My Son's Junior Called Me Master
It is the first day of the new semester.
The final funeral procession was only yesterday.
Starting today, I have to attend classes.
Standing before the main gate, the campus air fills my lungs.
My son's memories know the way.
Which way to walk to find the lecture hall, where to turn to reach the connecting hallway.
The body knows it first.
I only need to follow its lead.
Meanwhile, a single thought catches in my mind.
This body.
This youth.
This campus.
All of it belonged to my son.
What happened to him?
Where is my son right now?
He must be asleep.
Somewhere deep inside.
It is easier to believe that is the case.
And it feels like the truth.
A junior runs over from the direction of the main gate.
"Senior, it must have been so hard on you. You're back."
"Yeah. Thanks for coming to the funeral."
"Don't mention it. Please take care of yourself."
He passes by.
Following him, two girls bow their heads.
"I hope you find strength, Senior." I accept their condolences.
Thank you.
I'm doing okay.
I'm fine.
These are conversations my son would have had, and I am holding them in his stead.
It is uncomfortable.
I don't mean that receiving comfort is uncomfortable.
To express this discomfort precisely: it is bizarre to receive condolences for my own death.
It is only right to be comforted as a son who has just finished his father's funeral, yet the father is receiving that comfort inside the son's body.
It is strange.
I wish class would just start already.
I spot her first on the campus pathway.
A silhouette with a bag slung over a cropped knit sweater.
Straight, light brown hair.
Her pace is brisk.
Then, she spots me and stops.
"Taeyoon."
It's Serin.
The back of my forehead reacts.
Text rises to the surface.
"Serin."
"I'm sorry I couldn't make it."
Serin speaks first.
Her voice is low.
She is conscious of her surroundings.
People are passing by.
"I should have at least called you on the day of the final procession."
"It's fine."
"No, it's not."
Serin's eyes scan my face.
A gaze checking my condition.
"I'm really okay."
"Taeyoon, back then, you did it so hard that I..."
Just then, a group of people walks past us.
Serin shuts her mouth.
She takes a step back.
There was clearly something she couldn't say in public.
"Do you have time this week?"
"I'll have to see."
"Call me."
The conversation doesn't stretch any further.
Serin's class is in a different direction.
She adjusts her bag strap.
She looks at me one more time.
Her eyes say she doesn't want to part, but her feet have already turned.
"Go on."
I say.
Short and simple.
Serin nods.
She leaves.
I watch the back of her head for a moment.
Her light brown hair sways with each step.
The Business Administration lecture room is on the third floor.
As I climb the stairs, my body knows the route.
Opening the lecture room door, the fluorescent light spills out.
The room is about half full.
I take a seat in the middle-right section.
I set my bag down and sit.
"Hello, Senior! It's been a while."
I look back.
A girl is walking over from the side aisle.
Short black hair.
Round eyes.
A bright, lively expression.
A white oversized hoodie and slim-fit jeans.
Her bag is slung over one shoulder.
She looks to be about 158 centimeters tall.
Petite, with distinct curves.
The back of my forehead begins to react.
But nothing appears.
It is blank.
0.5 seconds.
1 second.
The text does not open.
It stops there.
Nothing rises.
The girl sits next to me.
Naturally.
As if it's only natural for an acquaintance to sit beside me.
"How was your break? I was going to contact you on the day of your father's final procession, but the timing was—"
"It's fine."
The words come out.
Automatically.
It is the safest response in this situation.
The girl pauses slightly.
She glances at my face.
Then, she pulls out her notebook again.
I pretend to look straight ahead while looking inward.
There is no name.
There is no relationship.
There is nothing.
My son's memories are blocked.
It is the same pattern as with my wife.
Lee Jiwon.
Back then, the interface hadn't shown anything either.
But what is even more bothersome is her sense of distance.
The tone she used to strike up a conversation is far too natural.
She acts like someone who has known me for a long time, or at least like someone who expects a certain reaction from me.
A stranger wouldn't just sit right next to me like that.
My son was definitely close to this girl.
They were close, but the nature of that closeness has been completely severed.
I was called "Senior" by a girl whose name I don't even know.
I force a semblance of a smile.
The girl's expression stiffens for a moment.
She seems to have sensed something is off.
The person who had approached so brightly catches her breath half a beat late.
It is an expression of someone who took my reaction as rejection.
The misunderstanding unfolds right before my eyes.
The professor enters.
The lecture begins.
Writing begins on the blackboard.
Disruptive Innovation.
A method of innovation that starts in non-consuming markets rather than with mainstream consumers of the existing market, eventually replacing established products.
I used this in practice.
I learned it in my MBA and applied it directly to Seolim Pharmaceutical's marketing strategy.
