Hated, Yet Once Again (1)

Just as the flustered me tried to sit up, a blood-red warning window flickered ominously into the empty air.

"What?"

My jaw hit the floor.

Seonbae had been cooped up in her room all day, so I'd assumed nothing worth noting was happening and fast-forwarded through the footage. Apparently, during that fleeting window of time, I'd missed some crucial event.

What the hell? She never went outside. That much was certain.

Or... don't tell me she was texting someone, and I skipped right past that conversation?

"Ah, damn it."

The diary floating before my eyes had, true to the System's word, lost half of its black ink censor bars — but the sentences that looked most important remained hidden behind solid black rectangles.

"Ah... this is such bullshit."

I glared at the diary in hollow frustration.

After "Washed up and lay down in the evening, but I kept thinking about what happened that morning and" — what comes next?

Don't tell me she lay on her bed — my scent still on it — thinking of me while stuffing that 5cm mini dildo inside herself for comfort?

No wait, she said she lay down on the bed, but... no, she wouldn't necessarily have to be lying in bed to masturbate.

The half-finished diary was, if anything, worse than not reading it at all — it left a maddening itch behind. My heart burned wondering what kind of lewd, secret fantasies might be hiding behind those blacked-out bars.

Hopeful, I opened the student record tab.

But just as the System had decreed, the [Behavioral Traits & Comprehensive Assessment] field hadn't changed at all. The correction progress gauge sat helplessly frozen somewhere around the 53% mark.

There was no function to go back and re-verify. An opportunity once squandered was squandered for good.

"Aigo..."

That was when it happened.

Zzzing, zzziiiing.

The phone I'd tossed onto the mattress buzzed noisily. The screen lit up the dark room. The caller ID read [Kang Eugene Sunbae].

The last line written in the diary flashed through my mind.

'Gotta check first thing tomorrow.'

She'd said tomorrow, yet here she was calling just past midnight. Impatient to a fault, this woman.

I cleared my throat, straightened my voice, and pressed the call button.

"Hello?"

"Yeah, Lee Seonghyun. You're not asleep yet?"

Seonbae's voice through the receiver was oddly buoyant — but at the same time it carried a thick undercurrent of a strict administrator keeping me in line.

"No. Well... I was working on an assignment. What about you, seonbae?"

"I just washed up and got into bed. Hey, did you contact that number I gave you earlier?"

Of course. It was about the tutoring.

For Seonbae, this tutoring job was the fruit of her own personal sense of 'responsibility' — her mission to steer me onto the proper path in life.

"Uh... not yet. It's late, so I'll do it tomorrow morning."

"Aigo, seriously, are you insane? Do I have to hold your hand through every single little thing?"

Seonbae clicked her tongue in exasperation.

"What if the lady's busy getting ready for work in the morning? Instead, right now, send her a polite text like, 'I'll give you a proper call tomorrow morning.' That's how you look diligent."

Endless nagging.

But I didn't feel bad about it. Half-finished or not, I'd already read the sincerity written inside that diary. Even as she treated me like a bothersome piece of luggage, there it was — that controlling urge to burrow deep into my daily life under the banner of "what would he do without me looking after him?"

"Got it. If you say so, seonbae, then I'll do it."

"Hmph. At least you listen well. Anyway, make the call tomorrow, and the moment a first lesson date gets set, report to me immediately. Got it?"

"Yes, yes, I'll report with military precision. You're basically my legal guardian at this point, seonbae."

When I slyly fired back, a brief silence drifted across the line.

"G-guardian my ass! I'm only looking after you because you're so hopelessly scatterbrained. Hang up!"

Click.

The call ended along with Seonbae's signature grumbling defense mechanism.

I set the phone down and smirked.

Seonbae's behavioral correction was rolling in a direction that was unambiguously favorable to me. The price, of course, was that I now had to dutifully wear the shackle of this godforsaken tutoring job she'd fetched for me.

