Going to Watch a Movie with You This Weekend (2)
According to some statistic, the physical peak for humans is ages 27-29 for men and 21-23 for women. Right around the age I was in before possessing into the world of Half Half Island.
What bullshit. Of course I couldn't believe it. Me, dragging myself between home and the office, slamming my face into the bed—was I really at my physical peak? Bullshit has its limits.
Close your eyes and think back. What was our youth like?
"Ah, I finished Korean history five minutes over again. If you want more class time, don't end late—come early. I was gonna grab a cola from the vending machine, but no time to drink it now."
"Five minutes left—race to the vending machine, time attack style?"
"Spare me, Lady Ban Do-young. A wannabe screenwriter glued to their desk scribbling away all day isn't on my level for a physical showdown. And after sprinting that hard, if you can't drink it right away and have to save it till the next break, the cola goes flat."
"...Scared?"
"You little shit, say it to my face."
Under society's pressure insisting college was the only path in life. Even amid endless classes, self-study, workbooks, and references blurring day and night, didn't we bolt to the field to kick a ball or skate the hallways during those brief breaks or lunch?
"Ban Do-young."
"What now."
"Running a six-stack right now, short a player. Hop in Discord quick."
"Genji okay?"
"Fuck, you're pushing it."
And that's not all. Even after midnight cram school, dragging home, we couldn't contain our stamina—staring at the monitor all night queuing up. Sure, shutdown laws crushed us till middle school, but once we hit 16, even that vanished.
College slowed us a bit, but the vibe never died. Lectures, assignments, part-time gigs, drinking parties. Dawn PC bangs queuing, re-queuing, infinite loop. We powered through without fatigue.
Ask if my nearly-30 body could handle that routine now? Honestly, no confidence. Even if paid, I'd probably collapse someday. That's why they say youth can't be bought with money.
"Everyone in Class 1, you all worked hard making it through six periods on the first day. But hey, no after-school classes or night self-study yet, so this should be manageable, right?"
"No!"
"Huhu, at least your voices have spirit! Tomorrow it's seven periods on schedule, got it!"
"Ah, devil...!"
Day one and we're hit with full classes, but these kids at their prime had stamina for days. Their responses after six periods were still bursting with energy.
"And Ban Do-young! They say you slept through nearly half of sixth period! True?"
"Yes!"
"Why so bold about it?"
Of course I couldn't hack it. Studying's mental, not physical. For the nearly-30 curmudgeon inside, restarting high school from scratch was brutal.
"One more complaint like this, and I won't let it slide! I might even pull you for private tutoring as a special measure!"
"Understood!"
"Y-Your response is spirited, at least!"
Private tutoring with the young teacher. If this were the old Ban Do-young ten years back, maybe a thrill. But in a pure-love webtoon, heroine and teacher alone? Unnecessary scene. A two- or three-panel flashback suffices.
"The Do Ha-min next to you? They say he's diligent in social studies and other classes too. Follow his example and study harder, okay?"
"Th-Thank you...."
Tch, if you knew what was at the bottom of his bag, you wouldn't say that.
"W-We agreed not to talk about that...."
Do Ha-min flushed, shaking his head. His bag overflowed with references and workbooks. Notes crammed during class showed he was the model student. But big hands, maybe? Jamming parents' birthdays on a calendar or his note-taking scrawl—handwriting was a mess. Subjective answers might get marked wrong even if correct.
Contrast our traditional beauty, delicate as jade, Ban Do-young. Her fluffy script on textbooks and supplies rivaled fancy artists. With handwriting like that, flunk the first Golden Bell stage? Nah, she'd guest-write "Bulsago Fighting!" on the whiteboard.
Was she aiming for something artsy career-wise?
Post-high school paths. Does Half Half Island continue after graduation? If I reach the ending first, back to my world—no need to fret careers or majors.
Who knows. Overthinking now's pointless.
Maybe just setup for Teacher's Day rolling paper event for Ban Do-young. Only the author knows.
"Alright, everyone same. This is your high school start! Even if you've avoided studying till now, you can restart anytime! I'll help!"
