First Meeting (2)
I was sure I'd just peeled the bothersome Lee Hyunwoo off me and was getting ready for first period.
The next thing I knew, fourth period had already ended and lunchtime was upon us.
Lee Hyunwoo stayed put in the classroom, watching me flop face-down onto my desk in preparation for a nap, and asked,
"Lunch?"
"You know the drill. Skipping again today."
"Dude, you're still growing. You need a solid meal if you want to get taller."
"…Growth already finished, and a hundred seventy-eight centimeters is plenty for me."
With that final answer, I jammed in my earphones to signal I had nothing more to say, then buried my head between my arms.
After lunch came the afternoon classes.
The teacher who walked in for fifth period, just like the morning ones, handed the students free time. The reason, supposedly, was to let everyone adjust to the new semester and greet new friends.
And true to form for a rom-com male lead, the moment free time was granted, Lee Hyunwoo headed to the back of the classroom and started mixing with another group of kids. Watching him, I stayed slumped over my desk and quietly lit up my phone screen.
I was hunting for a subject for my next piece.
Something with a decent level of difficulty, popular enough, and above all completely safe from copyright issues. I scrolled with that filter in mind until my eyes snagged on an image of a classical bust.
It was the familiar, friendly Agrippa bust that seemed to roll around in every art room corner. The muscular contours and bold features looked perfect for clay practice.
This is the one for the next piece.
Mission accomplished, I switched off the screen and began roughly sketching the work in my head while praying for the final bell.
At last the after-school hour arrived, and I found myself in the multipurpose room tucked into a quiet corner of the fifth floor. This was my private temporary studio, won last year as a first-year in exchange for sculpting a bust of the principal. The stroke of genius had been rendering his sparse crown—his personal complex—far fuller and more elegant than the real thing.
I confirmed the "Authorized Personnel Only" sign hanging from the doorknob with my eyes, then stepped inside.
My studio, entered for the first time in two months, looked as if no one had so much as swept it since the day it was abandoned. Sunlight pouring through the windows lit up the dust that filled every corner of the space.
"Haa… this is exactly why you never take payment in advance."
Feeling my faith in humanity dip a notch, I pulled a tin case from my bag and lined up my tools neatly on the battered table: wire cutter, loop tool, spatula.
Next I unwrapped a lump of modeling clay from its plastic and set it on the workboard.
About four months since I last touched this stuff?
It felt strangely nostalgic. Last year I'd stuck mostly to wood carving while I tried to get my feel back.
Anyway—digression aside—before building the actual armature, the most important prep work was completely driving out every air pocket hidden inside the clay. Just like how the foundation of a building gets the longest, most meticulous attention before anything goes up. Same idea.
"Of course, necessary or not, it's still a royal pain."
I rolled up the sleeves of my school shirt and gripped the clay lump with both hands. Putting my weight into it, I pressed the clay flat against the board, folded it in half, and rolled it back into a ball.
Thwack. Thud!
The sticky clay struck the board with dull, rhythmic sounds. What I was doing was the spiral-twisting, pressing technique known as kkomak-milki.
As time passed, clay that had started out stiff as a rock gradually softened under the heat and pressure of my palms into a smooth, springy texture.
"Oh… this should be about right."
To check, I clenched my fist and sliced the clay cleanly in half with the wire cutter. The cross-section revealed flawless, bubble-free flesh.
"Perfect. Absolutely perfect."
I rounded the thoroughly wedged clay into a ball and set it dead center on the turntable. Just as I reached for the wire that would become the armature—
Bang—!
The multipurpose room door, which I hadn't locked, flew open with force. The "No Entry" sign had been hanging perfectly fine outside. But that wasn't the real problem.
Before I could even think, someone came barreling through the open door and then, in complete contrast to their entrance, quietly shut it behind them.
"Hoo… hoo… ahh, that was rough."
The intruder gasped for breath and quickly crouched beneath the classroom windows. Her hair roots had grown out black—dye job a while ago—while below them cascaded a long, eye-searingly bright blonde. Yet more striking than the two-tone hair were features so unrealistically pretty they almost didn't belong in this world.
Whoa… she's ridiculously gorgeous.
But why did she feel somehow familiar?
