Our Private Festival
“Hmph. Of course. Whose wife am I?”
“W-what’s this all of a sudden?!”
“Just... ‘cause my Elma’s too pretty.”
“W-what?! A-are you crazy?!”
Elma’s face flushed bright red in an instant. I lifted the wriggling little thing even higher. The so-called “up you go” game—the one you play with babies. Whoosh, whoosh.
“Eek... eee?!”
Thanks to the higher ceiling, stuff like this was possible now. Even stretching my arms all the way up, Elma’s head didn’t touch it. Her view elevated, she peered down below, clutching my sleeve tight with her tiny hands.
“Wooow...”
She seemed more thrilled than scared. It must’ve been a sight she could never catch from her own height. Grinning, I pulled her back down to my chest.
Plop. The little bundle settled perfectly into my arms. Her overwhelmingly voluptuous chest squished soft and sticky against my solar plexus.
“D-Darling... can’t breathe.”
“How could I not hug something this cute?”
“Really? Hehe...”
“Of course.”
I rubbed my cheek against Elma’s. Soft, squishy. Her scent hit me hard—damp forest, nutty and toasty. Nothing calmed me like that smell.
“Thanks for raising the ceiling. You’re the absolute best.”
I patted her back gently, like soothing a child. Pure comfort.
“Tch... sweet-talker.”
Elma grumbled, but her body was honest. She squirmed to find the perfect spot. Wiggle, wiggle. She adjusted her butt, then went totally limp. Her tiny arms wrapped tight around my neck.
“You won’t get any weird ideas now, right?”
“Huh? What ideas?”
“N-nothing.”
Whoops. I’d slipped up in the heat of the moment. Killed the mood before it reignited.
“You know you’re the prettiest in the world, right?”
I switched to sugar-coating instead.
“Really?”
“Yep. The cutest, prettiest, sexiest professor in the world.”
Praise barrage. Elma’s ear tips turned scarlet. Low self-esteem snacks—our professor’s favorite.
“Hmph. Of course. Whose wife am I?”
Elma’s lips curved into a giddy smile. She tilted her head up, gripping my shirt tight. Mwah. A light peck on my chin.
“Love you, Darling.”
“Love you too, Elma.”
We stayed like that, wrapped up, for a good while. Sure, all sorts of crap had happened. But as long as this little woman purred happily in my arms... everything would be fine. No matter what came.
A few days later, evening. Living room sofa. I scrolled my smartphone; Elma read comics on my lap.
“Hm?”
“What’s up, Darling? Something happen?”
I’d been glancing at my phone screen and muttered absentmindedly. The school anonymous board was all festival buzz.
“Festival season’s already here.”
“Oh...”
Elma’s reaction stiffened subtly.
“First one since reenrolling.”
The rowdy festival vibe—booths, performances, food trucks, romance. Just a casual thought.
“...Wanna go?”
From my lap, Elma asked carefully.
“Dunno. Probably fun if I did? Tons of good food.”
“...”
Her tiny hand paused.
“Then go by yourself, Darling...”
“What about you? Wanna come together?”
“N-no. I don’t wanna go.”
Elma bowed her head. Avoided my eyes behind the comic.
“Hate crowds. Noisy... hot...”
Obviously an excuse. People’s stares—mockery, curiosity, pity. To Elma, a crowd’s gaze was violence.
“C’mon, let’s go together. I’ll stick right by you. No one’ll say shit.”
“No.”
Firm this time.
“Really not going. You go alone.”
“...”
She hid her face completely behind the comic, stubborn as hell. Should’ve stopped there. Pushed too far. My teasing side kicked in uninvited. Maybe poke her jealousy to get her moving.
“You really not coming?”
“Yeah.”
“Guess no choice then.”
I sighed dramatically on purpose.
“Junior girl just texted. Asked to check it out together. So I’ll go with her.”
“...”
Instantly, Elma’s hand trembled. Crumple. Comic cover wrinkled.
Too much?
Normally she’d blow up. ‘Who the hell is she?! Delete that number!’ Tantrum city. It was so cute, I teased her like this sometimes.
But not today.
Slide. Elma crawled off my lap.
“Elma?”
Standing on the floor, back to me. Her tiny shoulders quivered fragilely.
“...Fine.”
“Huh?”
“Go ahead.”
Voice drained of life. Cracked, wet.
“You’re a healthy guy, Darling. Gotta do the college thing.”
“N-no, Elma, that’s not—!”
“That junior’s pretty, right? Normal height too. Not like a freak dwarf like me.”
Thud. My heart sank.
It was just a joke. Missed the timing to say it. Hell, even that felt cruel now.
“Going with someone like me’d just embarrass you.”
