Aka. The Dongaksan Brawlers

Park Edeun's eyes spun in place, searching for an escape route.

I grabbed his arm before he could bolt and yanked him toward me, then pointed straight at the window whose shattered glass had left a gaping hole.

"When I give the signal, I need you to lay that ivy on the outer wall across the entire classroom ceiling. Can you do it?"

"…Yes. Yeah. A classroom ceiling, that's… that I can do."

"Great. Then it's all yours."

Okay. One problem solved.

"Teacher Edeun, please stand by here. Everyone else, please evacuate with the remaining children in case anything else happens. And make sure you call in a rescue request, too."

At my words, Kang Sagwa and Kwon Haeseong bolted down the stairs without a moment's hesitation.

And Yoo Jinchae, the only one left behind… was making a phone call to someone with a strangely satisfied look on her face.

I'd made my decision, so there was no room for hesitation now.

I walked past the tense Park Edeun toward the window.

Then I hoisted one of the children's chairs lying scattered on the floor above my head and gave it a few practice swings through the air.

This weight is about right, and I don't think it'll break too easily.

Without further ado, I raised the chair high and brought it down with all my might.

Onto a perfectly intact pane of glass.

-Crash!!!

One step at a time, I smashed every window in sight like breaking tiles at a festival. A searing heat and a dull, stinging ache throbbed across my palms.

Turns out having fixed windows instead of ones that open— supposedly for safety reasons—is a real problem at a time like this.

Once every window in the classroom was shattered, the wind came roaring in with a metallic shriek.

Catching my breath, I looked toward the twins, still a good distance away.

Just as I'd feared, the furniture stacked up like a barricade around them had caught fire in an instant, flames licking hungrily upward.

That was exactly why I'd abandoned any attempt to get close and chosen to fight the fire instead.

If the flames grew even a little larger, I figured the whole thing could come crashing down before I ever reached the kids.

Thump, thump. Listening to my heartbeat pound in my ears, I took a short, deep breath.

……The groundwork was done.

Now came the most important preparation of all.

Tense, I awkwardly fingered my right earlobe. My fingers caught on the hard metal of my earring.

As I swiped briefly down the silver earring, heated warm from the fire—

An unwelcome message floated up into the empty air.

-Ding!

Fluorescent lines of text flickered up one after another at a terrifying speed.

Suppressing the nausea rising in my throat, I forced out my answer.

"……No."

I politely declined.

What I wanted was something else entirely, so I waited quietly.

And a short while later, a new message appeared.

Accept.

……

A neon-sign status window straight out of a video game, plus the bizarre commentary that attaches itself every single time I use my ability.

As you can see, there's more than one or two things off-putting about being a Tamer.

But the part that really drives me insane is this:

An ability that other Awakeners use as naturally as breathing—I have to go through this whole tedious procedure every single time. Whenever I want to do anything beyond simply communicating with animals. Always.

And considering what this mysterious status window used to babble at me in the past…

It claimed that only this [Lower Open Source] functioned as an actual Tamer ability.

'Everyone else manages just fine. Why me?!'

One minute that felt like an hour crawled by, and then, finally—

-Ding!

'Finally!'

That's more than I expected?

For a city choked wall-to-wall with concrete, it was a respectable showing.

I looked over the names of the various animals floating in the air.

For my plan to work, the animal needed to be able to climb vines, be small and nimble, and above all, be able to use its teeth or paws.

And the animals that best fit all those conditions were…

'Squirrels, flying squirrels, mice… and maybe the guinea pig.'

…Yeah, let's be honest with ourselves.

For someone whose ability is taming, I have embarrassingly little basic knowledge about animals.

'All I know about those four is that they're rodents… That's it.'

'The guinea pig's too fat to climb vines anyway.'

So I dropped the guinea pig from the list of four candidates and called out, 'anyone.'

But really, who would have guessed that anyone would actually answer?

"……!"

Who on earth are they??

My soul briefly left my body; it took a few seconds for my stalled train of thought to get moving again.

