Hated, Yet Once More (2)

'Well, sisters can't possibly have identical personalities.'

Senior Eugene had said it plainly: 'a sweet, obedient retaker student.'

If that was the case, the answer was obvious.

Both girls looked good-natured even in photos, but if it came down to who was well-behaved…

I cautiously pointed a finger at the demure-looking girl on the screen.

"I heard she's an obedient student. She certainly looks sweet, too."

I added the compliment while discreetly studying the mother's face—

"Pardon?"

Her eyes went wide and round. She tilted her head, glancing back and forth between me and the phone screen.

"Oh dear, did Eugene perhaps not explain things to you properly?"

"I'm sorry… what?"

In that instant, a chill came creeping up my spine. This feeling. Why did it feel so horribly familiar?

"Ah!"

The mother clapped her hands lightly.

"That's right, I explained it wrong during our first phone call! I started talking about my older daughter, then moved on to the younger one, so Eugene must have gotten confused."

"Con… fused?"

Ill omens never failed to come true.

Her slender finger jabbed—not at the demure girl I'd pointed at, but at the yellow-haired girl in a crop top standing beside her.

"The one you'll be teaching is this one. My second daughter."

"Ah."

"My younger daughter, retaking her exams this year. Her name is Choi Ahyoung. My eldest is at a top university right now, so she doesn't need tutoring."

The mother added with a somewhat embarrassed smile.

"Whew, I'll admit Ahyoung is a bit of a live wire, and that does worry me… but at heart she's a good kid. Sure, she dresses like that and skips school often, but she's never given us real trouble—no cigarettes, no drinking, nothing like that. If you guide her well, Teacher, her grades will shoot right up."

My mouth hung half-open as I stared at Choi Ahyoung on the screen.

'Sweet and obedient?'

'Absolutely not one of those unhinged little troublemakers from back in the day?'

Eugene's boastful voice echoed in my head.

Kang Eugene. This nosy, over-responsibility-riddled senior of mine…

After apologizing for all the grief I'd suffered at the hands of those hyperactive brats, she'd gone and shoved a whole different breed of problem child straight into my lap.

She took the mother's botched explanation at face value and briefed me like that? And she claimed she'd confirmed it with a direct phone call!

A thousand thoughts raced through my mind.

I cleared my throat and struggled to keep my composure.

"Ah… so she's your second daughter. Yes, she looks very… energetic."

"Doesn't she? Eugene said you have a strong mentality and a real knack for wrangling students, so I jumped at the chance to ask you."

Ah, Kang Eugene, you absolute lunatic of a senior.

"But don't worry. Ahyoung might look like that on the outside, but she'll listen to you well. We'll make sure the pay isn't lacking, either. Twice a week for five hundred thousand won—how does that sound?"

Five hundred thousand won.

For a college student retaking a tutoring gig after once fleeing from it, it was a decent sum.

But looking at the portrait of hell spread out before me, I was beginning to wonder whether that money was truly compensation for education.

Should I take this?

Or refuse?

But then the image of my senior's resolute face flashed through my mind.

'I know you're still traumatized from that weird thing I got you hooked on back then. That's exactly why you have to do this.'

If I tore the whole arrangement up now, wouldn't the thread of 'responsibility' my senior held over me loosen?

Behavioral correction was, in the end, a matter of planting a habit. It was far removed from the brute force of hypnosis or brainwashing.

With the habit so freshly planted, needlessly rattling ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠her cage seemed like a bad idea no matter how I turned it over.

'…Right. If you can't dodge it, enjoy it.'

Setting down my juice glass, I nodded with grim determination.

"Understood. I'll do my very best to teach her."

"Oh, what a relief! I'm putting my faith in you, Teacher."

"Then, would it be all right if I spoke with her first? To get a sense of her personality, of course."

At my cautious question, the mother covered her mouth and broke into a bright, eye-crinkling smile, as if she'd been waiting for exactly this.

"Of course, of course. It's just about time to wake her up anyway."

