Seventeen, and Spring (1)
March's spring breeze arrived before the sunlight, slipping through the window frames to gently wash away the chalk dust bit by bit. The noise from the playground was faint enough to barely reach my ears. Sitting in the first row by the window, second seat from the front, I pressed my palm down on the corner of my textbook and turned my head just slightly toward the view outside.
The classroom buzzed with the unique mix of anticipation and anxiety that came at the start of the semester. New uniforms and name tags, pristine notebooks untouched by fingerprints, classmates from unfamiliar backgrounds all slightly on edge. The teacher at the blackboard was absorbed in writing the lesson, barely moving. The steady scrape of chalk continued rhythmically, and the eraser went unused.
When the teacher was that focused, even my relatively front-row seat let me empty my mind for a moment. Outside, second-years in their green-striped gym uniforms were jogging in formation. The cherry blossoms along the edge of the field hadn't fully bloomed yet, but every branch touched by sunlight was tinged with a thin pink glow. As the shadow of the school building shifted back one block at a time, that pink deepened just a little more.
The words in my textbook didn't register. Letting the teacher's voice flow in one ear and out the other, I kept gazing at the scenery beyond the glass. An unfamiliar classroom, unfamiliar classmates, a seat assigned just yesterday. But the window seat was always the same—the spot where sunlight hit first, and where my thoughts slipped away fastest.
Suddenly, the thought struck me. It's already been five years...
My gaze lingered briefly on the name tag pinned to my chest. Yoon Seojin—the three characters stood out sharply.
The edge of the curtain brushed my arm. Along with the rain scent carried on the tail of the spring breeze, that day came rushing back.
It was pouring rain like a waterfall. Under the green convenience store sign, the wet asphalt stretched the white streetlight glow into long streaks. Thin muddy water trickled across the ground, carrying the scent of damp earth.
Then, from afar, the sound of a motor started up. Tires slipping through puddles. A motorcycle barreled straight down the sidewalk without even braking.
Right at that corner, under the edge of the store's awning, a child stood with an umbrella slung over their shoulder, talking on the phone—just beyond the automatic door's sensor, half-hidden in the shadow.
No time to shout. I dashed over and pulled the kid into my arms. And in the instant I yanked them toward me with all my strength—
Light exploded. The world flipped upside down.
The last things I saw were the rider abandoning the fallen bike and fleeing, and the blood beading on the child's forehead in my arms.
…
Consciousness flickered out once, then I opened my eyes to an unfamiliar white ceiling. The sharp smell of disinfectant stung my nose, and a clear IV tube was taped to my wrist.
As my vision cleared, a strange man and woman appeared before me. Their eyes wide, they gasped and pulled me into a hug almost simultaneously. My face buried in their chests, soaking their clothes wet in seconds. Warmth pressed in from both sides.
The woman stroked my cheek; the man laid his hand over mine.
“Seojin-ah…?”
I turned at the voice from the doorway. A high school girl in uniform stood there, face pale with shock.
That name echoed in my ears. Seojin-ah? It felt directed at me, but I'd never heard it before.
Something was off. Instinctively, I turned my head. My reflection stared back from the clear glass beside the bed.
Long hair brushed my cheeks. It wasn't the face I saw every day. Small, slender hands. Thin arms. An unfamiliar breath.
I blinked once and looked again. The person in the window was not me.
It was that exact child who'd been standing in front of the convenience store that day.
…
During my hospital stay after that, I pieced together the facts. The motorcycle fled the scene, and I was pronounced dead on the spot. The child was badly hurt but survived, thankfully.
In short: I died, and the child lived. Or maybe it was the other way around.
Because I was now living as that child—Yoon Seojin.
… … …
Whack! Lightning struck the crown of my head.
“Kyaaak!”
My scream came first. It felt like my hair roots had been yanked out all at once, throbbing fiercely. Instinctively, I clutched my scalp and looked up.
“Hey, Bunny. Class ended ages ago, and you're still spacing out?”
A boy loomed right in front of me, fist raised, grinning like an idiot. Kim Yuha. The jerk who's been grating on my nerves forever.
“Ugh, you little—!”
I shot to my feet and headbutted his chin. My chair scraped back with a screech, and at the same moment, a sharp crack echoed from my head.
“Ow! Bunny, are you insane…!”
“Ow ow… ugh… you're the one hitting someone just sitting there…”
Rubbing my scalp and wiping tears, I noticed the whole class staring at us. Most watched quietly, but a few from our middle school days whispered and snickered.
“They're at it again.”
“But this time Bunny won?”
Bunny. That damn Bunny. It pissed me off to no end. Naming someone after their looks—I'm so over it.
“Kim Yuha, cut it out.”
