Chapter 4
If you can't avoid it... then you just gotta do it. Self-introduction time? Fine, just introduce yourself. But why the hell do they always have to tack on a talent show? Sure, I get it—people who love meeting folks and are super outgoing might say, "It's a bit embarrassing, but we're all in it together, so it builds unity and it's fun, right?"
But the problem starts right from the beginning. "A bit embarrassing" doesn't even cover it. Introducing yourself is mildly awkward; a talent show is a whole different league. I've gone through every stage of the Korean education system from daycare to high school, dealing with countless festivals and performances, and I've never once volunteered for a talent show. Honestly, I was aiming for a perfect score—no talent shows through my teens into my twenties—but in my senior year of high school, I got forcibly entered into the Miss Seoul High contest, ruining my streak.
The high school I went to, Seoul High, was an all-boys school—not a co-ed one—and yeah, Miss Seoul High was exactly what you're thinking: that thing from Miss Korea. It was a crossdressing contest during the festival, and I got nominated as class rep for the prize money. The promise of 30% of the winnings all to me vanished, replaced by chicken and pizza for the whole school, but hey, that chicken and pizza we all ate together was pretty damn good. I just want to erase the memory of what happened at that contest. Anyway, point is, people like me don't enjoy stepping up in front of crowds and performing. I don't even like self-intros that much—what makes you think I'd want to do a talent show?
Second issue: "It builds unity." That's just the popular kids' clueless take. For them, befriending the whole class or department is basic. For us, we just want to hang with a few close friends and call it good. But what power do I have to refuse a talent show? The best I could do is a demon clan organ disassembly demo, and in this "everyone's doing it" vibe, no way I can say, "Uh, I don't wanna?"
"Of course! Performing a talent show in front of strangers can feel embarrassing and tough for some people, right?"
Yujeong sunbae, I will worship you as eternal sunbae. You're my savior.
"So, specially, I'll kick things off with a song! I think it'll ease the pressure. It's usually just for newbies, but making you forty freshmen go first in front of everyone is too harsh, so I'll take the lead!"
Savior? Nah, devil. Magnus reincarnated? Please realize that just because you're not embarrassed doesn't mean we're not. And throwing in that "it's usually just newbies" bit? Genius move—boosts her image while creating that "Sunbae went first specially—how dare a freshman refuse?" vibe. High-level strategy. She'd be a formidable demon commander.
"What song should I sing?"
Looked like she just wanted to sing anyway. Her vocal control suggests she'll nail it. She glances at the computer screen on the podium, thinks for a sec, then mirrors it on the side screen.
An idol song from the early 2010s everyone our age knows. As the intro kicks in, she starts dancing naturally. And damn, she dances well. I've seen plenty of social butterflies in school, but this level? First time. The world is vast, and universities really do collect all kinds. She moves like a legit idol trainee—breath steady even while dancing. Crazy part: it's a four-member group song, and she's soloing it without missing parts. She nails the first verse perfectly, matching formations alone, then bows like she's in a musical.
Thunderous applause and cheers. Who the hell is this girl?
"Alright, now in alphabetical order for self-intros. First up, Kim Gayeong freshman?"
"Yes!"
Basically first batter, but her response reeks of insider energy. As expected. Clean intro, quick song, back to her seat.
"Next, Kim Junwoo freshman? Fun fact: Nursing '23 has only 15 guys total, and just 4 in our class—so he's a rare gem!"
Please don't do anything too crazy. Don't embarrass me when we're out together.
"Hey everyone. I'm Kim Junwoo, Korea University Nursing '23. That guy over there, Baek Sion—we went to the same high school. Nice to meet you all."
Wonder why he dragged me into it, but whatever. Eyes flick my way briefly at his gesture, then cheers louder than before. Makes sense with so few guys. He's decent-looking; act normal and he'll be popular.
"I'll do a song too."
"What song?"
Junwoo chats with Yujeong sunbae at the computer; she smiles. I know from karaoke he sings well. Might score big with the girls. Guy's always whining about when he'll get a girlfriend.
But my prediction missed hard.
"Oh, please no..."
First line hits, and I slap my hands over my ears. When guys hit karaoke, there's always one who goes for laughs with impressions. Junwoo's the type: sings straight, then drops voice mimics and parodies mid-song. Nails it anyway, which is infuriating. But why here? You want a girlfriend—why sabotage?
It's funny, but he can sing straight. He finishes the verse like that. Reactions are good, thankfully. Honestly, it's hilarious and well-sung; first-timers can't help laughing. He preps new ones constantly, so even I've heard repeats and still crack.
Junwoo sits; intros and talents continue one by one. Everyone cheers regardless of skill, so anything goes. No singing or dancing for me—what then? Brainstorming easy stuff while watching, my turn sneaks up.
"Next, Baek Sion freshman? Pretty name for a guy. Come on up!"
"Sure."
Used to get nervous in crowds, but now it's just annoying—not scary. Assassins and tension don't mix.
On the podium: "Hey all. Baek Sion, Nursing '23 freshman. Looking forward to it."
Claps and cheers. Most did songs or dances, so plain feels lame. Can't punch a hole in the wall with a finger or I'd wake up in a lab. Then it hits: light sleight-of-hand from downtime training with Klein back then. Earth calls it magic—mix real skill, and it'll just amaze 'em.
"Anyone got a pen and paper?"
In this era? Maybe one in forty. No need to look far—Yujeong calls from the back.
"I do! What for? Magic trick?"
She grabs pen and notebook from her bag. One sheet's enough; she rips it off, hands 'em over. Helpful sunbae. Even suggested magic—thanks.
"Learned it forcibly somewhere in the past."
Laughter fills the room. Y'all laugh too easy? Meant as a joke, but it's true.
Laughs fade; I lightly grip the pen, show the hand emphatically, while left hand palms my pocketed Swiss Army knife—MacGyver style. Showing right draws eyes, distracting from left. Key in modern magic, same as assassination: real kills are feints till the end. Victim never sees the final blow.
Bring left to right, spit-quick swap: pen to right sleeve, knife to pen spot. Looks like pen became knife. Gasps everywhere, eyes wide and sparkling. Could stop, but they want more—finish strong.
Extend blade, pick up podium paper, slice lightly. Normal knife might not cut paper clean, but with my strength? Easy. No college kid carries a Swiss Army knife, but after the swap trick, they'll think, "Prepped for magic~." Or just chuunibyou. Carried knives 24/7 for three years in Astasia—feels wrong without. Grabbed the drawer-stashed one. Wanted Astasia-style, but custom's pricey and risky—Swiss Army it is.
"Warning: from here, it's dangerous—don't try this."
Now it's not magic; it's skill. Grip blade, wrist-snap toss high. Spins fast, nears ceiling, then gravity pulls—straight down. Near-vertical, so blade hits my head soon. Quick ones shut eyes or cover; then—
"Kyaaah!?"