Bridling the Foal (3)

“……”

By the time I'd read the last line of the diary, I was gritting my teeth without even realizing it.

A retaker student? Give me a break.

What part of any of that looked like a retaker student to him? She was just a girl lazing and playing around on her rich parents' dime.

So this was why she'd turned out this way — apparently there were problems at home, too.

No matter how far gone a kid might be, any normal parent is supposed to rein them in, right?

A mother who did nothing but click her tongue when her daughter slept till mid-afternoon and ordered spicy delivery food — not a single word of discipline. A father who, while his retaker daughter was busy plotting her next night out, slipped her 500,000 won behind her mother's back, telling her to study hard.

I can't pin the whole thing on her parents. The girl's own rotten attitude is the biggest problem. But….

There was no denying that the parents carried a substantial share of the blame for leaving her festering mindset to rot — and worse, actively funding and enabling her to play.

“Haah….”

Letting out a long sigh, I stared at the newly opened Student Record window.

Resting my chin on my hand, I scrolled down slowly, chewing over the text.

“158 centimeters, 46 kilograms….”

The memory surfaced unbidden — the cinched waist peeking out beneath her crop top when I'd spied on her diary earlier, the hip line jutting prominently above her short cargo pants. It wasn't the overwhelming, almost violent volume Senior Yujin had, but it was a body alive with that taut elasticity unique to her age and a strangely mischievous set of curves.

But her figure wasn't the important thing right now.

The ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠problem was the wretched [Behavioral Traits] laid out beneath all that.

“How the hell am I supposed to use this?”

In Senior Yujin's case, there had been clear weak points rooted in her psyche — her guilt toward me, and her petty pride as the older one. I'd exploited those openings to apply [Limited Correction] and successfully manipulate her subconscious.

But Choi Ahyoung was plainly a different case. No matter how I rearranged and cross-referenced this girl's behavioral traits, I couldn't see a single opening that would let me steer the tutoring along smoothly from the get-go.

So in the end, there really was only one way.

“The problem is I never finished learning Confucian Education.”

[Free Behavioral Correction].

A function that, after completing a given subject, allowed me to overhaul a student's fundamental way of thinking based on that discipline's logic. Short of wielding the stuffy Neo-Confucian yardstick of the Joseon era to forcibly instill absolute obedience and deference to one's teacher into that unruly foal, nothing else came to mind.

Except there was a problem.

“Haah, damn it….”

The memory of the brutal beatdown I'd endured in that godforsaken virtual space was still painfully vivid.

I tried to recall everything I'd memorized over the past day. Honestly, not much came back.

No matter how sharp my mind was, memorizing two thick books' worth of Sino-Korean readings without a single mistake was simply madness. That would take weeks — no, months, easily. And tutoring was starting today. When exactly was I supposed to finish all of it?

Besides, a more fundamental question occurred to me.

Is it really supposed to work by parrot-mimicking pronunciations like this in the first place?

The subject I'd chosen was [Confucian Education]. Not [Hanja Memorization], and certainly not [Sojahak] or [Myeongsimbogam].

Reading the books wasn't the goal, was it? The core had to be internalizing the thought and principles contained within them.

Then a line from the system's guidance flickered through my mind.

Retry opportunities were unlimited, it had said. The only penalty I'd seen so far was the pain suffered inside the virtual space.

Then there was no reason to stubbornly bury my nose in books. Better to try a variety of approaches — poke holes in this system's logic, or find a way to route around the clear conditions altogether.

Yeah. Let's do it.

I reached out into the empty air, pulled up the system window, and pressed the [Confucian Education] trial button.

Familiar dizziness washed over me, and my vision went black.

When I opened my eyes, that sharp, acrid scent of ink stabbed at my nose once more. Heavy rafters, doors papered over with hanji — the men's quarters of a Joseon-era noble house.

And before me….

“Have you still not come to your senses?!”

…she stood there all the same — that 'Mother' NPC in her jade-colored skirt, flaunting a bosom on the verge of bursting free, switch raised in hand.

I put my brain to work at once. First attempt: the honest, straightforward approach. A compromise. I'd beg her to let me start learning from the beginning again, even if it meant taking the rod.

“M-Mother! I am far too ignorant to read! Please, calm your wrath and teach me slowly from the Thousand Character Classic, from the very start! I shall accept your rod with gratitude!”

I pressed my forehead to the floor with a thud and cried out earnestly. Wasn't this the perfect line, appealing to both Confucian filial piety and zeal for learning at once?

But the Mother's graceful brow twisted into something frightening at my words.

“Have you ever seen a fool so witless and vulgar!”