I pulled up the number saved in my contacts as [Tutoring Parent]. Just as Seonbae had hounded me to, I composed a courteous greeting and sent the text.

It chafed to walk back into the quicksand of this tedious tutoring gig — but for now, keeping Seonbae happy was priority number one.

And just as I finished sending the parent my respectful message and was about to put the phone down —

Ring-ring!

The System panel hanging in the air, which had turned a sullen gray ever since my diary got chopped in half, suddenly pulsed with a soft golden glow and popped up a new window.

"Huh?"

Subject Completion.

A word I'd definitely seen on the first day, when I was choosing behavioral corrections from Kang Eugene's student record. The System had rejected my attempt at a Free Correction, saying I hadn't completed the necessary foundational subjects.

An explanation window scrolled on.

In short: pass an exam, earn a qualification, get a bonus. Become good at English, become good at math — something like that.

Think of it as a skill tree unlock, more or less.

Obviously, I pressed yes.

The screen transitioned, revealing a list with a scrollbar stretching into the absurd.

"Whoa, jeez... what is all this?"

At the very top sat familiar names: [Korean], [Mathematics], [English], [Social Studies], [Science].

Up to that point, they were the standard curriculum subjects I knew intimately.

But the further down I scrolled, the stranger it got.

They taught these, too?

And that wasn't the end. At the very bottom of the list, in a special category grayed out and dimmed, were even more outrageous entries.

"...So Pseudoscience is strictly for con artists, huh."

On a whim, I tapped [Hypnotism].

But I could only sigh in immediate disappointment. It wasn't the 'hypnotism' I was imagining — it was 'hypnotherapy' as used in psychology or psychiatry.

Which meant, either way, that everything listed here was real — no invented, nonexistent disciplines.

I rested my finger on [English], the subject I knew best, then quickly withdrew it.

Let's hold off. No need to rush a choice right this second.

I decided to keep my reward in reserve for a while. Judging from the System messages, there didn't seem to be a limit on how many times I could use it, but the mention of actual exams suggested the difficulty would be substantial.

Tutoring starts next week, so it's better to focus on one thing as much as possible.

In other words, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠meeting the student first and choosing afterward wouldn't be too late.

She'd said she was a retaker, so her main subjects were probably the CSAT ones. If the girl turned out to be hopeless at math, I could complete [Mathematics] and teach it myself — or if not, I could simply pick some other subject.

"Mmm..."

Morning came, and I found a reply had arrived overnight from the message I'd sent the lady.

This was the tutoring I'd been strong-armed into agreeing to. What on earth had she been told about me?

She didn't describe me as a pushover junior who does whatever he's told, right?

Well, knowing Seonbae's personality, she wouldn't have said anything bad. If anything, since this was a position she'd wedged me into herself, the odds were excellent that she'd wrapped me in flawless packaging.

I sent my reply right away.

Having resolved to do it regardless, this tutoring job was now a vital source of income for me and the shackle that kept my relationship with Seonbae intact. She wanted me to lead a stable life through this work — and that was the expression of her sense of 'responsibility.'

"Aigo, being the house husband is no walk in the park either."

I chuckled dryly and got up. After a quick wash, I pulled the most presentable clothes from my closet — a navy shirt and slacks.

The outfit I used to wear all the time back when I tutored.

Fortunately, the address in the text was in the same neighborhood, not far from my place. A walk of about fifteen minutes.

Once I left the alley of one-room studios where cigarette butts littered the ground, a massive apartment complex reared up along a six-lane boulevard. From the entrance, a barrier gate glinted, screening outside vehicles, and security guards in suits stood at attention.

The parents Seonbae recommended had always tended to live in places like this.

Ding-dong—

In front of [Unit 2002], I took a deep breath and rang the doorbell.

"Yes, coming~"

A soft voice came through the intercom, followed by the cheerful click of the door lock releasing. The heavy front door swung open, and a woman appeared.

