No, Mine's Way Bigger!
"No way! Mine's way bigger! Way bigger!"
I'd had big dreams too when I first realized I was in Joseon. Overthrow the world with modern knowledge. Steer Joseon's future toward a brighter path. Turn this mere tributary state into an empire.
"Young master! Young master! Do it again!"
But someone had beaten me to it before I was even born. The Crown Prince, no less. In the end, all I could do was blow soap bubbles.
"Hooo~"
"Whoaaa!"
Candy from the teacher, water from the well, soap scraps from home. With those three, I whipped up some soap bubbles.
"Young master! One more time! One more!"
"Alright. Hooo~"
I dipped the end of the hollow reed into the soapy water and pulled it out. Put the other end in my mouth and blew gently. Tiny bubbles swelled up and floated into the air.
"Whoaaa! Hehehe! Hyah! Ah! Young master! One more!"
Eori was thrilled, flailing at the drifting bubbles in the sky. They popped before she could grab them, of course, but she didn't care—she beamed and begged for more.
"Wow! Whoa!"
"What's that?"
"Young master! One more! One more!"
Blowing soap bubbles on a Joseon street was bound to draw eyes. Kids from Hwacheok Village spotted Eori and me playing and wandered over with curious stares.
"Hooo~"
"Whoaaa!"
"Hehe! Catch that one!"
Whether Joseon or modern Korea, kids always loved soap bubbles. Seeing their universal, beaming grins lifted the corners of my mouth too.
"Hey. Um, young master. What's this?"
...Is this kid nuts?
One of the gawking kids came up and asked about the bubbles. I fought the urge to smack him and answered curtly.
"What else? Soap bubbles, you peasant."
"Huh?! Peasant?!"
"Well, you called me 'hey, kid' first."
"S-sorry, young master."
Yeah. Fact-slapping is bad. Seeing him clasp his hands and bow eased my irritation a bit. I turned from the ridiculous brat and asked the group.
"Who wants a turn?"
"Young master! Me too!"
"Me! Me!"
"Oppa! I wanna try!"
They were clamoring before the offender could even respond. Eori especially bounced in place, calling me by my favorite nickname.
"Got it. Hold on."
I handed out the prepped reeds to the kids—one each. Except the brat who called me "kid."
"Young master? What about me?"
"You called me 'kid'."
"Sorry, young master! I'm sorry! Okay? I won't call you 'kid young master' anymore!"
"Fine, fine. Hold still. You're gonna spill it."
He was shaking my shoulder so hard I nearly dumped the soapy water. In the end, I gave the punk a reed too, then showed everyone the bowl and explained how to do it.
"Dip the end lightly, then blow gently on the other side like you're sighing."
"Puuuuh!"
"No, too hard. Softer. Like a breath."
"Hooo~"
"There you go. Just like that."
Blowing bubbles was as easy as making the soap. The kids were soon puffing away, giggling and playing like mad.
"Hey! Look! Mine's bigger, right?"
"No! Mine's bigger!"
"No way! Mine's way bigger! Way bigger!"
I smirked at the kids bickering over whose bubble was biggest. Then, to show them quality over quantity didn't matter, I pulled out my special prep: several reeds bundled together.
I dipped it lightly in the soap and blew from the other end.
"Hoooooo~"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Whoooaaa!"
Dozens of big and small bubbles bloomed into the air. The kids lost their minds at the bubble fiesta, jumping and cheering.
"Hey! Catch it! Grab that one!"
Another shower of bubbles rained down. The kids swung wildly, desperate to snag them. I watched with a warm smile until someone called from behind.
"Young master? What's that?"
I turned to see who it was before answering. It was the mother of one of the bubble-chasing kids—a sun-darkened auntie who looked just as fascinated.
Technically, as the local big shot, I should've been casual with her, but my modern memories made talking down to an adult feel off. I puffed up a bit and explained politely.
"Oh, this? Soap bubbles. As you see, kids love 'em."
"Heh, really? How much for one?"
"Huh? Buy one?"
"Well, seeing how the kids like it. Might get some. How much? Sell at the market?"
"Nah, just make your own. I did."
"You made it? Wow, impressive."
"Gotta be pretty smart for that. Things just pop into my head."
"Yeah, yeah. Everyone knows you're clever, young master. But if you made it, you patented it, right?"
Hah, fuck. This goddamn Joseon. Patents. Patents.
Patents reward inventors—or their heirs—for sharing their work publicly, blah blah. The key point? The Crown Prince with modern knowledge had invented that too. Sewing machines, concrete, townhouses—he'd done it all. No way he'd skip soap bubbles...
