The Weight of 500 Won
Even at the goblin computer, there had been an incident where a sixth-grade senior drowned while swimming with friends at a nearby reservoir. The tragedy struck just one day before the new semester began. It was a devastating blow to one family, yet the school seemed more concerned about whether the education office would penalize them for it.
“As some of you may know, a sixth-grader drowned yesterday while swimming at the reservoir with his friends.”
The classroom fell into immediate gloom at the news of a senior’s death. To Yoo Jae-won, the boy was a stranger. He had no memory of any drowning incident the day before. Memories from decades ago were not merely faint—they were unstable.
“None of you are to go there. The water is filthy, and there are pesticide bottles and trash everywhere. Even if you make it out alive, you’ll end up with skin diseases. Go to the Geumcheon River right in front of the school instead. Of course, you’ll still get in trouble if you’re caught swimming there. Anyway, the school has decided to pay its respects, so bring 500 won each tomorrow.”
As expected, it came down to money. The children’s reactions were lukewarm. They felt sorry for the senior, but having to bring money was another matter entirely.
“Why is no one answering?”
Kim Kyeong-pil rapped the desk sharply with his punishment stick. Only then did the children respond with a loud “Yes, sir.”
“Good. That settles the greetings. Now, let’s review our summer vacation assignments. You all did your homework, right? Take it out and put it on your desks.”
The moment they had been dreading had arrived. Moments later, cries echoed through the classroom of Class 5-5 at Deokjin Elementary. The “rod of love,” long vanished from Korean classrooms after the 2020s, struck palms with sharp, rhythmic cracks. There were five assignments in total. Each missing assignment earned three strikes—up to fifteen if everything was incomplete. At least when the homeroom teacher was in a good mood, he adjusted his strength. Today, he was not. The sound was louder than usual. He showed no mercy to the girls, either. Eventually, some children began to cry, only to be scolded: “What are you crying for? Did you do something praiseworthy?”
There were exceptions, of course.
“Ho-sik was hospitalized the entire vacation because he was sick, wasn’t he? Don’t get sick next time.”
It wasn’t because Kang Ho-sik had truly been ill. The boy was built like a tank—sturdy and large enough to bully other children without effort. He showed no signs of sickness. The real reason was that his parents occasionally visited the school and demonstrated their “sincerity.” This was what a 1988 classroom looked like.
His desk partner Jumin also received nine marks on his palms. Though his family was wealthy, his parents were too busy to visit. Without Yoo Jae-won, three more marks would have been added. He was lucky.
Next came Yoo Jae-won.
“Hold out your palm.”
The teacher had grown so accustomed to Jae-won never doing his homework that the words came automatically. But they no longer applied to him.
“What is it?”
When the homeroom teacher asked curtly why he wasn’t holding out his hand, Yoo Jae-won answered calmly.
“I completed all my assignments.”
A look of disbelief flashed across Kim Kyeong-pil’s face—You?—before his hawk-like eyes scanned the homework. The diary was filled to the brim, not a single day missing. Suspicious, the teacher checked the weather reports. They were accurate. Kim Kyeong-pil didn’t remember every day in August, but he recalled the day the typhoon had struck. Children who wrote carelessly had claimed it was sunny or only cloudy on that date. Yoo Jae-won had been precise. The same held true for everything else. The science exploration answers were correct, not scribbled at random, and the specimen collection was complete.
“Hmm? Unexpected.”
That was the teacher’s entire reaction after reviewing all five assignments spread out before him. Not a single word of praise. Yoo Jae-won hadn’t expected any. This was a homeroom teacher who enjoyed receiving bribes and gifts and made no effort to hide it. Since Jae-won’s family had never once visited the school, praise was never going to come. Still, Yoo Jae-won was satisfied. Compared to previous semesters, this was a world of difference. A semester that began without a single beating could only be called revolutionary.
Of course, this was only the beginning.