Elma shuffled away. Plod, plod. Toward the living room corner. Our bed, Neukdori, laid out there. She lifted the edge and crawled underneath.
And then.
“Hic... snff... waaah...”
Muffled sobs from under the rug.
“Ah...”
Like a hammer to the head. Not what I wanted.
Dwarf professor’s low self-esteem. Complex, trauma. Deeper scars on her soul than I’d thought.
“Elma! Elma!”
I scrambled under the sofa. Tried to lift the rug.
“Hic, snff... don’t come... ”
Tiny body curled on the dusty floor. Knees hugged tight, face buried, bawling.
“It was a joke! I’m the crazy one! No junior girl!”
“Liar... hic... you’re ditching me...”
“For real! Check my phone! See? No messages!”
I shoved it in her face. She wouldn’t even look.
“Let go! Let me go!”
I yanked her out anyway. Hugged the flailing body tight.
“Lemme gooo! Go play with that pretty bitch!”
“Not going! Why would I go without you?!”
Held and rocked her forever. Patted her back, cooed, begged forgiveness. Guilt crashed endless. Chest ached. Too careless. Even dumb teasing could be a weapon to this little woman.
Why hadn’t I realized sooner? Hated my own stupidity.
“Sorry. Never meant to go without you.”
“Snff... hic...”
“Just wanted to hold your hand, stroll the festival together. That’s all...”
Swallowed the ‘joke’ part. What kind of joke makes her this sad? This hurt?
“Sorry...”
Elma sobbed into my chest. Still, her tiny hand clutched my collar tight. Couldn’t let go. Hated me, but hated being apart more. Like a lifeline.
Chest hurt worse.
“Sorry, Elma. All my fault. Won’t happen again.”
My voice shook too. But I held it back. Comfort first. Not time for my guilt.
Wiped her face with my thumb over and over.
“You really wanna go with me...?”
“Of course. Wanna show off my world’s cutest, prettiest wife.”
“Liar...”
“No lies. Ever.”
Kissed her cheek with true remorse. Again and again. Mwah, mwah, mwah.
“‘Cause of me... you can’t even enjoy the festival...”
“No you, no fun for me.”
“...”
Her sobs slowed. Red-swollen nose just sniffled. I grabbed tissue, wrapped her nose tip.
“Here. Blow. Like this—hngh!”
“...Hngh!”
She blew obediently into my hand. Like a total kid sometimes. Gently wiped her tear tracks too.
“Ung...”
Elma closed her eyes, accepting my touch. Then buried her face in my chest again. Soaking in my warmth like she’d never get enough.
How long did I hold her?
“...”
Elma lifted her head, sniffle-free. Eyes sparkled with resolve...
Oh no, not that look.
“If you wanna go that bad...”
“N-no, I’m good. Let’s just order food.”
Knew trouble was brewing.
“No.”
She hopped from my arms.
“I’ll make it fun for you.”
“Huh?”
“Golems! All units assemble!!!”
Snap! Elma flicked her fingers.
Vrrr!Thud thud thud. Chatter chatter.
[[[ Yes! Mistress! ]]]
“Wait here, Darling.”
With a meaningful grin, Elma marched off with her golems.
A few hours later. Underground artificial beach.
“What... the hell...?”
I was speechless. Tents lined the sand. Plastic chairs, tables. Bulbs strung everywhere. And not just that.
[Chemistry Department Bar]
[Mechanical Engineering Green Onion Pancakes]
Banners too—full-on college festival transplant. Even food trucks parked on one side.
“Welcome! Darling!”
Elma hooked my arm. Pinned a “Student Council” badge to her chest.
“This is our festival!”
Elma strutted ahead, all haughty.
“The heart of any college fest? Student stalls! Nailed the re-creation.”
Dazed, I followed into a bar tent.
“Order up!”
A golem in an apron rushed over with a menu.
Welcome!
“One sausage veggie stir-fry, one fish cake soup.”
Food arrived soon. I picked up a spoon... and froze. Slit sausages—sloppy cuts, slightly burnt. Soup was watery as the Han River.
“The food’s a bit...”
She beamed at my hesitant question.
“Try it.”
“Okay.”
Couldn’t resist her nudge. Took a bite.
“Ah.”
This taste...! Awful. Sausages burnt outside, cold inside. Soup bland as hell—blind test, you’d swear it’s water.
“Perfect, right?”
“What is?”
“College bar food realism!”
Elma pumped her fist skyward.
“Undergrad hacks cooking? How good could it be?!”
That undergrad jab again. Hey, I’m an undergrad too, Prof.
“Pre-made, gone-cold sloppiness! Mass-cooking fails! Told the golems to nail it!”
“...”
Why recreate that? Couldn’t say it. Her effort was admirable.