7
Chapter 7: Costly Meddling
A staff meeting was in full swing at Sangnok Elementary.
“You’re suggesting we add skill-based awards to our school competitions?”
“Yes. Please don’t misunderstand. I’m not saying we should remove grade-based awards. We keep those, but also select top
performers regardless of grade.”
Vice Head Teacher Shim Bongseon, accepting Han Yuri’s proposal, suggested running both systems together.
“That doesn’t sound bad. Skill usually correlates with age, but talent can overcome that.”
“I heard there’s a transfer student from the U.S. who’s talented at drawing and quite smart.”
“I heard that too. He even became class president right away.”
“They say his speech was outstanding.”
Most of the teachers welcomed the idea while chatting about Do Min-Oh.
But then—
“You seem to be misunderstanding something.”
The vice principal, newly appointed that year, spoke in a firm voice.
“You need to think about why these school competitions exist in the first place.”
All three elementary schools in Munseon-eup held competitions.
But Sangnok Elementary held far more—almost excessively so.
It was part of an effort to prove the school’s quality, despite being known as the only school accepting orphanage
children.
“Are you trying to turn this into a school just for orphans? Students are already choosing Munseon Elementary over us.
Do you want to lose even more?”
The atmosphere shifted.
“Rumors say Munseon Elementary may need to run morning and afternoon shifts again.”
Sangnok had originally been built to relieve overcrowding there.
But now, families avoided it because of the orphanage.
“Do you want this school to disappear?”
The teachers fell silent.
“Are we supposed to hide reality?” Shim Bongseon pushed back.
“You’re misunderstanding again. I’m not denying the child’s ability. I’m saying we keep things as they are. First place
in first grade should be first grade. Sixth grade should be sixth grade.”
“That’s outdated thinking. Kids are advancing faster than ever. If we stay like this, we’ll fall behind.”
“This is a school, not a cram academy.”
“…What?”
“We don’t change systems for a few students.”
“But—”
“That’s enough. I’m right. You’re wrong.”
The room froze.
“I disagree. You’re wrong.”
Even Shim Bongseon, known for her calm nature, couldn’t hold back.
“Kids can see. They can judge. If they compare his work to sixth graders, they’ll know he’s better.”
“So?”
“That’s why we should award both ways!”
“And what about the students who lose to someone younger? What about their confidence? Their jealousy?”
She fell silent.
“And more importantly, you’re not even considering the child himself.”
Only then did it hit them.
They had been speaking for him—without thinking of him.
“He’s impressive, yes. But he’s an orphan. And a child. Maybe he enjoys attention because he doesn’t understand what
being an orphan really means.”
The room grew heavy.
“Recently, there were fights. Absences. All involving orphanage kids. But the funny thing is, most conflicts started
with regular students.”
No one could argue.
“They get picked on. Even if they try to stay quiet, they’re targeted.”
Silence filled the room.
“Don’t think about the school. Think about the children. And remember—there’s a proper time for things. Eight-year-olds
go to elementary school. Twenty-year-olds go to college.”
“…Yes.”
“Even if someone is talented, the environment has to be ready. Otherwise, it becomes harmful—for them and others.”
The teachers nodded.
“Let’s not overdo it. If he’s truly exceptional, he’ll succeed anyway. Our responsibility is the majority—the ordinary
students.”
“Yes!”
“And no special gifted classes mixing ages. That’s harmful too. And he’s an orphan—who will support him? Will you give
up half your salary?”
No one answered.
“He doesn’t even have someone to hand out snacks for becoming class president.”
That was reality.
“So unless you’re willing to do that, just watch.”
The meeting ended.
Meanwhile, during class—
A man appeared at the door.
“Is this Do Min-Oh’s class?”
The students’ eyes lit up at the sight of pizza and soda.
“Yes!”
“The orphanage director sent these to thank you for electing Min-Oh.”
“Thank you!”
“And thank Min-Oh too.”
“Thank you, Min-Oh!”
Min-Oh smiled slightly.
‘That must’ve cost a lot.’
Later—
The orphanage director stood before the vice principal, scratching his head awkwardly.
“I don’t know how to thank you…”
The vice principal had stepped in to handle angry parents from a bullying incident.
“I believe the process matters more than the result.”
“But still…”
“Violence is wrong. But provoking it is worse.”
“Thank you.”
The principal had warned that the vice principal would be harsh.
But he was, in fact, supportive.
“Still, things might not always go this smoothly.”
“…Yes.”
“What if those kids who ran away never come back?”
“…That’s true.”
“I’ll leave the rest to you. I’ve meddled enough.”
“Meddling? Not at all! You even bought snacks for the class!”
“That was just a one-time gesture.”
“…Still…”
“It’s better this way.”
“Thanks to you, the kids have a new goal.”
“Maybe. But it depends on that child.”
As the vice principal walked away, he noticed something on his car.
A drawing, tucked under the wiper.
‘This is…’
It was a portrait—far better than anything from a street artist.
And at the top, a short message.
“Thank you.”