190 - The Eccentric
After finishing our eccentric lunch, we sat on the stairs at the school entrance on the first floor to kill time until fifth period, blankly watching the rain. The damp, fresh scent of earth—even in the heart of the city—evoked the charm of the countryside. I didn't bother explaining that it came from geosmin, an organic compound produced by actinomycetes bacteria in the soil during decomposition, and aerosols formed when rain hits the ground.
[Sis, just quietly enjoy it for once, please.] Adella's advice held true. The kids looked plenty happy just noticing how the raindrops sounded different hitting the garden soil versus the asphalt. Then, cutting through nature's rhythmic patter came the artificial growl of an exhaust.
It was a sports car, noticeably flatter than others, with an aggressive hood and bumper that balanced oval elegance and menace, finished in seductive black paint. Nothing about it failed to draw the children's eyes. Our rain-watching session had long derailed.
The driver parked in a corner of the lot, flung open the door, and slammed a high-heeled shoe onto the pavement. Her stark white hair stood out sharply against the black paint. The owner of one of only thirty Bugatti Hamiltons in the country was someone I'd briefly met that morning.
"“Hello, Principal!””
The friends' spirited greetings prompted me to bob my head along.
“Hello. Did you all enjoy lunch?”
“Yes, it was yummy today!”
“They served pork shoulder pilaf for lunch!”
Despite the half-century age gap, the woman replied with polite formality. She was none other than Gu On-yu, principal of Seferon Academy. She'd probably grabbed lunch out. I wasn't a fan of the pork shoulder pilaf, though.
Even in the downpour, she didn't bother with an umbrella.
“The sound of the rain is nice, isn't it?”
“Yes!”
“Don't get too excited and play in it—you'll catch a cold. Got it?”
“Yes, Principal!”
By the time she reached the entrance, not a single raindrop clung to her voluminous hair. Instead, a thin hydrophobic aura membrane enveloped her entire body.
After our brief chat with the principal and confirming the click of her heels fading away, I Ha-ru spoke first.
“The principal seems really unique, doesn't she?”
Unique? She was probably the top eccentric in the country. An elementary school principal pulling up in a sports car? You wouldn't find even two like her in Korea.
“Yeah, kinda like a weirdo... right?”
Ma Ji-hye offered quietly, and the other kids nodded in agreement.
“I heard her office is full of comics. Like Naruto or One Piece...”
“Comics? Seri, how do you even know that stuff?”
“Just rumors. Oh yeah, Nami, you went to the principal's office first period! Is it true her bookshelf is packed with comics?”
Han Se-ri and the others turned their eyes back to me.
“Well... yeah, there were some.”
“Whoa, that's so cool!”
“What was the principal like? What'd she say?”
“Is she really as weird as the rumors? Did she make you do something bizarre?”
The kids launched a mini inquisition. I crossed my arms and pondered.
“What was she like? Hmm...”
Seferon Academy's organizational structure is complex. To grasp it properly, you need to understand the Foundation's nature first.
A think tank dominates national politics and media; the Foundation is the evolved form. True to Western flair for acronyms, it stood for some grandiose “Functional Organization Under...” but boiled down to a straightforward foundation—funded by global corporations and tycoons, mostly nonpartisan, wielding influence worldwide for policy-making and tech monopolies.
Their biggest expenses? Research and education. The former flowed to labs, the latter to academies.
Academy operations varied by country, but in government-heavy Korea, they generally enjoyed autonomy. In exchange, the Korean branch had an audit committee, with Kim Yong-seong—the planning coordinator—as a Foundation-appointed auditor.
Principals were nominally appointed by provincial superintendents under presidential delegation, like any school. But it was superficial; unbound even by elementary/secondary education decrees, they operated in a separate realm. As long as you avoided major screw-ups, the Foundation turned a blind eye, and the education office stayed hands-off. The “academy principal” title was tantamount to unchecked power on campus—a sword without equal.
“So you decorated the office like this? Dragged everything from home?”
“Even principals get bored at work. Sneaking reads during duty is the best part. If any comics catch your eye, borrow away.”
“Not really my thing.”
I sipped the Earl Grey she'd poured, gauging her. That beaming smile wasn't entirely welcoming. I couldn't read what lay behind it.
“I figured NoName would love anime or sports cars. Guess I misjudged.”
Her display case showcased anime figures and toy cars impeccably.
“Why'd you think that?”
“Genius types are usually eccentrics.”
“You think you're a genius?”
“Pfft, of course! It's just a hobby! Cars are cool to anyone, right? Anyway, thrilled to meet you!”