"Welcome. You're Teacher Lee Seonghyun, I take it?"

"Ah, yes. I'm Lee Seonghyun, I received your mes—"

I was bowing my head in a polite greeting when, the moment my eyes met the woman's face, the words died in my throat.

Whoa.

I barely swallowed the exclamation that had nearly escaped.

The lady — "parent" felt like far too plain a word for the woman before me — was simply... devastatingly attractive.

Smooth skin that made her age impossible to guess, and a black bob. But above all, what hijacked my gaze was her figure — and the way she was dressed.

A thin, beige knit dress, worn as if she'd chosen it for comfort at home. The soft fabric clung to her curvaceous body without an ounce of restraint.

She's got a bit of flesh on her, but somehow that makes it even more...

The line of her hips cascading smoothly beneath the dress was superb, but the true showstopper was her chest.

Even at a glance, her full, magnificently shaped breasts asserted their presence against the knit. With every breath she took, the stretched fabric creased and pulled taut, and I nearly locked my eyes onto them outright.

I jerked my head down and stared hard at my shoelaces instead.

"Teacher?"

"...Ah, yes. I'm Lee Seonghyun. I look forward to working with you."

"Yes, likewise. Please come in. It's nothing fancy, but make yourself comfortable."

I perched awkwardly at the edge of a wide, plush leather sofa.

The lady went to the kitchen and returned with two glasses of orange juice in clear glasses. Accompanied by the clink of ice, she settled gracefully onto the sofa across from mine.

As she crossed her legs, the hem of the knit dress rode up slightly, baring her smooth white thighs. I gulped and riveted my eyes to the glass in my hands.

Manage your eyes. Don't go acting like some horny mutt in heat in the middle of someone's living room.

"Eugene has really told me so much about you."

The lady smiled gently as she traced the rim of her juice glass.

"She said you were in the College of Education before you transferred? That you have quite a lot of tutoring experience, and that you're absolutely outstanding at raising grades."

"Well, yes... I'm fairly confident in teaching students. Though I think seonbae may have exaggerated a little."

"Oh my, humble, too. Eugene — and honestly, college students these days are just so dependable."

Dongseng? She had to be over forty no matter how young she looked, and yet she and Seonbae were close enough to call each other little and big sister?

Still, judging from her manner of speech, a parent like this seemed a world apart from those hysterical, insufferable moms I'd dealt with in the past. I could see why Seonbae had crowed so confidently about what a "genuinely great gig" this was.

I eased the conversation toward business.

"So, um, seonbae gave me the broad strokes about your daughter. She's a girl retaking the college entrance exams this year, right? Is she home right now, by any chance?"

At my question, the lady burst into a small laugh. The way she covered her mouth with the back of her hand, eyes crinkling, was surprisingly bewitching.

"My daughter? Hmm... well, she's asleep at the moment. Hehe, you understand, don't you? Sundays are best spent resting and letting the body recover."

"Ah, of course."

That, too, set her apart from other parents. For a high school senior or a retaker, Sunday would normally be a full day at the academy.

The lady picked up the smartphone resting on the table. After a few taps, she opened the gallery app and held the phone out toward me.

"These are my girls... ah, I have two daughters, you see."

On the screen, two girls stood side by side, posing for a photo against the backdrop of some pretty café. Sisters, they called themselves, yet their styles were polar opposites.

One had straight hair down to her shoulders, tied up neatly, dressed in a plain ivory sweatshirt and jeans. Her expression was gentle — the very textbook image of a model student. One look said she studied well, said she'd never once given her parents a moment of grief.

And the girl standing beside her...

"......"

I stared at the screen. Brightly bleached yellow hair, faintly tanned skin, heavy makeup. She wore a black crop top that clung to her body, her navel on full display.

With round puppy-like eyes and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a wide beaming smile, she looked the very picture of a playful, sunny girl. But judging from the way she dressed, one thing was crystal clear: this was not a daughter who listened to her parents.