Tell Me Your Dream

It was three in the afternoon. Naptime had come and gone, ushering in the day's officially sanctioned study time.

Contrary to all my dread, today had been sailing along without a hitch.

Maybe I worried for nothing.

But after surviving the disaster of day one, a man's shoulders tense up on their own. These past few hours of nothing happening had actually left me slightly suspicious of the calm.

……Well, no news is good news.

"Once Cheonji gets back, will everyone finally be together…."

He'd said the family trip would last about a week, so I figured I'd see his face sometime next week. The only question was whether the kindergarten would stay in one piece until then.

"Alright, is everyone ready~"

With that resolution behind me, I belted out the call-and-response with gusto.

"Yes! Yes, Teacher!"

The lesson I'd prepared today was honestly embarrassing to even call a lesson. I would read a fairy tale aloud, pull reactions out of the kids here and there, and sneak the Hangul practice in sideways. Call it playtime with about twenty percent education blended in.

"Teacher, what are we doing today?"

"Oh! Nam Taejae, let me guess! Hmm… transformation play, right?"

"Noah, isn't that just the thing you want to do?"

The children were practically vibrating with anticipation at the promise of doing something properly for once. Today's lineup was…

Lee Seoro, Lee Seora, Nam Taejae, and Kim Noah.

Plus two visitors from Seal Class, Lee Wongang and little Park Dayoung.

Ah, and one more participant who was not, strictly speaking, a child.

Kwon Haeseong.

While Dolphin Class was under repairs, the man had been drifting between us and the 6-year-old class, and had tagged along into today's lesson as a bonus. I had brought a few handmade storybooks from my university coursework, and Haeseong had brought… the notebook I'd seen on him the other day.

What on earth is he planning to do with that.

I glanced at the faint light gleaming in his eyes and hurriedly snatched up a storybook. What was with that look? Passion? Zeal? Whatever it was, it was intimidating. Doing my best to ignore that direction entirely, I turned the first page of the big handmade book.

Page by page, page by page, a vivid storybook performance unfolded with every turn.

I switched voices two or three times over, layering in a bit of facial acting for that extra touch of immersion.

"So, friends — do you think Tosik can make it to the Moon?"

And I didn't forget to lob in a surprise question like this every so often. That's how you keep the tension alive and the little listeners hooked.

"I think he can! My big brother told me that if you want something badly enough, you can make anything come true!"

Seora thrust her hand up so high it nearly left her shoulder, and I gave a solemn nod. That was the textbook reaction I'd been fishing for.

"I say no way! Even humans can barely get to the Moon, and a rabbit's gonna walk and talk?"

Unexpectedly, Noah had taken a documentary-realist position. A perfectly respectable viewpoint, that.

"I hope he can go. Otherwise the rabbit will be sad."

Little Wongang had a heart of gold.

"I believe he can make it."

"Huh? Nam Taejae, you too? I'm the only one who said no!"

Taejae paid Noah's outburst no mind and continued in his unhurried, scholarly way.

"I read it in a book. It said the first living being ever to ride a spaceship was not a person, but a dog. So then… I think that if a rabbit boards a spaceship, it could reach the Moon as well."

Deriving a conclusion from actual historical precedent. Impressive, honestly.

……As I listened to all these varied opinions about a book I'd made myself, the reason I'd written it in the first place drifted back to me.

Back then I was a brand-new university freshman, and I was in the thick of being frozen out of my own department. College life had been rougher than I'd imagined, and the major classes I'd looked forward to weren't the pure fun I'd expected, which left me pretty low.

Looking back now, of course I felt that way.

Confused and drifting as I was, I'd even gone so far as to agonize over whether I belonged in the Early Childhood Education department at all. In the end, Tosik from this book was a projection of the wandering kid I used to be.

Is it really the Moon that Tosik wants, or does he just want to leave the Earth behind? It was the kind of content that demanded a surprising amount of contemplation for a children's picture book, which is exactly how I'd sold it — all without a shred of shame. But the truth of it was simply a diary of that period, soaked in my indecision about whether to bolt from my own major.

……A mortifying chapter of my past, in other words.

Once I realized it was just a phase, I buckled down and got through it just fine. No, it wasn't fun, but I'd come equipped with a functioning social brain, so right up to graduation I managed without any major incidents.