An arm wrapped around my waist from behind, pulling me into a tight hug. Something soft pressed against the back of my head. I looked up to see our class president, Park Jisu, glaring at Yuha.
“What's your problem? It was just a joke.”
“Jokes have limits.”
Jisu's eyes narrowed. “She hates it, Bunny. Why keep doing it?”
Cowed by her intensity, Yuha averted his gaze.
“Hey, Seojin. The homeroom teacher wants you. Head to the staff room now.”
Jisu turned to me. She called me Bunny plenty too, but throwing in my name now and then made it somewhat forgivable.
“Homeroom teacher? Why?”
“Dunno. They just said to fetch you when I was there.”
I left the classroom right away. The hallway thrummed with noise—shoe soles squeaking, doors banging.
I rounded the corner, caught my breath in front of the staff room, and pushed the door open. Scanning the bustling teachers, I spotted our homeroom teacher looking up from afar.
“Yoon Seojin, have a seat here.”
I sat in the chair opposite. The teacher spoke.
“Your mom called. Head home early today.”
The sudden early dismissal made my heart sink. We didn't do that unless something was up at home.
“Pardon? Is something wrong at home?”
“No, nothing bad. She said it's good news and to send you straight back.”
“…Okay. Got it.”
The door clicked shut, and hallway clamor flooded back in. What good news would warrant an early dismissal?
Back in class, I just said I was leaving early, grabbed my bag, and went. A pleasant spring breeze brushed my sleeves as I passed the school gate.
Home was about a twenty-minute walk. As always, I skipped the bus stop and kept going. My forehead still throbbed, but it was bearable.
The crosswalk countdown ticked down. Green light—I quickened my pace a bit. Sunlight glittered on the thin moisture between sidewalk blocks; wind rushed past with every car.
Soon, the apartment complex's entrance marker came into view. A massive place with long rows of building numbers. In the center: playground, lawn, low fountain. The commercial wing had convenience store and pharmacy signs side by side.
I followed the walkway to our building, stepping on a wet cherry branch for good measure, and watched a stroller pass slowly. The playground sand was still damp from the rain.
Circling the signpost, I reached our building's entrance. Punched in the code—the auto-door slid open, warm air hitting my face.
Into the elevator, hit 8. Doors closed, and the full-wall mirror unfolded a world before me.
My head barely reached half the mirror's height. The uniform fit impeccably—crisp jacket, neat ribbon, pleated skirt. No flaws in the outfit, yet the overall impression was utterly childlike. The uniform at least got me mistaken for a middle schooler; in casual clothes, I'd pass for elementary.
Moments later, the elevator dinged to a stop. Just before the doors opened fully, my reflection's eyes flashed briefly in the mirror.
Red. It showed more in bright light.
The doctor's words surfaced unbidden. “We suspect growth plate damage. Any more height… it'll be tough. The iris color change is post-traumatic. No major vision issues, but the color won't revert.”
The doors opened fully, and the doctor's voice faded. I shrugged my shoulders once and let out a small sigh.
“…Ha.”
I knew there was no lie in the doctor's words, even if it stung. Five years on, not a single centimeter taller. This tiny frame and those eyes made me a constant target for teasing.
Sure, it probably started as jokes. But it didn't stop there. Group chats tagging me under bunny pics. Whispers of “Bunny incoming” in the halls, followed by giggles.
The occasional “cute” comments sounded like compliments on the surface, but to me—a guy well over twenty inside—they were pure torment. This unwanted nickname felt like a bell around my neck.
“…God, I'm so sick of it.”
I set my feet down on the hallway floor and walked slowly. Still, today I was free from that bell a little early.
Punched the door code and opened up.
“I'm home.”
Mid-shoe removal, my head froze. More shoes than usual lined the entryway. Mom and Dad's made sense—they came home late normally, but with the early dismissal call, of course they were here.
Next to them, Unnie's white sneakers. Must've finished class early.
That would've been our usual family trio, but today, an unfamiliar pair of men's dress shoes sat there too. Looked expensive, high-end brand.
Company?
I slipped off my shoes and stepped inside, spotting the family gathered in the living room.
“Our Seojin's home!”
Mom stood with a smile first; Dad nodded from across the table. They sat side by side at one end, Unnie at the opposite chair with arms crossed, face twisted in annoyance.
And right beside Unnie, a stranger—a man. Dark gray shirt, navy tie caught my eye first. Neat overall, with a gentle, honest face.
As I took another step into the room, he rose quietly and bowed.
“Hello, nice to meet you. I'm Han Yeonho.”
Our eyes met. A bit flustered, my lips moved on their own.
“Oh, hi… What brings you here…?”
“Say hello.”
Mom beamed. “Starting today, he's your sister's fiancé.”
I blinked once.
“Fiancé…?”