Chapter 34
Chapter 34
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 34
Chapter Title: The Front Row
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Jo Tae-jin always sat in the front row.
It wasn't because anyone told him to. Like clockwork, he arrived in the classroom thirty minutes before class started, set down his bag, and chose his seat. When picking a spot, he went for the one facing the blackboard head-on, ignoring the window where sunlight slanted in.
From a young age, Tae-jin had instinctively known how to climb to the top of any group.
His father was a chief judge, his mother the daughter of a local bigwig.
That alone put Tae-jin in a superior position among his peers. But he never bullied anyone or threw punches.
"Don't cause trouble and block my path forward. I believe my son isn't that pathetic."
His father was always cold toward Tae-jin.
There had been that one time as a kid when he'd polished his father's shoes before work. No real reason—just mimicking some heartwarming story he'd seen somewhere.
He just wanted a little praise.
He'd imagined his father patting his head and saying, "My boy's such a good kid."
Shiny shoes in hand, he'd looked up at his father proudly as a child.
But all he got was a frigid stare.
"Don't ever do this again."
His father's voice was sharp as a blade.
"Do a menial task once, and it becomes a habit. If you're not planning to do it your whole life, don't touch it at all. What makes parents happy is their child's achievements."
After that, Tae-jin stopped talking more than necessary around his parents. He'd learned that nothing he said really mattered.
Instead, he spent most of his time at his desk.
A blessed environment, top-tier DNA, and personal effort created a terrifying synergy.
As time passed, Tae-jin's grades shot up endlessly: top of the class, top of the school, top in the region.
Whenever tests ended, Tae-jin's name was always at the peak. He was the first student name teachers memorized. Friends flocked around him. In an instant, he became the center of the group.
But life at home didn't change. His father remained expressionless, nodding faintly even when handed a report card.
Then one day, his mother invited a few acquaintances over. Important guests, apparently—his father joined them too.
Tae-jin, stepping out of his room to use the bathroom, overheard his name pop up unexpectedly in the adults' conversation.
"Tae-jin's doing so well in school, huh? Got into Gifted High School... Must be nice being Tae-jin's mom."
His usually even-keeled mother let out an exaggerated laugh and shook her head.
"Oh, it's nothing much. He's still got a long way to go."
His father chimed in, glass in hand.
"Must take after me—he works so hard. Achievements only count if they keep going. This is just the process."
It was humble talk, but Tae-jin didn't miss the expressions flickering across their faces.
Pride, admiration, boastfulness, affection—everything he'd ever wanted from his parents was there.
'So Mom and Dad have been watching me properly all along.'
It felt like his efforts were finally paying off.
Tae-jin smiled faintly, returned to his room, shut the door, and opened his book again.
On his first day at Gifted High School,
Tae-jin felt an instinctive familiarity the moment he stepped into the classroom.
'Why's that?'
What was different from middle school?
Tae-jin glanced around.
About twenty kids had formed small clusters around the room.
Neatly combed hair, clothes and bags with subtle luxury logos. Even their casual movements oozed the ease of the well-off.
He turned his head the other way.
New faces were deep in discussion.
"Isn't that approach a bit too simplistic?"
"Ah, that's been debunked in some material I saw before."
Soft-spoken, but brimming with confidence.
'Ah! That's it.'
All the kids here gave off a similar vibe.
If he had to put a name to it, a sense of chosen ones?
A shared sense of growing up in the same world—they were mirrors of himself.
It felt off-putting yet strangely reassuring.
'Except for a few...'
Every group has its outliers.
Tae-jin turned to look at the boy everyone was talking about.
The entrance ceremony had been a spectacle because of him.
His little sister—clearly unwilling to part from her brother—had wailed loud enough to shake the school.
But Tae-jin had noticed the parents' outfits first.
Dressed with care, but something was off.
The man's suit didn't fit quite right, like it'd been bought ages ago.
The woman's two-piece set had that outdated, tacky design from some past trend.
Yet there was no shame on their faces.
Amid parents wrapped in designer labels and custom tailoring, they beamed at their son.
Something about that rubbed Tae-jin the wrong way.
The next day, Tae-jin found himself tracking Yoo Seo-ha with his eyes again.
He couldn't explain why.
