opened his mouth.
"W-wow. It's so tasty!"
However, there was one thing the principal had failed to account for...
Our class had long since been thoroughly trained by my hyper-realistic mukbang acting.
At the very least, the lump of mud called a chocolate muffin would need to diminish by some visible amount before anyone would buy it...
"You didn't eat it."
There it is.
Seora declared, eyes brimming with suspicion.
"I-I did eat it."
"No. You didn't eat it."
What's more, thanks to the "No" disease, prying even a single affirmative answer out of the children today was next to impossible.
"Come on, look. Aaahm — delicious!"
Opening his mouth wide, the principal shook the dirt right off the fingers that had been gripping the mud.
Tsk tsk. I gave a small shake of my head.
Doing that... is going to tank his approval ratings.
"Principal! You can't do that if you throw away food!"
"...N-no, I ate it."
"You didn't eat it! You didn't! Why are you lying!!"
"......"
The principal looked to me in a panic, but I simply observed the situation with the innocent, guileless eyes of a kindergarten teacher.
The director, our MC, merely smiled benignly, as if enjoying a good comedy sketch.
Here was the thing: if the principal wanted to avoid landing on the director's bad side, he had no choice but to navigate this situation as smoothly and obediently as possible.
"Principal, please hurry up and taste it, and give us your evaluation."
Taejae politely raised the muffin in the principal's hand up to his lips. Dry earth brushed against the principal's lips — and fell away.
At the same time, his pupils darted left and right.
All around him, eyes pure and brimming with curiosity sparkled in unison.
And finally...
Under the suffocating pressure, the principal opened his mouth.
And then...
-Crunch.
He bit down.
Into the lump of mud disguised as a chocolate muffin.
For real.
Oh?