“…Pardon?”

“A man of age to wed and found a family, and only now he speaks of relearning the Thousand Character Classic! What have you done all these years, that not a single verse ever reached your eyes! You have no face to show your ancestors!”

Ah, for God's sake. This woman really had zero flexibility.

Whiiiish—! CRACK!

“AAAGH!”

The merciless switch came down across my calves again. It landed squarely on the exact spots I'd been beaten before, so the pain felt doubled.

“Ack! Wait, time out! Time out!”

“How dare you babble such nonsense before your own mother!”

CRACK! CRACK!

First attempt: miserably failed.

Face-down on the bed, gasping for breath, I washed my face with cold water and restarted the system.

Second attempt: escape.

Maybe if I got out of this insane room, some other event would trigger — or maybe even that Mother would start thinking differently. If her one and only son took a beating and then bolted, wouldn't that say something was wrong with her methods of discipline?

The instant my vision brightened, I kicked off the floor and sprang up before my knees had even straightened.

“Wh-where do you think you're going?!”

Leaving the Mother's flustered shout behind, I rammed my shoulder into the papered door. With a crash it gave way, and I bolted outside.

“Haah, haah…!”

The moment I stepped into the courtyard, my breath caught in my throat.

“Wh-what the hell is this?”

What spread out before me was no serene hanok courtyard. A blinding white blizzard swallowing my field of vision. A cutting wind that threatened to shred my ears.

I was standing on the narrow, cramped veranda of a lone thatched hut, and beyond it stretched nothing but endless white void. Like reaching the edge of a game map — an isolated space with no path forward, not even a step.

All that existed in this virtual world was this cramped room, me, and that deranged Mother NPC. That was the whole story.

“You've got to be kidding me….”

While I stood shivering, teeth chattering from the bone-deep, murderous cold, the Mother came rushing out of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the room and seized me roughly by the ear.

“Have you lost your mind, boy?! Get back inside this instant!”

And then came the familiar sound of the switch cutting through air.

CRACK! CRAAAACK!

“AAAGH! Damn it, it's cold! And it hurts!”

Second attempt: predictably, horrifically failed.

I stuffed my fist into my mouth. I wanted to scream. Thank God there was no one around to see — I looked exactly like a man losing his mind.

“Haah… damn it, I'm seriously losing it.”

My calves felt like they were on fire, and my willpower had hit rock bottom. What kind of Confucian exam was this supposed to be?!

I clenched my jaw. I was sick of it. Confucianism and all the rest of it aside — I simply refused to get beaten any longer by that perfectly-built NPC!

I might not be some noble lady, but even my own family had barely ever laid a hand on me!

I closed my eyes again.

Third attempt.

The familiar ink-scented air. The chill in the room.

Before me stood the Mother, shoulders heaving with fury.

“Come here, boy. Today I shall break your legs if I must—”

The moment she raised the switch high above her head—

—instead of kneeling obediently, I lunged forward.

“Oh, for God's sake, cut it out already!”

I shoved her raised shoulders with both hands, rough and hard.

“KYAAAH!”

My palms brushed something soft and heavy, but there was no time to savor it. Even with my body regressed and smaller than before, if I could just get rid of that damn switch, I could turn this fight around.

The Mother shrieked, lost her balance, and toppled backward. With a loud crash she landed flat on her rear on the floorboards, and the ash-wood switch went rolling out of her hand.

“Y-you—! You just—!”

The face of the Mother, sprawled on the floor, went white with shock. Her huge eyes widened to the point of tearing, and her red lips trembled.

In the Joseon era — in a worldview governed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠by Neo-Confucianism — for a child to lay hands on and shove a parent? This wasn't mere rebellion. This was gangsang — a grave offense against hierarchy, an act that merited severe punishment.

“How… how dare you strike your mother! You have finally become a creature lower than the beasts of the field!”

Screaming, the Mother scrambled toward the switch lying on the floor.

But I was faster. I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠threw myself at the ground as if rolling, and clamped my hand tight around one end of the rod.

“Let go, lady!”

“L-lady?! The boy has truly gone mad! Release the switch this instant!”

The Mother grabbed the opposite end, refusing to yield. But she had already lost her footing — and off balance as she was, she toppled helplessly toward me.

“KYAAA—!”

Seizing that brief opening, I bore down on her shoulder as she toppled in a heap, pinning her flat against the floor.

Swish—

Her dignified jade skirt flipped up in one sweep, and the round, ample outline of her backside was laid bare above her undergarments.

I raised the stolen switch high into the air. And then, without a shred of mercy — just as I had suffered moments ago — I brought it down.

CRACK—!