Rising gracefully from her seat, she took hold of the ring handle on the door at the end of the hallway and flung it open without a moment's hesitation.

"Choi Ahyoung! Get up! How long are you going to sleep? Your tutor is here!"

"Ahh, whaaat! I'm sleeping, don't bother me! It's Sunday!"

From inside the room burst a shrill, screeching whine like the tantrum of an irritable schoolgirl.

"You won't get up? Honestly, this brat."

"Aagh! Fine, fine! I'm getting up, okay! Ah—don't hit me!"

"Sit up and greet him properly. He's been waiting outside."

A moment later, the mother beckoned to me with the door still half-open.

"Teacher, please come in."

I swallowed dryly and slowly stepped into the room.

And the inside of it… was a little too far removed from what you'd expect of a girl fresh out of high school, retaking her college exams.

On the floor lay a hoodie and leggings, discarded who knew when. On the desk, in place of workbooks or textbooks, towered a mountain of lip tints from every brand imaginable, eyeshadow palettes, and a hair straightener with its cord twisted into a knotted mess.

And there, in the very center of the room, was the bed.

With a rumpled blanket draped haphazardly over her knees, she glared at me through round, glaring eyes and an expression twisted into a full scowl.

"……"

"…What are you looking at?"

Choi Ahyoung. A retaker, this year.

Bleached a bright, glaring yellow, her hair hung in two sloppy twintails. She had the kind of cute, puppy-like face with slightly drooping eyes—but the look she was giving me right now belonged closer to a rebellious pup brimming with resentment toward its owner.

As we faced each other like that, a question nagged at me.

'Wait, am I really supposed to be meeting her like this?'

Flustered, I glanced back over my shoulder at the mother.

Even granting that I was a private tutor, wasn't this a bit too defenseless?

But the mother didn't seem to register my perplexed gaze in the slightest.

"Hoh hoh, why don't the two of you chat for a bit? I'll go to the kitchen and cut some fruit."

With a parting smile, she turned on her heel without a trace of hesitation and headed back to the living room. She didn't even close the door all the way—she left it half-open.

The sound of her slippers faded into the distance.

It was abundantly clear that this parent was an extraordinarily cool, my-way-or-the-highway type who couldn't have cared less about anyone's gaze…

'Or else she's simply grown far too used to situations like this.'

Only two people remained in the room: me, and Choi Ahyoung in her pajamas.

Just as an awkward silence began to settle in, the girl on the bed spoke first.

"What's this? A new tutor?"

Informal speech, fired off without warning.

No greeting, no proper title—raw, unfiltered rudeness.

Right, right. It'd been a while since I felt this. Fine, I'll use casual speech too.

"Yeah. Name's Lee Seonghyun. I'm twenty-three."

I made a show of clearing my throat and dragged over the desk chair.

"Twenty-three? So you're a college student?"

"Yep. I go to Seoeum University, English Lit."

"Seoeum? Oh… so you're actually smart, huh."

Well, it was a respectable four-year school in Seoul—call it second tier.

Ahyoung scratched at her tangled twintails with her fingers.

"So why'd you come all the way out here for a side gig? Didn't you hear? I've cycled through a whole lineup of tutors already."

"Why does anyone work? To make money."

"Ahh, so money's tight for you, Teach?"

"You really don't filter anything, do you? We just met."

At my chiding, Ahyoung just snickered.

"Why? Does it upset you? I absolutely hate beating around the bush."

We hadn't exchanged more than a few sentences, but my assessment was already complete.

She wasn't a delinquent with genuine malice, the type to sullenly torment others. She was simply the purely scattered, playful sort—a girl who came with zero factory-installed sense of etiquette or respect for others. Less a prickly character than a bouncy rubber ball that shot off in whatever direction it pleased.

"Hey, Teach."

"Hmm?"

"I'm not going to study? Mom's forcing me into this, so my motivation is exactly zero percent."

What a magnificently bold declaration.

For someone wearing the title of exam retaker, she showed not a speck of crisis-awareness or urgency about her future.