Whenever he entered the classroom, his gaze naturally sought him out first.
"Hello."
True to form, no real context or familiarity, but he bowed first every time they crossed paths.
In response, Tae-jin lightly tapped his earphones.
People without distance made him uncomfortable.
Most kids at this school always kept a calculated buffer.
Whether to greet someone depended on their background, status, and future potential ties.
But Yoo Seo-ha seemed oblivious to all that.
Today too, he was the first in the classroom, straightening the crooked desks, fiddling with the sagging window blinds until they hung perfectly level.
'Surprisingly neat freak, huh?'
Swipe, swipe.
Not even on duty, yet he wiped the blackboard spotless.
Tap.
Tap.
Only after lining up the chalk by color did his morning routine end.
Honestly, he was intriguing.
Tae-jin wasn't sure yet just how impressive first place at the IMO was. Now in high school, he'd get to test it in competitions soon enough.
He sat for a bit, and class began.
Then math time rolled around.
Scraaape.
Mr. Park walked in holding test papers.
"Pop quiz."
Tae-jin tensed.
First test since enrollment, pop quiz or not. It was the key gauge of whether he could claim the top spot here too.
Papers were handed out.
The room fell deathly silent as the face-down sheets hit desks.
"Begin."
Pencils scratched in unison.
Scribble scribble.
The uniform rhythm of lead on paper filled the air.
Heads bowed, students dove into the problems.
Park Sung-dae watched with a satisfied smile.
'Good batch this year. Tough nuts, but I like that they're even trying.'
Problem 1.
Tae-jin swallowed hard at the problem.
'Prove it's even.'
Not just counting paths. Binomial coefficients sprang to mind immediately.
Set up the formula with them and prove it's even.
His pencil flew. First, plug in small values to spot a pattern.
The pattern was there, clear as day.
But computation alone wouldn't prove it.
'What now? Ah!'
Induction structure hit him.
Scribble scribble.
Formulas sprawled across the page.
Pascal's identity down, binomial expansion. Break into multiplicative terms, check parity of numerator and denominator.
Line by line, logic stacked like unassailable stairs.
Tae-jin paused, glanced around.
'Gifted High School for a reason.'
Tough opener, but everyone tackled it their way.
Tense faces, papers filling up densely.
'Huh?'
Then he spotted one kid doing nothing.
Yoo Seo-ha.
Flustered, at a loss—that pitiful look stirred a twinge of sympathy.
'Can't even IMO first place solve this? Then what the hell's this school's level...'
A flicker of doubt crossed his mind, but Tae-jin shook it off and refocused.
Seo-ha was panicking.
Big time.
Everyone else slaved away. Several requested extra paper, running out of space.
But Seo-ha had no clue what to write.
Still, he had to do something.
He squeezed his eyes shut, grabbed the pencil, and jotted an answer.
'That enough? Professor Park said even if it's obvious to me, spell it out in detail...'
Post-Olympiad controversy had taught Seo-ha a lesson.
Don't assume everyone follows your logic. But that applied when logic was needed.
To Seo-ha, this problem was a dead end—no further expansion required.
Symmetry pairs every path perfectly.
Proof done.
The students saw it as computation and understanding.
Seo-ha saw structural symmetry—a total reframe.
He stared blankly at his answer. Way too perfunctory.
'Dude, I can't do this. Handle it yourself.'
Desperate, he even roped in his unwelcome tenant. But Ducky flat-out refused, like "Don't bug me with this crap."
Seo-ha despaired.
Tick tock.
Time slipped away.
He vowed to detail proofs on other problems.
But same story. No problem let him stretch past one line.
Mr. Park's questions exceeded high school curriculum but fell short of IMO level.
To Seo-ha, even Olympiad problems were too easy—barely more than arithmetic.
"Time!"
"Already? I was almost done..."
"Teacher! This is inhumanly short!"
Regrets echoed as the test ended.
One by one, they submitted densely packed sheets without a gap.
Seo-ha's turn came. He gathered his four nearly blank sheets carefully.
Walked forward slowly.
Seeing his pale face, a few kids snickered quietly.
"I... I finished them all, though..."
His hand trembled handing over the papers.
Mr. Park's pupils shook violently at Seo-ha's near-blank sheets.