Deokjin Elementary held monthly exams. Because the region had no school district equalization, students had to pass entrance exams to attend their desired middle schools. While failing an exam didn’t mean one couldn’t attend middle school at all—multiple choices were allowed—it made admission to a preferred school far more difficult. From middle school onward, the paths diverged sharply between academic tracks and vocational or agricultural schools leading straight to employment.
By the second semester of fifth grade, it was tradition for homeroom teachers to create a serious study atmosphere. Even slight chatter could bring down a storm of beatings. This year, however, the effort failed. Today marked the opening of the 1988 Seoul Olympics—a national event, no, a global one. The entire country was in a festive mood. To heighten the excitement, schools were given a temporary holiday.
Yoo Jae-won watched the opening ceremony comfortably at home with his parents.
“Whoa.”
Though it was only a 12-inch black-and-white television, it conveyed the grandeur of the event well enough. The mass games performed by countless high school students, the taekwondo demonstration team composed of soldiers—everything was a performance squeezed out of human labor, yet it was captivating to watch.
Next came the Olympic flame, which had traveled across the nation to ignite the passion for the Games. It entered the main stadium and was carried up by elevator to light the cauldron. A few doves released during the pre-ceremony perched on the cauldron and were instantly roasted, the scene broadcast live around the world.
—Hand in hand, over the wall~♪
The Seoul Olympics theme song performed by the mixed group Korea, composed by the legendary Giorgio Moroder, was deeply moving. While folk songs dominated by guitar were popular in Korea at the time, the world was embracing a variety of genres. Moroder was a pioneer of innovative electronic music using synthesizers, and “Hand in Hand” was undeniably an electronic masterpiece. It became a worldwide hit, selling 17 million singles globally. Great songs never felt dated, and even to Yoo Jae-won, with his 21st-century sensibilities, it resonated deeply. It was clear that the influx of diverse music genres into Korea after the ’88 Olympics owed much to this song’s influence.
Music reminds me…
He thought of the six cassette tapes he had sent after emptying his piggy bank. They contained hit songs by artists who would remain famous even in the 21st century. If those tapes had been buried among mountains of fan letters and never opened, there was nothing more to say. But if the artists had listened, they surely wouldn’t have been able to resist contacting him.
Why haven’t any of the singers contacted me yet?
Not a single one had reached out.
Did they all ghost me together? Or is it because of the Olympics?
Even celebrities weren’t forbidden from enjoying the Olympic festival.
Or… did they reject them?
The songs had been perfectly tailored to turn them into superstars, but perhaps hearing them sung in a twelve-year-old’s voice had felt awkward. Negative thoughts had no end. For now, he decided to blame the Olympics. At the same time, the ’88 Seoul Olympics were also an opportunity for Yoo Jae-won.
The prerequisite for je-ga—managing one’s household—was to instill such absolute trust in his family that they would believe him even if he claimed beans were made of red beans. With that trust, he could prevent foolish decisions like trading ancestral lands for trifles and grow the family’s modest fortune into something monumental.
“Father, how many gold medals do you think our country will win at these Olympics?”
Yoo Bong-man, who had been focused on the television, turned to his son. He couldn’t help but smile whenever he looked at Yoo Jae-won. Ever since the end of summer vacation, his son had been different—and that change had persisted even after school resumed. The boy had shown remarkable talent at the piano, something no one had expected, and had brought home perfect scores on every pop quiz at school. Expectations for his monthly mock exam results were steadily rising. If he scored this well on the mock exams, Yoo Bong-man wouldn’t say a word even if his son played computer games all day. Not that he could complain anyway—lately, his son had been tinkering with the computer, filling the screen with English he couldn’t understand rather than playing games.
Still, he tried his best to give an accurate prediction to his son’s question.
“Hmm. We won six at the last Olympics in America, didn’t we? Since this one’s on home soil, I suppose we might win eight or nine.”
He had crafted a plausible number, factoring in the hazy memory of the 1984 Los Angeles Olympics.
“What about you, Mother?”
“Hmm, I think eight as well, like your father. It seems our Jae-won has a different idea?”
Kim Mal-sook noticed her son Yoo Jae-won grinning as she spoke.