I leaned back into the chair and crossed my arms.

"If you're not going to study, why did you have me come? You could've just thrown a tantrum at your mom about how you don't want to."

At my offhand remark, Ahyoung stuck out her lips in a pout.

"You think Mom would give up just because I say no? Even if I screamed and cried, she'd just drag in more tutors anyway. And you won't last a month either, you know? My all-time record is three weeks. How long do you think you'll make it?"

"And what did you do for those three weeks?"

"Hmm. When they gave me homework, I ignored it completely. Then when the tutor gave up and started slacking off—playing Salary Lupin, you know—I ratted them out to Mom."

Hmm.

Certainly honest, I'll give her that.

"Well. I'm not really the type to give up easily."

"Oh, is that so?"

"So—when should the first lesson be? I'm fine starting tomorrow, right away."

At my question, Ahyoung kicked off her blanket and sprang up from the bed.

"Hmph, whatever! Do what you want! I'm going to wash up, so you can go out and talk to Mom or whatever."

She stalked irritably off the bed toward the door. Beneath her short pajama shorts, her smooth, toned bare legs were on full display. Her stride was every bit the slouching delinquent's, but the shimmy of her hips as she walked had a distinctly feminine sway to it.

Slam!

Ahyoung ducked into the bathroom, and once again I was left alone in the room.

"Whew…"

She'd drained me dry already.

For now, I rose leisurely from the chair and gave her room another slow, careful once-over.

Photocards of some idol group rolling across the desk, flashy lace lingerie peeking out from the gap in a drawer, and cookie wrappers heaped deep in the wastebasket.

Yeah. Definitely not a room with any intimate relationship to books.

'So. What exactly am I supposed to do about this?'

Frankly, I wanted to rescind the decision I'd made just moments ago. I wanted to stand up and declare, "I refuse to tutor this disaster."

No motivation, no manners, and she bragged shamelessly about cycling through her previous tutors in three weeks. She was nothing more than those hellion elementary schoolers I'd once fled from—all grown up in body, but otherwise identical in every way.

And they wanted me to teach this and send her into the CSAT.

No matter how I looked at it, that was beyond me—wait. Hold on a second.

'Right. The Subject Completion ability.'

I'd nearly forgotten. If I used this, there might just be a solution.

'Yes. I've handled elementary schoolers before. Surely I can outmaneuver one full-grown adult.'

Steel-ing my resolve, I got up from my seat.

Back in the living room, the mother stood at the dining table peeling fruit. On the plate lay apples cut neatly into little rabbit shapes.

"Oh, finished your chat already?"

"Yes. For the time being."

"Good timing. Come sit over here. Let's talk while you eat your apple."

The mother carried the plate over to the living room sofa. When she bent down to set it on the coffee table, a heavy, breathtaking glimpse of cleavage swung into view through the generously scooped neckline of her dress.

"So—what subject do you plan to focus on with our Ahyoung?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Right now she needs Korean, English, and math, all of them… but it's unreasonable to expect you to cover all three on your own. Will you choose one of the three? Whichever you're most confident in?"

The mother's voice was languid and soft—light ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in tone, like someone picking out side dishes at the market.

Any normal parent of a retaker would have shown up armed with an admissions strategy chart, insisting, "She's this rank in math, so please do this and that." What was her target university, exactly?

"Well, since my major is English Language and Literature, English would naturally be the safest choice."

"Wonderful! And what about textbooks?"

"For materials, once I've gotten a better read on Ahyoung's level, I'll select mainly from commercial workbooks and past exam papers."

"Yes, yes, do that. I'll cover any workbooks or books she needs—just send me the receipt or the title in a message and I'll pay for it right away."

On matters of money, she was endlessly cool and decisive. Five hundred thousand won in pay, plus full coverage of textbook costs.

Judging purely by the terms of the gig, Senior Eugene was right—it really was a honey job.

"So, in your eyes—what's our Ahyoung like?"

The mother asked, resting her chin on her hand.