I used this framework when establishing our generic market entry strategy.
Back then, my team members barely even understood the concept.
The professor's explanation is simple.
Simple, yet my attention is divided.
Not because of the girl next to me, but because the fact that I don't know who she is bothers me.
I steal a glance to my side.
Why does the window pop up, yet the inside is empty?
It's the same pattern as with Jiwon.
Jiwon was the stepmother.
I could understand that emotional structure.
Last night briefly flashes through my mind, but I quickly dismiss the thought.
This girl is a junior at school.
She is probably a freshman in the Business Administration department.
My son knew this girl.
That much is certain.
Calling me "Senior" comes naturally to her.
In that case...
Is there something my son wanted to hide about this girl?
Twice is not a coincidence.
The professor continues to lecture.
I pretend to take notes while my mind wanders elsewhere.
This girl said she tried to contact me on the day of the final procession.
The day of my final procession.
The final procession of the son's father.
She meant she wanted to reach out for the funeral of a senior's father whom she knew.
With that level of relationship, a status window should normally appear.
Yet, it doesn't.
Class ends.
The scraping of chairs, the rustling of bags being packed.
People stream out.
I try to stand up too, but the girl is still in her seat.
She is slow to pack her bag.
Almost everyone has left.
Only the two of us remain in the lecture room.
The girl clicks her pen cap shut and looks at me.
"Senior, why were you like that earlier?"
"Like what?"
"When I first said hello. You were acting strange. Did I do something wrong?"
Her expression is serious.
The stiff expression from earlier now faces me head-on.
Her tone is confrontational.
Quiet, but direct.
"It's nothing like that."
"Then what is it?"
"I've just been a bit out of it."
The girl stares at me.
Her gaze makes it impossible to tell if she is convinced or not.
A brief moment passes.
Within that beat, something shifts.
The girl's eyes drop.
Toward the desk.
Toward her notebook.
Then she looks back up, but the eyes returning to me are different from before.
Something has drained out of them.
Something like brightness.
Her liveliness has vanished.
Her expression grows quiet.
Her voice drops a register.
"Senior, you didn't check my messages."
It is a different way of speaking.
Not the lively tone of the junior from earlier.
Low, slow, and carrying a distinct weight.
"I couldn't check them. I've been a bit out of it since the final procession ended."
"I'm sorry."
The girl says.
Her expression changes completely.
Her eyes cast down.
Her shoulders slump slightly.
Her head tilts a fraction of a degree.
"I'm sorry, Master. Since you didn't check my messages, I couldn't bring myself to contact you first."
My brain grinds to a halt.
Master.
This girl just called me "Master."
She is about to kneel before me.
She is still sitting in her chair.
But her posture has shifted.
Her back bows.
Her hands gather on top of her thighs.
"Should I relieve you with some service?"
This is insane.
She is serious.
This girl is completely earnest.
I say nothing.
I don't know what I'm supposed to say.
I have absolutely no information on what my son did to this girl.
Not even a name.
I have no way of knowing why she is doing this.
The girl slips down from her chair.
To the floor.
She kneels.
On the lecture room floor.
Her short black hair spills forward slightly.
Her hands are gathered on her knees.
Her back is straight.
She seems entirely unfazed.
As if this posture is nothing new to her.
The lecture room door is closed, but unlocked.
Footsteps echo from the hallway.
People passing by after class.
Several of them.
Someone's laughter drifts in from outside the door.
The girl doesn't care.
I do.
"Get up."
I speak in a low voice.
The girl looks up.
Her eyes are different.
Not the lively eyes that had entered the lecture room earlier.
Now, they are deeper, quieter.
"I'll relieve you with my mouth, Master."
Her hands tremble minutely.
This girl is dead serious.
She is a woman who lived in my son's world.
I don't know what my son did with her.
But she remembers.
Even if she doesn't know that I am inside my son.
Her hand moves.
Toward my pants.
I don't stop her.
I don't know if stopping her is the right thing to do.
This is what she wants, she is the one who approached first, and she knows exactly what this is.
Her hand lowering my pants.
It is at that exact moment.
A voice echoes from the hallway.
A familiar voice.
It's Serin.
"Our next class is here on the third floor. Ah, seriously, it's so far—"
It sounds close, just beyond the door.
If she just passes by, it will be over.
But the footsteps slow down.
They seem to be stopping.
The girl kneeling on the floor looks up.
Our eyes meet.
She recognized Serin's voice.
Her expression wavers.
Just for a split second.
Yet, she doesn't stop.
I am slowly beginning to realize just how complicated the world my son left behind truly is.
Did I step into this world, or did she drag me into it?
Beyond the door, Serin's footsteps draw closer once more.