'Ha—whatever. First things first…!'

"Teacher Park Edeun! Now!!"

I shouted the moment I confirmed [RESPONSE COMPLETE] on the status window.

A moment later, the ivy surged up the outer wall like a wave, racing toward the window.

The writhing vines sprouted and stretched at a grotesquely fast rate, swarming up the classroom's inner walls and wrapping the ceiling in a thick blanket of green.

'The sprinkler area looks completely covered now.'

Watching the emerald tangle of vines intertwine and spread, I lowered my gaze.

Next came…

Right on cue, four flying squirrels burst out of the kindergarten's flower bed.

'No way those aren't the Dongaksan Brawlers.'

But no way turned out to be exactly right. The swagger with which they scaled the vines was anything but ordinary.

"……"

I looked down at the four flying squirrels that had somehow arrived in front of me. My conscience made my chest ache.

'I may have called them, but… is this really right?'

Staring at creatures smaller than my palm, well… the heart does what it wants.

No—look at them go. Do you see how they're coming back?

'It's not like I have the luxury of picking and choosing.'

Survive first. Ask questions later.

"Could you do me a favor? You see that tape between the vines over there? All I need is for you to peel it off. Think you can manage?"

The four flying squirrels, each slightly different in appearance, nodded their heads in the affirmative.

"Just the tape. Don't get hurt."

Just in case, I gave them a firm warning too.

Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh.

The moment their mission was assigned, they shot up the vines and reached the ceiling in a flash. Darting this way and that with startling agility, they closed in on the sprinklers.

Watching the flying squirrels gnaw away at the hard rubber tape, I ran a sweat-soaked hand roughly through my hair.

You can do this.

It's not too late yet.

-Thud. Thud. Thud.

One by one, the strips of tape came loose and dropped away. The falling scraps hit the flames below and vanished into the air in wisps of smoke.

And then, at last, when the last of the tough tape blocking the sprinklers fell away—

-Fire emergency. Fire emergency.

-Fire in the annex building.

-All personnel inside the building, please evacuate immediately.

-WEEEEEEOOOOOOOO WEEEEOOOOO!!!

Water came pouring down from the ceiling.

"…Got it."

"Do you think he'll be all right?"

I was in the middle of catching my breath after herding the children, chaos and all, into the headquarters building when Kang Sagwa turned to Kwon Haeseong beside her and asked.

Unlike the anxious Kang Sagwa, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Haeseong looked outwardly calm. Almost too calm.

Like a man who had every reason to believe.

"After telling him to butt out…. You were pretty ruthless about it, weren't you?"

Haeseong said it teasingly, deliberately.

His body still felt stiff, though. He glanced down at Kang Sagwa, who remained frozen in her tension.

"That's just what it takes—everyone has to go through it once. If he's going to quit anyway, the sooner the better."

"……"

His unhurried gaze drifted back toward the third floor of the kindergarten, still engulfed in flames.

'Fair point.'

Kwon Haeseong had joined the kindergarten the moment it was founded, and he'd seen every single one of the Dolphin Class homeroom teachers who'd ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠cycled through—already more than he could count.

And he'd seen how every one of them ended, too.

Resignation.

Whatever the reason, none of them lasted a month.

Some threw down their resignation letters sobbing like children. Some exploded in fury and wrecked the place. And there was one absolute piece of trash who verbally abused the kids and then simply vanished.

And every time one of them left, the vacant workload was divided up among the remaining teachers.

They buried themselves in it, with everything they had.

'The workload doubled…'

It was grueling, but everyone held on for the sake of the children left behind. Covering each other's classes and splitting duties between them, they'd built something rough around the edges but lately, it had been finding its footing.

Except… the moment you hired someone new, it all reset.

So much so that the remaining teachers had come to believe having no Dolphin Class teacher at all was better than hiring one.

And into that situation appeared the new teacher, Na Hwiyeon.

"You think he'll quit…"

At Kang Sagwa's murmur, even Haeseong couldn't argue.