What is she like?

Honestly? Hopeless…

I composed my answer using the most refined, most cunning words I could gather.

"Hmm… Well, to start, she has a bright personality and boundless energy. However, rather than sitting her down right away and making her memorize English vocabulary, I think the priority should be cultivating her motivation to study first."

"Motivation?"

"Yes. From our conversation just now, it seemed she doesn't have a clear goal. If a definite career path were settled, or she found something she genuinely wanted to do, I believe her interest in studying would follow naturally—even without anyone forcing her."

It was a magic sentence—even if her grades didn't improve right away, I could always fall back on the excuse that I was "in the process of building motivation."

Clap!

At that moment, the mother gave a light clap of her hands.

"Oh, I knew it! Eugene went on and on singing your praises, and now I see why. That's exactly what I was thinking, too!"

"Ah… yes."

"Then I'll leave breathing motivation into our Ahyoung entirely to you. I won't touch your methods at all, so do as you see fit. Her grades can come later—if you could just get her into the habit of sitting at her desk, I'd be grateful."

Beaming, the mother handed me full authority.

'Wait, you're supposed to vet—'

Truly, an unfathomable woman. She'd spend money without limit, but the tedious emotional battles and the actual instruction were to be my problem?

'Well, honestly, no interference works fine for me.'

And so the consultation concluded, blandly and unconventionally. We agreed on two-hour sessions every Tuesday and Thursday at 6 p.m. starting tomorrow, and I rose from my seat.

"Then I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yes, get home safe. Ahyoung! Your tutor is leaving! At least say goodbye!"

The mother, who'd walked me to the front door, shouted toward Ahyoung's room, but no answer came from within.

"Aigoo, that little brat, honestly… See you Tuesday, Teacher."

Leaving the mother's apologetic smile behind me, I exited the apartment complex.

Walking along my usual route, I sank deep into thought.

'How do I handle that wild filly? I'll definitely need to use the Subject Completion ability—but which subject, exactly, should I complete?'

Teaching English grammar wasn't the problem. It wasn't that I doubted my own ability; it was that with a student like that, getting her to sit at a desk at all would clearly be a war in itself.

Coaxing and cajoling wouldn't move her an inch, and if I got angry or barked orders, she'd just rat me out to Mom and torpedo the whole tutoring arrangement.

What I needed was a surefire means of controlling that girl.

I sat down on a bench away from foot traffic and swirled my hand through the empty air.

Ding—!

The moment I pressed Yes, the vast list of subjects I'd seen yesterday unspooled before my eyes once more.

[Korean Language], [Mathematics], [English], [Social Studies], [Science]…

Naturally, since I'd agreed to teach English, selecting [English] would be the textbook move. But tutoring took more than knowledge alone. Even if I gained English fluency to rival a native speaker, it would be worthless if Ahyoung covered her ears and refused to listen.

Instill the will to study. Provide motivation. Which meant I needed a discipline that dealt with the human mind.

I scrolled down slowly.

[Psychology]

This looked the most plausible. The art of reading a person's psychology and steering their behavior.

A perfectly fitting subject for analyzing and manipulating a retaker's repressed rebelliousness.

I reached out my finger to select [Psychology].

That was when my gaze snagged on one utterly out-of-place item at the bottom of the list.

[Confucian Education]

Those four baffling characters, discovered at the very bottom of the scroll, stopped my finger mid-motion.

"Confucian Education?"

Now what on earth was this? Out of curiosity, I gave the entry a light tap, and a brief description window popped up in that familiar system font.

'Technically speaking, that's Neo-Confucianism—and more precisely, late-Joseon Neo-Confucianism, isn't it?'

A period-specific school of thought that just about anyone who'd ever had to perform an ancestral rite would come to loathe.

Reading the description, I let out a hollow laugh. Here in twenty-first-century South Korea, they wanted me to teach Confucius-says, Mencius-says to a nineteen-year-old retaker cramming for the CSAT?

This was, without question, a trash skill even more useless than pseudoscience.