So why had I brought this book today? Simple — setting my feelings aside, the thing had gotten genuinely good reviews.

That iron-fisted professor gave it an A+.

Compelling development, a moral, adorable illustrations. She'd praised it as a book that hit all three notes, so I'd figured it was a waste not to bring it along. I'd hoped, in some small way, the kids might enjoy it.

The children plunged straight back into the resumed story, gone in an instant. Mouths hanging open, oblivious to the passage of time — watching them, I felt a quiet swell of pride.

And yet, entirely apart from that pride, I couldn't stop a wistful little smile from forming.

Oh dear. What am I going to do? This is only Part One.

Predicting exactly where the fast-approaching Part One would end, I kept my mouth moving steadily toward that conclusion.

The round little eyes sparkled as if they'd dissolve into the book. Their bodies leaned farther and farther forward until, at last, their bottoms left the floor entirely.

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

"……Now what, oh what could it have been? And there, everyone, ends Part One of our story."

Utterly unbothered, I set the book down and hauled over the mobile learning board beside me.

"Before we begin Part Two — we've heard all about Tosik's dream, so now we simply must hear about your dreams too, don't you think? Using the word cards in front of you, let's each tell the class about the dream in your heart."

"Huh?? This is betrayal!"

"But I wanna know what happens next…."

"Teacher! So does Tosik get to the Moon or not? What comes after? When are you reading the rest?"

"……I want to go home."

I'm sorry, children. This whole thing was bait. This was the trap all along.

Arranged in a neat row across the learning board — which looked brand new, courtesy of the Seal Class — hung the Hangul word cards. And written across the top of them:

The program was simple: tie Tosik's dream of reaching the Moon to the children's own future aspirations, and have them share. The ultimate goal, of course, was to sneak in some Hangul practice using the word cards while we were at it.

Now then, let's see. Our very first volunteer would be…

Little Lee Seoro, the child whose dream was the most clearly defined.

At my suggestion that he go first, Seoro rose from his seat without a trace of shyness and walked ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠up to the board. There he stood, studying the Hangul cards fixed to it for a long moment, before beginning to pick them off one by one.

The magnetic cards gathered in sequence atop the board.

Once the consonants were laid down, he patiently added the vowels one after another — and the instant a single, perfectly assembled word stood complete on the board…

…I felt my soul leave my body. I stared at it, then turned to look at Kwon Haeseong.

Uh, um….

"What's Field Team Na?"

Around the time Na Hwiyeon was reeling at the appearance of a term he'd neither heard nor seen in his life — Field Team Na — the members of that very team were passing an unusually leisurely day.

"You know that feeling when you're a barista at a café on a suddenly post-apocalyptic Earth, and all you do is chat with the occasional customer who wanders in? That's me right now."

"…You're drawing out 'there's no work today' awfully long this morning."

Lee Seohyeok was hammering away at his keyboard, churning out a report — while his senior sprawled with his feet propped on the sofa table, yawning wide enough to swallow the room, and across from that senior, his other senior tended to equipment in silence. He typed to the rhythm of their banter.

How many pages were left on this report, again?

"Our maknae's not bored, is he? You sit in that chair all day at your fresh young age, you'll be old before your time."

Kang Howon stretched with a long, exaggerated crack of his spine. Seohyeok shook his head lightly in answer. It was a simple denial.

"Writing reports keeps the boredom at bay, sir. And we deploy soon besides, so I doubt I'll be sitting in this chair for long."

"…You sound exactly like the lunatic back at my place. 'Studying makes boredom less boring,' my ass."

"If you're bored, sir, shall I offer you something to do?"

Seohyeok said this as he lifted a thick bundle of documents off the shelf.

"……No thanks, you do it."

"Seohyeok, when do we ship out?"

Behind the groaning Kang Howon, Seohyeok's other senior, Choi Unseong, piped up. Seohyeok checked the watch on his wrist.

"Approximately fifty minutes from now. It's a government-side emergency assignment, as the Team Leader informed us in advance."

"Government-side? The hell does that mean. Nobody told me."

Unseong, done with the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠equipment maintenance, shot back a look of pure incredulity.

"…Well, obviously. You looked like you were floating on air over something yesterday, didn't you. There it is — she passed the mood along, and to Seohyeok alone, no less."

"Correct, sir. Though aside from the fact that it's a government-side emergency, she gave me no further information whatsoever."