The intruder peeked just the tiniest bit of her head out, confirmed something, then exhaled in relief and muttered,
"Ha, damn it~ How the hell am I supposed to deal with those criminal bastards? Do they not even realize what they're doing is straight-up stalking?"
The harsh content was completely at odds with a voice that fully lived up to her looks. If possible, I would have liked to keep it playing beside me the whole time I worked.
The girl kept spitting curses in an irritated tone for a while, then unzipped the bag slung over her shoulder. She pulled out a pouch, fished a small hand mirror from inside, and began combing her fingers through her thoroughly mussed hair while peering into the glass.
Even while still panting like someone who'd just run for her life, she carefully adjusted the volume of her bangs—exactly the sort of thing a high-school girl at the peak of caring about her appearance would do.
Drawn by that strangely magnetic charm, I simply watched the uninvited guest with a length of wire still in one hand.
Then, the moment she finished fixing her hair and turned her head to put the pouch back in her bag, our eyes finally met.
"…… Uh."
Her pupils slowly widened. Her mouth froze half-open. She seemed so startled her brain had simply blue-screened.
Hmm… what now?
I could have waited for her to speak first, but this was my private space and I really wanted to get back to work. After a brief moment of thought, I opened my mouth.
"Word is this room is used by some random loner, so people almost never come in. Catch your breath for a bit and then head out. Looks like you've got some kind of situation…"
"… Uh, eh?"
Even after I spoke kindly, the girl still couldn't pull herself together. Wondering how to snap her out of it so she'd leave quickly, I grabbed my bag from beside me, took out a small plastic container, opened the lid, and crouched down in front of the girl who was staring holes through my face with a wary look. I held out a walnut from inside.
"……."
The girl, who had been looking up at me with eyes full of suspicion, eventually reached out as if entranced and picked up a single walnut. She still seemed unable to drop her guard completely, yet carefully popped it into her mouth and began working her small jaw with diligence.
Crunch, crunch.
Movements just like a hamster cracking sunflower seeds. The sound of hard walnut shells being industriously crushed filled the multipurpose room for a moment.
Not long after she swallowed the walnut, the girl finally seemed to regain her senses and spoke in a slightly sheepish voice.
"I… sorry. Bursting in like that must've freaked you out, right?"
"Nah, I wasn't exactly shocked…"
Even while offering a quick apology, her hand drifted naturally back to the plastic container, scooped up a few more walnuts, and brought them to her lips. She chewed with both cheeks puffed out, then shot me a sidelong glance and continued.
"That's a relief, then. More importantly—what you said earlier. Is this place really your private space? Nobody comes in?"
"Yes… it's an arrangement with the principal. Even the cleaning duty kids don't bother opening this door."
"For real?"
At my answer her face visibly brightened.
"Then can I hide here just for a little while? Only until my manager unnie drives around to the back of the school."
Manager? What kind of manager?
An idol, maybe? Her looks were criminal enough that not being one would almost be a crime itself.
No, that's not the point.
The space was plenty big, and I had no desire to start an unnecessary argument by kicking her out. More importantly, I needed to get the armature set before the clay lost its moisture, so I was already in a hurry.
I gave a short nod and stood up.
"Go ahead. Just don't interrupt me while I'm working."
"Uh… uh?"
I said it casually, as if it were nothing, and started turning back toward the turntable. That was when I felt a scorching gaze looking up at me with eyes far wider than before. Even the mouth that had been diligently chewing walnuts had stopped.
"Um… this might sound a little weird, but… do you not know who I am?"
Her voice mixed bewilderment and disbelief.
I stopped walking and gave her a once-over from the crown of her head down to the hem of her uniform. Two-tone hair glittering in the sunlight, flawless clear skin, and features so flashy they almost hurt to look at. Standing on any street, nine out of ten people would turn their heads—that much was certain. In a rom-com world she was probably tangled up with that Lee Hyunwoo guy somehow. The detailed memory wouldn't come, but the familiarity was definite.
"Hmm… I feel like I've seen you somewhere, but I can't quite place it. Are you someone every Hanyoung High School student is supposed to know on sight?"
The instant I finished, the girl's jaw dropped.
"Whoa… whoa! Insane! This is the first time I've ever met a herbivore like this."
"Huh? Herbivore?"