Chapter 3: I've Been Identified
The next morning. I lay my head on my desk, closed my eyes, and tried to steady my breathing quietly, but the lingering unease from last night's harsh words to someone on the other side of the screen wouldn't fade easily. Even if it was an iron wall I'd put up to protect myself, it was inevitable that a corner of my heart would feel heavy.
I shook my head lightly to clear away the stray thoughts. Wasting emotions like that wouldn't help at all.
"Hey, Kim Tae-yoon. You finish the math homework?"
"Crazy, we have math today? This is gonna suck from the morning. Let me copy real quick!"
The big guy in the back, Park Sung-ho, grumbled as he pulled out his gym clothes. Next to him, Kim Tae-yoon was freaking out and scribbling in his math notebook. The classroom buzzed with chatter from the guys I'd gotten friendly with at yesterday's entrance ceremony.
I pulled my crumpled math notebook from my bag and tossed it onto his desk.
"I only got halfway. No clue on the back part."
Tae-yoon checked the half-assed work and ruffled his hair in frustration. With my past life's knowledge, high school first-year math was child's play—I didn't even need to turn a pen—but my report card always had to hover at the upper edge of average. It was the best camouflage to avoid sticking in teachers' memories or getting targeted by classmates.
"Ah, wanna hit the snack bar? Still time before first period."
Sung-ho rubbed his belly and stood up. Tae-yoon's eyes lit up as he chimed in.
"Cool. Rock-paper-scissors for who buys snacks."
I clenched my fist but timed mine just a beat late. Spotting Tae-yoon's rock, I flashed scissors quick.
"Yes! Kim Tae-yoon's the loser!"
"Ah, damn, why's it always me?"
I burst out laughing at his aggrieved face as he dug out his wallet.
"When's PE today? Third period, right?"
"Yeah. Soccer game then lunch—perfect."
We grabbed chocolate bread and strawberry milk from the snack bar and headed back as the morning study bell rang, but the classroom vibe stayed chaotic and light. The rest of morning classes dragged on lazily. In Korean, I chucked eraser dust at Tae-yoon's nodding head; in math, I pretended to copy the board formulas half-heartedly to kill time.
Finally, third period PE arrived. Running on the dusty field in the spring breeze wasn't bad. Scoring flashy goals up front and soaking up cheers? That was for the show-offs. My spot was midfield fringes—pass the ball just enough, sweat without drawing eyes.
"Man, passes are off today."
"That's 'cause you whiffed it!"
After a quick rinse at the faucet, I led the grumbling crew toward the cafeteria. Rounding the hallway corner, my shoulder lightly brushed someone coming the other way.
"Ah, sorry."
I stepped back and looked up. A familiar face waved casually—Kang Min-woo. The guy who treated the middle of the classroom like his personal stage. Not aggressive, but once he got interested, he wore you down subtly.
"No worries."
I answered shortly and tried to pass, but his gaze snagged on my right hand.
"Calluses are rough. You work out?"
"Hands are just kinda beat-up."
I brushed it off vaguely, and he smirked just like yesterday.
"Same as before—you're not spilling."
"No reason to tell someone I'm not close with."
I snapped curtly, but he didn't seem offended.
"Fair enough. Makes me more curious, though."
He tossed that out and turned away quick. His friends called him toward the cafeteria. Short talk, but it tired me out. Maybe 'cause he was the original story's protagonist.
"What're you doing? Let's go."
Tae-yoon slapped my back as he passed.
"Coming."
"Today's menu's pork stir-fry."
"Hell yeah. Two bowls for sure."
We piled rice mountain-high on our trays and claimed a corner table. Lunch chatter stuck to Tae-yoon's epic rank game troll fail yesterday. Still, Kang Min-woo's face from that hallway brush kept popping up oddly.
After school. University District Park near home. Weather was pretty chilly, so I'd layered a black hoodie tight over my uniform shirt. Only after pulling the black cap low and yanking the mask up to my nose did I open the battered guitar case. Last night's awkward counseling chat, the exhausting extra roleplay all morning—they'd fade once I strummed here.
I set up the tripod and slotted my smartphone into the holder. As always, a quiet stream for about ten viewers would start.
I warmed my fingers lightly and hit [Stream Start].
The cam's red light flicked on, and the viewer count in the top right crept up slowly.
[1] [4] [9] [17] [28] [41]
A bit more than usual. Faster than normal, but whatever. Algorithms glitch sometimes. I shrugged it off and adjusted the mic.
My hand paused. Shorts? I recalled last night—briefly pulling down the mask for water. Someone must've clipped that gap and uploaded it. Faster than expected. But not panic-level yet. Just a few extra chats.
"……Shorts?"
I opened a beat later than usual.
"Dunno who, but if someone clipped my stream, please take it down. It's awkward."
"Stop. Really take down the Shorts. I don't like it."
I said it a bit coldly on purpose. Vague smiles just invite trolls. They had to know I really hated it. Blunt signals like this would at least make them back off for a while from clipping randomly.
The chat shifted to other stuff quick, but that made it more sticky. Did they get it sincerely, or just see another fun toy? Internet kindness is always light—and crosses lines easy.
I picked the calmest track. A quiet indie band song from my past life. Best for cooling hot curiosity fast.
I plucked the strings lightly, formed the chords.
Through the gaps between blackened windows
Only the late bus sounds drift
I sang low and relaxed. The frantic chat slowed bit by bit.
One song done, I checked the screen. 46 viewers. High for me, but manageable.
"Dunno. That's it for today."
Didn't wanna drag it. I ended the stream. Got annoying. Still within limits, though. One short clip would bury itself in days. That's what I'd go with.
Next day after school. Ended up at the park again. Set up the tripod, turned on the phone. Pulled the black cap deeper, folded shirt sleeves twice inside the hoodie. Yesterday's Short nagged, but quitting here felt weirder. Didn't wanna look like I was fleeing even from my few regulars. Stubborn pride pushed me out.
No way it'd change in one day.
Hit [Stream Start].
[23] [61] [104] [178] [267] [403]
No way. Forty to four hundred overnight. Fingers froze. Way faster than yesterday. Seconds in, chat flooded the screen.
My eyes stuck on the last one. Seonghyeon High. My heart dropped, tiny.
Internet speculation overflows. No reason to hesitate. Start even one song, and curiosity turns certainty.
Hit [Stream End]. Stared at the blank screen.
Crossed the line from prank. A few comments, but once a name sticks, people herd easy. Evidence thin? Doesn't matter. "Fun" spreads rumors like fact.
No time to keep streaming.
……Calm down first. Over three hundred first-years at our school. Can't pin from one Short. It'll be fine. Nothing'll happen. Nothing.