Chapter 27
Chapter 27
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 27
Chapter Title: The Outsider Who Gives Cotton Candy
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*** -Han Si-a POV ***
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ Festival morning. The students are bustling around, each preparing for the event in their own way.
The exhibit for my class, Class 1, is 'Restaurant Recommendations and Reviews,' mostly made up of photos and text.
That means our class's festival prep is basically done just by hanging up the posters we finished in advance.
So, according to the original plan, we should've wrapped up quickly and had time to leisurely check out the other classes.
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But last night, I made a bet with my stepmother.
To win that bet, I can't settle for this—I have to do everything possible.
I stayed up all night skipping sleep to do extra work.
I beefed up the restaurant info and prepared video materials to play on the classroom TV.
>
This morning, I told my classmates to actively bring friends from other classes.
I messaged every acquaintance in other classes, inviting them to our Class 1 exhibit.
And not just that—I tagged 'Baekseung High School' on SNS for promotion too.
An exhibit's success depends not only on quality but also on salesmanship and hype.
I really feel like I've done absolutely everything I could!
>
In this bet with my stepmother, if the exhibit I led doesn't produce meaningful results, it's my loss.
And in that case, she'll suggest to Dad that he restrict my weekend outings.
She specifically declared she'd block me from going out to meet Jeong Yi-an...
I don't know why, but she seems to have this weird obsession with him.
Me liking Jeong Yi-an or whatever—total nonsense I can't wrap my head around.
>
On the flip side, if our Class 1 exhibit blows up during the festival, I win.
In that case, she'll personally apologize to Jeong Yi-an for all the rotten things she's done to him.
Lately, she picks fights with him over nothing and makes his life hell, but hasn't apologized once.
And now she's threatening to stop us from meeting on weekends altogether, which pissed me off.
Honestly, I'm not even sure why it got to me so much, but I think it's because I felt bad dragging him into my family drama over and over. Guess I still have a sense of justice left in me.
>
The win condition for this bet is hitting 300 visitors by 5 p.m., when the school festival wraps up.
Considering there are just under 300 first-years total, it might seem tough.
But since the festival includes second- and third-years, teachers, and students' families as potential visitors, we both agreed it's a fair measure of whether the exhibit 'succeeded.'
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By 9 a.m., all exhibits were set up, and the festival kicked off in earnest.
As expected, this hollow school festival wasn't much to look at.
Plenty of students skip the exhibits altogether, just thrilled there's no class, and huddle up chatting with friends.
After the first hour, the visitor count so far: 30.
>
Running 8 hours total from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m., that might seem decent.
But it's an illusion.
Lunchtime means school cafeteria reopens temporarily, so exhibits grind to a halt for a while.
Plus, most visitors will flock to the auditorium show starting at 3 p.m.
So, 30 visitors per hour is a really bad start.
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"I had high hopes since you talked so confidently, but it's a disaster as expected, Han Si-a."
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My stepmother visited our class.
Red dress, black cardigan, and blue-tinted sunglasses. Still flashy as ever.
The total cost of what she's wearing could probably buy a small house around here.
Luckily—or unluckily—no other visitors in class right now, so no worries about anyone overhearing.
>
The moment she stepped into the classroom, I bumped the visitor count up by one.
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"Even after I gave you a hint yesterday, it's obvious you struggled alone. Don't you get it? Hustling by yourself like this achieves nothing."
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"I've already delegated what I can to the class."
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"If you wanted standout results, you should've been way more aggressive and proactive."
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I stared at her, curious what she meant, and she scolded me like always.
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"If you knew your classmates were useless, you should've pulled in outside help. Get sponsors from restaurants for promo in exchange for funding, then hire pros. At least it wouldn't look like some high schooler's half-assed project, right?"
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"But that's too risky. No guarantee the promo works, and if investing borrowed money flops..."
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"Ruining a family is what happens when low-talent kids like you expect big returns with zero risk. Exactly like you."
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"..."
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"If you trusted your own skills, you'd take the risk. Instead, you waste it on grunt work?"
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"...This is a high school festival, and I'm still a high schooler."
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"You think graduating high school and college magically turns you into an adult who can run a company or start a business? Wake up. You're an adult in three years."
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"..."
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She kept going after that.
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"Well, pulling in your friends was a decent idea. Rare chance to use talented people for free."
"But using a boy you're one-sidedly crushing on? Total fail. You can't even control him—you're just dragged around. Might as well not bother."
"Better to shake your tail at people you won't fall for. Like restaurant owners or interior contractors..."
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Her words made my head spin, so I asked,
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"...What the hell do you think women are, anyway?"
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She replied,
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"Tools. As long as you keep that attractive shell, you can offload any unfairness or injustice onto others. The ultimate negotiation weapon."
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I looked at her with contempt.
She caught it and smirked back.
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"Haha... Don't take the world lightly, kid. Plenty of people sell out family and crash anyway—the Han River bottom's full of 'em. A woman who can't even use her femininity? Spreading her legs in a brothel's her life peak."
"Anyway... you giving up already? Hour and a half in, still stuck at 30 visitors? Gonna just stand here like an idiot?"