She offered a handshake again. Her face hadn't hinted, but her hands bore countless wrinkles and calluses. For that split second, I felt her externally manifested aura. No wonder academy principals weren't for just anyone.
The small talk dragged—did I like the academy? Getting along with friends?—time crawling unbearably. Riiiing—click! She silenced the blaring phone like a pro.
“Thanks to you, the principal's popularity's skyrocketed. Know that?”
“Yeah, obvious.”
“Today's probably the most-called person on earth. Blocking them all... might just change my number.”
“Principal, if I may—down to business?”
“Right, sorry! Here's the official doc from the Foundation. Wanna read it together?”
From Seferon Foundation? The plain stack from the brown envelope looked unremarkable.
“They really wanna see you, NoName. Invitation to the US. I'll explain any tricky words.”
I scanned the seven-page document. It specified verifying my proofs in person, plus detailed plans for housing, travel, passports—ready whenever I decided. I handed it back.
“Not really thinking—”
“Knew it!”
“...?”
Before I finished, she snatched it, tore it in half—not stopping there, shredding it to confetti and dumping it in the trash.
“If they wanna see you, they come to Korea. Right?”
“Uh, yeah. Exactly.”
“Anyway, weirdos. Oh, last thing—any inconveniences commuting? Or wishes for the academy?”
“Reporters are kinda thick around here. Thought the grounds extended 100m past the gate.”
“Got it. Anything else?”
“No real wishes. You're already doing plenty well.”
Indeed, over the past week, Seferon had shielded my identity thoroughly. I was grateful—almost burdened by it.
“Why separate Class A from the rest in our grade?”
“Foundation policy, NoName.”
“Not up to you?”
“Afraid not.”
After that, nothing much. Gu On-yu had summoned me solely to deliver the genuine Foundation memo. She promised measures against study-disrupters.
“But really just a hobby?”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing. Tea was great. Back to class.”
Leaving, I eyed the display again. Of course. Comics supposedly collected for decades were pristine—no fingerprints, just dust. Every volume. She'd never read a single one.
“Just for display?”
Ha-ru chimed in.
“Display?”
“Yeah. My sis buys multiples of cat merch—one to use, one spare, one to show off.”
“Huh, makes sense.”
Rich people think different. I agreed with Ha-ru.
“Nami, when you inviting us to a live stream?”
Han Se-ri poked a bagworm with a stick, turning to me.
“Live stream?”
“She means birthday party...!”
“Oh.”
“Wait, we're not even friends? Wow, if true, total letdown, NoName!”
Seri sprang up dramatically, hands on hips.
“Nami's birthday soon...?”
“Whoa, Yuna didn't know? Okay, exclude her then!”
“Noooo! Nami's my bestie! Why not invite me?! Nami?!”
Seo Yu-na's tears flowed again, stirred by Seri.
“Do we have to do a birthday party?”
“Huh?”
“It's just a birthday. Verbal congrats are enough for me.”
“Sundays you skip academy!”
But how do they know my exact birthday? Spy in class for sure. Suspect: Jacqueline Teacher.
“Fine. Come anytime. But no gifts. Show up with one, you're not entering.”
“Why? Birthdays mean presents!”
Ha-ru protested loudly, but I wouldn't budge.
“Don't like it? Don't come.”
“Hng, okay...”
“Hey, Ha-ru, chill with this.”
Seri nudged her shoulder from behind.
“Huh? What—kyaaaaah!”
“Bagworm. Heh.”
“Get it away, Han Se-ri! I said I'm scared...!”
“Heeheehee.”
Chaotic as hell.
Gu On-yu was gravely mistaken about one thing: she wasn't the only one hounded by calls.
“Aaaargh, gonna get tinnitus! Why! Why why why?! What the hell?!”
The man was losing hair ten times faster from nonstop phones. Dileet—Letterbox founding member and head of Ddaggyeoldae and Fall War.
“Why can't anything go smoothly without incidents?!”
Still in his thirties, he cherished his follicles. Resignation set in.
“Screw it. Release the video...”
“Pardon?”
“Dump yesterday's interview on VTube. Haaa... if they want it that bad.”
“Editing's not done.”
“Ji-eun, please!”
Dileet's face paled to ghostly.
“Just clip that part and upload! Why so dense?!”
“Ah! The NoName bit...”
“Yes! God, every time, I could cry...!”
The female staffer handed tissues to the man who slumped into his office chair, pinching his brow.
“Aw, don't cry.”
Dileet's dumbfounded stare at her was priceless.
“Do it!”
“Uploading for real? Okay, uploading!”
“Quit yapping and upload!”
“Eek!”