'No, wait a moment.'

I stopped short of dismissing the window floating in the air.

Choi Ahyoung. The yellow-maned filly who'd just spewed casual speech at me without warning and proudly declared she wouldn't study a single page.

No sense of hierarchy whatsoever, and manners so nonexistent you could wash your eyes out looking for them—a genuinely uncontrollable beast of a girl.

But what if I could hammer that stiff, suffocating [Confucian ideology] into the head of a creature like that?

If I could forcibly impose a cognitive framework of reverence for elders and etiquette toward one's teacher—then getting her to sit obediently at a desk might just be a piece of cake, no?

"This… might actually be useful somewhere."

A genuinely clever idea.

But could simply studying the subject really drive Confucian ideology into someone's head? If not, then it was an utterly pointless discipline.

Ding—!

As if reading my very doubt, a system window materialized.

"Hmm…"

So in other words, teaching it plain would only aid ordinary studying—and only by layering behavioral correction on top of [Confucian Education] could I fundamentally overhaul that bratty attitude of hers.

'Hm…'

In that case, shouldn't I complete English first and raise the quality of the actual tutoring?

But the image of that yellow-haired filly spitting casual speech at me, bold as brass, floated up in my mind.

'…No. Even if only out of spite, I'm going to see that girl speaking to me in proper honorifics, every last syllable.'

Besides, who knew—this might come in handy with Senior ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Eugene someday. Corrections like 'a woman must serve her man like heaven itself.' Surely something along those lines would become possible, wouldn't it?

At the thought, a lecherous smile spread across my face of its own accord.

Without a shred of hesitation, I pressed down hard on the completion button for [Confucian Education].

And that was the very instant it happened.

The apartment complex before me, the bench, the swaying leaves—all of them melted like paint and were sucked into a colossal whirlpool.

"Wh-whoa?!"

The vertiginous sensation of the ground dropping out from under me squeezed my eyes shut. Along with a piercing ring in my ears came the feeling of my body floating up into empty air.

How much time had passed?

The dizziness settled, and cool air touched my cheeks. A faint scent of ink and the dry, woody smell of aged pillars.

When I slowly opened my eyes, I was kneeling in the middle of an unfamiliar room—not on a bench at all.

A ceiling with thick rafters exposed, lattice doors papered over with hanji. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠It was the unmistakable scene of a Joseon-era nobleman's quarters, or perhaps a village schoolhouse.

"What is this place…"

As I scrambled to my feet in confusion, I happened to glance down at my own hands—and gasped.

I'd shrunk.

The body clad in coarse, homespun cotton pants and jacket was, at any generous estimate, one that had yet to fully mature. The palms were adorably small, the legs short.

So this is what they meant by entering a virtual space to sit the examination for a specific subject?

"Seonghyun, my child."

Just then, a woman's voice—dignified and refined—came from behind me. I whipped my head around, startled.

A woman stood before the door in a perfectly upright posture. She wore a jade-green silk skirt with a soft luster, paired with a pristine white jacket. Her hair was pinned up in a neat traditional chignon, a silver hairpin thrust through it.

She was most likely the examiner of this virtual space—or an NPC the System had generated to play that role.

'Presumably… she's set up to be this body's mother?'

Yet utterly at odds with her dignified attire, her figure was nothing short of violent.

Above the tightly cinched breast ties of her jacket, an overwhelming volume surged up precariously, enough to make each breath seem like it might burst them free. The rounded sweep of her hips beneath the wide skirt was so abundant that even the loosest outer coat couldn't have hidden it.

'Whoa, what kind of Joseon-era mother has a body like—'

A figure like that, in the Joseon era…! Well. It could exist.

Perfectly faithful to historical fact, apparently.

I swallowed hard and let my gaze sneak down along the curving line of her chest.

My inner gasp of admiration hadn't even finished forming when it happened.

The sharp whine of something slicing through the air cracked against my ear.

Crack—!

"Ack, fucking—!"

It was the switch.