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Clock said 10:30 a.m., just like she said.
Her words were crude and rude, but staying put meant certain defeat.
I had to bolt out and round up customers.
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Roaming the first-year area after promo's done is inefficient.
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So I headed upstairs, targeting second- and third-years for hawking.
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"We've got a restaurant recs and reviews exhibit in Class 1-1! If you're interested, come check it out!!"
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"Whoa, she's gorgeous. Got a boyfriend?"
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"Nothing to lose—maybe score her number?"
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Promo worked. Several seniors headed down to first-years after I pitched them.
But equal number hit on me.
Normally I'd brush 'em off coldly... but mid-hawk, offending them could backfire.
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"Sorry~ My parents are strict... but thanks anyway!"
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Some senior girls eyed me suspiciously, whispering.
Stuff like a kid who knows she's pretty and flirts is annoying, or hawking like a street vendor is cringey...
Groups of senior guys straight-up traded dirty jokes about me.
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...
It felt like my spirit was chipping away bit by bit.
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After 30 minutes of promo around school, back at 11 a.m. Visitor count: barely 100.
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...
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Promo done, other classes' friends visited.
That's 100 scraped together.
No way to hit 300 by end from here—way short.
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In utter despair, I headed upstairs again for more hawking.
But repeats dulled the effect and bred resentment.
Plus, no sleep from last night's prep? I'm exhausted now.
I want to cry.
Getting banned from seeing Jeong Yi-an because of her— I feel so pathetic and powerless.
Guess last weekend with him and Yoo So-mi was more fun than I thought.
I barely cared about outing bans earlier, but now the thought crushes me to tears.
>
Finishing another promo round, passing Class 5 on my way back.
The back door opened, and out came a mummy wrapped head to toe in bandages soaked red with paint.
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Right in front of me: my mom.
Forehead holed through, cooling fast.
The house I lived in as a kid outside a U.S. suburb had wooden floors.
Every squirm to escape under her corpse: creak-creak from buckling planks on my back.
I know this is PTSD flashback, all in my head.
But the brain isn't like a limb you control at will.
Even knowing it's illusion, the fear, helplessness, stress replay vividly inside.
Bad news.
Body's already wrecked, prolonged flashback could paralyze me worse.
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Blood flows from Mom's forehead, eyes, mouth, hair.
Vision dyes redder.
And the gut-wrenching metallic stench twisting my nose...
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Metallic stench... no,
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Something sweet-scented.
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'Huh? Sweet smell?'
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◇◇◇
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The whole hallway reeks of sugar.
The bloody aftersmell that usually lingers post-flashback? Buried under sticky sugar, undetectable.
Pink cotton candy in students' hands as they smile past me.
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Tracing the sugar source: long line between Class 1 and 2.
Closer look: Jeong Yi-an set up a cotton candy machine, cranking them out hard.
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"Oh, Han Si-a? Teacher said no blocking halls, so borrowed your class spot! Here, bribe."
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He handed me a fresh fluffy one.
Line glares a bit, but they grab theirs, grin, and go.
...No money taken.
Recipients became walking ads,
Line for free candy growing real-time.
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"Excuse me, comin' through~ Yi-an, make a few big pretty round ones for the principal too."
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"Yessir! Extra care for big and perfectly round!!"
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Even teachers hearing the buzz and swarming.
How the hell? Students selling food at festival's banned.
Licking mine, I asked—he said casually,
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"Not sales if no money. Plus, cotton candy's 100% sugar—if hygiene issue, blame the sugar company?"
"Don't get it twisted. This is a 'science experience exhibit' to intuitively show 'centrifugal force' to students."
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"..."
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Machine front: real explanation of cotton candy principle stuck on.
Melted sugar spins out tiny holes in central drum, stretches long and thin.
Obviously, zero eyes on it.
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...
Why's this guy doing this? No big personal gain, he'd never bother.
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"How much to rent this machine?"
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"30 thou... 100k."
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...
Jeong Yi-an averts eyes, won't meet mine.
I keep staring—he offers another cotton candy.
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Class 1-1 packed wall-to-wall.
Free candy line snakes inside classroom.
Even if here just for candy, bored waiters' eyes drift to our exhibit.
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"Whoa, Class 1's stuff is high quality... That place looks tasty—hit it up later?"
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"That spot was my secret honey pot. Now waitlists? Dammit..."
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"Snap pics, share with class chat! Still deciding afterparty spot—perfect!"
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Even high-school-level exhibit, but they dig it—kinda happy.
Corner glance: stepmom fled there from crowd, staring bewildered at the mob.
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Hand her one of my two cotton candies—she takes it, says,
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"...What the fuck is that Jeong Yi-an punk?"
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So loaded a question.
Best answer probably:
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"Kid embezzling festival funds."
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She preached external funding and risks for success—yet he 'embezzled' ops budget, pocketed savings, and still packed the house.
She must feel like a sure fish struck by lightning and got away.
Oh, and yeah—bet's mine in the end.
Stopped counting after 500+; line held till his machine overheated and died.