"…And she still says she has no intention of fixing that attitude of yours? Ji-ah honestly thinks our entire team is made of lunatics. I'm dying of unfairness over here."

"Thus far… she has never once brought the matter up."

"Keep wishing. What can you expect from someone who clings to a single conviction with ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠her whole being."

At Choi Unseong's merciless words, Kang Howon wilted and slumped in his seat, sulking.

"No, but you know what Ji-ah said when she saw me? That rather than run a joint operation with us Team Na kids, she'd sooner go out with the Bada Kindergarten children. Said watching us work looks like we don't use our brains."

"Now that's going too far. What exactly did we ever do?"

"That's my whole point! We only do it because the Team Leader tells us to!"

…Can't really blame her, though.

Lee Seohyeok, in the privacy of his own head, found himself in complete agreement with Lee Ji-ah of Field Team A.

Time does not simply flow past without leaving a trace. Even Seohyeok, a man with no interest in office gossip, had been inescapably socialized into knowing this by now.

Team Leader of Field Team Na — Moon Chaeyoung.

His own direct superior, as it happened. And now that he knew her for what she was, she was, famously within the company… an utter lunatic.

'A human being who exists outside the bounds of common sense.'

And the single biggest reason she'd earned that title…

By BOND regulation, every field team was required to hold a meeting under its team leader's direction before every mission or commission — to assess the situation, coordinate strategy, and sort out personnel assignments.

And this was not a suggestion. It was mandatory.

'It's life-or-death work. You can't just charge in without a meeting. That's what common sense is.'

"Look, I fully agree that work should be enjoyed, all right? But telling us only right before deployment because 'too much information kills the fun' — unless the mission is on the knife's edge of life and death, apparently — she's our Team Leader, but she's honestly a raving lunatic."

That was the shape of it.

Kang Howon's near-wailing testimony all came down to a single conclusion.

'Our team skips the standard procedure.'

Moon Chaeyoung trusted her own abilities. She trusted her teammates' abilities, too.

Excessively so.

A personality warped to the edge of outright narcissism had curdled into the atmosphere of the entire team. And that, in turn, meant they'd stopped thinking even the thoughts that should have been automatic.

"Not, perhaps, the way an ordinary person thinks, no."

And so Field Team Na became the only field team in the company to tell the pre-mission briefing to go to hell.

At first, confronted with this fucking-for-brains thought process, Kang Howon and Choi Unseong had both thrown every fit imaginable. But once they'd actually tried it a time or two, it turned out to be… surprisingly fine, and so they'd muddled along exactly like this ever since.

Perhaps because of this mission-deployment method, a strange phenomenon had taken hold: every department, field teams included, came to avoid Field Team Na on sight — until, at last, they even earned a nickname.

'The Flower Garden Heads.'

As in, nothing growing in there but flowers. Not a single thought to be found…

The three aggrieved members had protested, had made excuses, had tried playing it cool — but the eyes that looked upon them showed no sign of ever changing.

And yet, there existed one fact that even Field Team Na — Moon Chaeyoung excepted — did not know.

The base of the lamp is always the darkest corner.

Namely: that the majority of the company's employees considered all of Field Team Na, Moon Chaeyoung included, to be the exact same breed of lunatic.

One glance at the company intranet board made that plain enough.

The members of Team Na, blissfully unaware that both the woman issuing these orders and the ones cheerfully obeying them were, together, entirely abnormal.

"Aigoo. Well, we've still gotta go, don't we? What choice is there? And if we do it again, we'll pull it off again, won't we?"

"That's precisely the problem, sir. Still… sometimes it really is fun, not knowing what's coming. Probably because it's a game of Russian roulette played with our lives."

"And yet managing to pull it off every single time is genuinely impressive of us all, if I may say so."

"…Hey, Seohyeok. You've got a silver tongue on you, you know that? Now that you've got some seniority, you're awfully quick on your feet in the field, too."

"I believe it comes with practice, sir. Since the information provided is so absolutely minimal, my reflexes and instincts have had no choice but to develop. Seeing that there's an upside like this, perhaps the Team Leader isn't entirely without forethought after all."

Truly, the subordinates were no different from the boss they served.

And a little while later, our Flower Garden Heads of Field Team Na, dispatched on their emergency assignment… would go on to repeat the exact same mistake.