"Honestly…"

It would be strange if he didn't quit after living through that disaster.

And yet…

'Such a waste.'

Setting aside everything else, looking at Na Hwiyeon alone—wasn't it a shame?

That ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠smile, the kind that brightened anyone who saw it, and a composed manner unusual for a newcomer.

And above all, his degree in early childhood education—that was the most precious part of all.

'Isn't there some way to hold on to him a little longer?'

The teachers at this kindergarten had all come here for their own reasons simply to look after the children; when it came to actual pedagogy, they knew next to nothing.

They studied on their own and did their best, but there was no comparing them to a real professional.

"This is why I said we shouldn't show him…!"

Kang Sagwa grumbled, her shoulders now heaving in indignation.

"We couldn't hide it forever…. You agreed to it too."

"Knowing that doesn't make it less fast! What good is him being a nice person now?!"

"……And yet you were awfully ruthless about shoving him into the fire pit."

"I tried to stop it at first, and when that didn't work, I figured let whatever happens happen."

"Wait. The apology—was that when you asked him if he could take responsibility, and he actually agreed?"

"……"

Good grief. Apparently so.

Na Hwiyeon, who would soon be screaming about quitting, replayed in her mind in glorious 4D augmented reality.

Kwon Haeseong barely managed to hold back a sigh.

"We didn't leave anything behind, did we?"

Kang Sagwa muttered it almost as a way of changing the subject, glancing around conspicuously.

"No, we should be fine. The rest of the kids are all here, and I don't think… we forgot anyone."

"Aren't you worried, oppa?"

"Of course I'm worried… But Jinchae noona is still in there."

It would be all right. If Yoo Jinchae remained at the kindergarten, she would secure the safety of the twins and the remaining teachers no matter what it took.

This wasn't faith. It was closer to certainty.

"I regret it so much. The twins seemed unusually sensitive today—I should have done everything in our power to block it at our level."

Watching Kang Sagwa pat the back of the child in her arms, trying desperately to soothe her own anxiety, Haeseong gave a wry smile.

"We didn't know Teacher Hwiyeon was going to come up, remember?"

His first greeting had gone completely sideways, so he'd gone to visit the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠classroom separately—and walked in on the twins fighting.

It was the very, very beginning of the fight, and while they were debating whether they should break it up themselves or report it to the new teacher, the whole thing had blown up in their faces.

They'd tried to intervene after the fact, but…

'He was so firmly against using a restraint device…'

Na Hwiyeon's attitude had been so resolute that they'd simply been swept along by his conviction.

Either way, with things having turned out like this, all they could do was trust Yoo Jinchae and wait.

He gently stroked the head of Lee Wongang, one of his own Seal Class students, dozing on the sofa.

"Sorry, did the noise wake you? There's a problem with the kindergarten building, so we had to come out here. Dayeong is… still asleep, I see."

"The children must have known it was nap time, because they're all out cold. It's chaos outside, and they have no idea."

"Thank goodness…"

A small mercy in the middle of misfortune. It happened to coincide exactly with nap time, so the children were lost in deep sleep, blissfully unaware of whatever pandemonium raged outside. Fishing them out of bed like catching fish had been no trouble at all.

However…

"Gasp! What is that?"

"Sh-shouldn't we call someone? 119! 119!"

"Oh my god, what is going on. That's the kindergarten building, isn't it!"

"Whoa, that's the daycare our manager's kid goes to!"

She couldn't stop the growing commotion around them. Company employees passing through the lobby had noticed the children who'd suddenly appeared, looked puzzled, then glanced toward the kindergarten—and the murmurings began.

"O-oppa…"

Haeseong, who'd been tidying up Wongang and Dayeong's sleeping arrangements, lifted his head at Kang Sagwa's call.

"What is it, Sagwa…?"

Then he read the alarming look in her eyes.

"What is tha—"

"……!!"

Before she could even finish, Kwon Haeseong was already sprinting into the distance.

Toward the kindergarten, which was heaving everything inside the classroom out through its shattered windows.