Mi-so was true to her role. Homeroom teacher reigniting lost study passion. Cynically, pushing "Don't dropout unless sure— just go to school."
"Got a dream career? Come consult anytime, okay?"
"Teach, does studying hard actually change anything?"
"Of course!"
"Like what?"
"W-Well... like what?"
Caught off-guard, Mi-so froze. No prep for "what changes with hard study"? Hands to forehead like craving otherworldly wisdom, she twisted side-to-side desperately.
"Y-Your future husband's face?"
After 15 seconds, that was her answer.
"...So materialistic!"
"Same crap pushover teachers spew! That's all you got?"
"Waaah! But I studied to impress my first crush! Got rejected anyway!"
"Why brag about getting dumped!"
Resentful-of-normal-classes kids seized the chance, arrows flying at Mi-so. Thanks to whoever taught publicly offing someone at entrance ceremony.
Pretty face, I recall.
"Future husband's face, huh, Hye-rangie. Gotta study harder. Make my current boyfriend even hotter, kekeke."
"You first. No boyfriend."
"Kuh... Hye-rangie. What attack is this."
Sa-hyung clutched her chest in agony.
"Future husband's face..."
I glanced down at Do Ha-min.
"Agh... Desk still smells like mango. Kinda sticky too."
"Pfft."
"Wh-Why laugh?"
End-of-day, but mango cola traces lingered. Do Ha-min wrestled desk-bottom stickiness. Wiping stains from oversized uniform sleeves (for three years' growth), his fidgeting drew an involuntary chuckle.
"Wonder if it'll really change."
"Huh?"
"Nah, nothing."
Change? Dangerous. No Do Ha-min ending, no return home. So, no studying.
"Then, let's wrap here today?"
Cleaning after sixth. But first day—no class prez, no assigned zones.
"Uh, interested in class prez or committee? Tell me later. Wrap today? Y'all itching to bolt home."
"Mi-so teach. No cleaning?"
"Ah... Just pick trash around your desks? Seniors left it tidy."
Preaches class normalization, but folds on cleaning. Scared of backlash? Or hates cleaning, awkward ordering kids? Latter's fun, but pray former for class future.
"Trash... trash..."
We gathered desk-area trash into piles.
"Maknae-ya. Dump this on the way."
"Next time, rank by bust."
"Fine, closest to heart wins first."
"Tch."
"I-I'll take it. Gimme."
Do Ha-min snatched trash amid me and Sa-hyung's tussle, headed to back-door bin.
"Hey."
Thud.
Then Lee Jeong-gyu from third-row back grabbed Do Ha-min's shoulder mid-dump. Voice gave it away—Do Ha-min flinched.
"Said stay after."
"...Yeah. Know."
"Fuck, acting all buddy-buddy with Ban Do-young. Asked all your 'seniors, friends'—not one knew a punk like you. Who the hell are you?"
"... ."
"Got cash? Daddy pays those bitches 100k each to play? Suck it off if horny."
"Stop..."
"Fuck, stop what. Doesn't add up. Why's Ban Do-young next to trash like you—"
"What fun chat?"
"Fuck, shit!"
I zipped between, cutting in. Been watching Lee Jeong-gyu. Trash by bin? Gotta watch.
"B-Ban Do-young...?"
"Drop it. He lives far. Chat with you, misses train."
"Tsk... fuck. You two got something?"
"Not with you."
"...What?"
"Said not with you."
"Fucking bitch, goddess of Bulsago Middle 'cause dicks worship—"
"Sa-hyung, Hye-rang. Hurry. His train's in 15!"
Left fuming Lee Jeong-gyu, grabbed Do Ha-min's bag, bolted. Provoke trash, but keep distance. 187cm alpha swapping girls like meals—fist to face? Yield goddess title to someone else.
Protect assets, duh.
"Mi-so teach. Seats clean— we out? No prez for salute anyway!"
"Just today!"
Half Half Island's main heroine. My first day as Ban Do-young ended like that.