"Yeah. Applied yesterday, but not sure when I'll head to Hanyang."
"Oh? Really? You'll be rich soon, young master!"
"Then I'll slaughter a pig and throw a feast. Eat up."
A sudden idea hit me; I grinned and spun a white lie. Patents meant a cut of the profits. Maybe word would reach the Crown Prince and land me an official post. And once they knew I was a modern soul too, promotion was a sure thing.
"Wow, that generous? Lucky you. I'm jealous."
Thinking of her and her second kid stuck in Hanyang, faces souring, cracked me up. I brushed it off vaguely and went back to bubbles.
"Make way! Make way! Master Kim Jin-sa's procession!"
"Tch."
My good mood shattered at the servant's shout from afar.
"Master Kim Jin-sa's procession! Make way! Make way!"
Make way, my ass. Pissing yourself or what?
"Eori, you play."
"Huh? Young master?"
"Hurry. Guest at our house."
"Oh, right. Young master."
No one in the village didn't know our family situation. Anyone who didn't would soon. That our mom was Kim Jin-sa's concubine.
"I'll be back."
"Yes, young master. See you."
I handed Eori the soap bowl and used reeds, then headed off. It wasn't far—the shout had carried.
I arrived home soon enough.
"You've arrived."
I bowed slightly to Dol-soe from Kim Jin-sa's house, standing before our place—well, just Mom and me lived there. I gave him a half-smile and slipped through the gate.
"Madam. I trust you've been well?"
"Hm. And you?"
"Of course. All thanks to you, madam."
Two stood in the yard. Mom, grinning despite being kicked out of the main house. And Kim Jin-sa, who'd knocked her up fooling around with his son's age-mate.
"Oh! Son! You're back? Master Kim Jin-sa is here!"
Mom spotted me mid-cheerful chat, oblivious to my inner thoughts. Kim Jin-sa looked too, so I had no choice but to greet him.
"Greetings, master."
"Mm. Doing well?"
"Yes. Thanks to the second young master visiting often."
"Good. That's fortunate."
Fortunate, my ass. That bastard came by today too—slapped me around and left.
"Si-jin. Come here."
Kim Jin-sa dragged me into deeper hell. He called me over and patted my head.
"I heard about you. Famous at the seodang for your smarts?"
"Also infamous as the thousand-seok rascal."
"Haha. Such a filial son. Healthy growth is blessing enough, but brilliant too."
"Must take after you, Master Jin-sa."
"Ha, if only..."
Huh? Did that hit a nerve? I'm the smart one; second bro's a thick-skulled idiot?
Kim Jin-sa gave a wry smile at my words, withdrew his hand, and clasped behind his back. Then Mom approached, holding out coins.
"Son. Go buy something tasty. Madam gave this for you to eat well."
Kim Jin-sa gave it, so why through Mom? I knew why she wanted me out—23-year-old ex-conscript college grad in a kid's body or not.
"...Yes, Mom."
I took the money, knowing what'd happen without me. Resistance wasn't an option. We lived here, got meat daily, had that fancy sewing machine in Mom's room, work pouring in—all thanks to Master Kim Jin-sa's "generosity."
"Master Jin-sa. I'll take my leave."
"Hm? An appointment?"
Don't touch. Fuck off.
"Yes, master."
I kept a straight face and bullshitted.
"Was playing with village kids when I heard you coming. They're waiting, so I'll head back."
"Heh. Shame. Wanted to chat more. Can't be helped. Here."
Kim Jin-sa finally pulled his hand from my head, reached to his belt, and untied a pouch for me.
"Yakgwa. Don't share—eat alone. Got it?"
"Yes, master."
"Son. Say thanks."
"Thank you, master."
Mom prodded; I bowed and took the pouch. Kim Jin-sa gazed fondly, then turned to Mom.
"Your tea-brewing is top-notch."
"Shall I pour one?"
"Much obliged."
"This way, madam."
"Hm."
Mom eagerly led him to her room. I stood in the yard, watching them enter together.
Creak, click. The lattice door shut; they vanished.
I noticed the pouch in my hand and pulled out a yakgwa to eat.
"Nom."
Crunch. Joseon yakgwa beat convenience-store flour lumps by miles. Crispy, no chewiness; each thin layer soaked in syrup, bursting sweet with every bite. Sickeningly sugary—like lemon-induced saliva overload—but the aftertaste was dirt-bitter.