Chapter 19
Chapter 19
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 19
Chapter Title: TS) No Such Thing as a Beastly Bitch
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Hmm. It's a bit awkward.
A little clumsy, but just like those middle and high schoolers did, I twist my waist to add more power, kick quickly, step forward with my front foot, and take a stance ready to kick again at any moment.
But my balancing foot doesn't turn with it properly, so the power doesn't transfer right, and what should hit squarely on the top of my foot glances off a bit—honestly, there are a lot of regrettable parts to this kick.
It's definitely trickier than it looks.
It seemed easy just watching, but trying it myself, there's more than one or two things to focus on.
Still, I can't just ignore it—fix it all and hit again, and it'd probably make an even more impressive sound than before. What a shame.
"Hehe. It's tough~ A few more tries and I might get the hang of it..."
"Yuna!!"
Grab!
No sooner do I scratch my head and grin than the Dojang Master's big hand clamps onto my shoulder.
His slightly wrinkled face and those eyes full of seasoned savvy are sparkling like a kid's... Ugh. What's this? Why's this uncle looking at me like that?
"Wanna start learning taekwondo from next week?"
"Huh? B-but I haven't even paid the registration fee, and I'm already using the study room inside... I don't want to impose any more than I already have..."
"No need to pay! Of course! I swear! In all my years, I've never seen a kid pull off such an amazing kick right from the start!"
He rants excitedly that even if I entered a tournament right now, no one my age—or even in the entire elementary division—could match me.
Hmm. Really?
'Isn't that a bit over the top? Sure, bigger kids could probably do this much.'
I realized it while trying the kick earlier—why athletes call weight classes brutal.
You're channeling all that rotational power from your body into the strike, so the bigger you are, the more force it packs.
Sure, there's the downside of a wider hit area, but the raw power is nothing to sneeze at.
A chubby elementary kid with Burari-level lower-body fat and upper-body bulk—perfect muscular pig build—could probably match me.
"R-really, it's okay?"
"Of course! Look, tons of those older boys here kick worse than you!"
"Huh???"
What? That doesn't make sense. These guys training extra on weekends for competitions kick worse than me on my first try?
My image of taekwondo just got a bit tarnished.
'Should I actually learn it?'
Master it properly, turn Jeongu and Yuri into human weapons, restore my taekwondo dreams... Hmm. Probably impossible.
Studying's one thing, but physical stuff? You've gotta be born with it.
Brain work—you can grind out elementary problems by rote repetition while zoning out, and anyone can get good. But sports? It demands grit, muscle, weight, flexibility, stamina—a ton of factors.
Besides, I'm not planning a career in athletics.
Still, I kinda want to learn a bit.
I want to try those flashy demo kicks on stage.
Backflip-kick an apple in half, triple axel through boards with a crack—yeah...
'Wait... I could probably do that now.'
Even with awkward form, my physicals could brute-force it.
"Hey. Instead of that, can I try some backflips or one-legged spins? That kind of thing?"
"!! Of course! Our master's an ex-demo team member from his youth—he can teach you anything!"
"No, I mean... can I try it right now?"
"...?"
Let me give it a shot, and you just give feedback.
Thinking it over, no need to commit to the dojang long-term.
Pick up a few cool moves and bounce—that sounds better.
He tilts his head, looking worried, but calls the middle and high schoolers to fetch boards anyway. The one-legged spin barely misses but nails it on the second try. Backflip? Nailed it first go.
No run-up—just a full spin in midair, hero-landing crouch on one arm, then stand.
...Huh?
"Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh! Oh ho ho hong!!"
"......"
The Dojang Master's eyes roll back in bliss as he claps... Ew. Um.
Nothing's as unsettling as a grown man's ahegao.
"Hey, hey. If you eat all that, the other kids won't have any."
"Huh? No, I'm just saying I'll eat what's left after everyone else—why complain!"
Ever since I tutored him at the dojang, Jeongu's been chatting me up more friendly-like.
Plus, for an 8-year-old, he's a tad mature and easy to talk to. What to call it?
We're the only ones in class who actually converse—like friends, sorta.
Bicker, joke around, laugh sometimes. But if I reach out, he freaks and bolts.
Great at talking, weird about touch—a delicate dynamic.
Look at him now. I'm starving in my growth spurt, eyeing leftovers, and he's next to me nagging with that disgusted face!
"Yeah, but you never know. Kids might want more later."
"Never seen anyone go back for seconds on the veggies?"
"Well... true, but... hey! Even so, this is too much!"
Aw, crap! What's wrong with this blockhead!
We're getting close, but why pick fights?
They say don't mess with a dog while it's eating—does our Jeongu see me, Han Yuna, as less than a mutt?
Time for butt-smack penance again?
"No matter what, hauling the whole serving dish to eat from—what the hell!"
"Tray's too small—what can I do!!"
"Agh! Hey! Don't talk while eating! It's gross—it's splattering!!"
"Then don't talk to me!!!"
Todays menu had fern salad and spinach namul, so I snuck out some gochujang and sesame oil from home, scraped every last grain of rice and veggie from the serving trays into my dish, and mixed it up.
Mmm. Mix~ mix~ right hand stir~ left hand stir~
Shove that shiny red glistening special bibimbap in my mouth—why bother me now!
"......"
Jeongu stares wordlessly, my rice spray ruining his face.
Hmph. Whatcha staring at~?
Jealous? Duh—even 8-year-olds with Korean DNA can't resist this tasty bibimbap~
But I'm not sharing. Would've given a bite if you'd stayed quiet, but nosy seatmate like you? Not even this much...
"You a pig?"
"...What?"
The classroom goes dead silent.
Kids who were chatting in cliques freeze, holding their breath, eyeing my bibimbap. Even the teacher drops her spoon from sucking on it mid-bite.
"Only pigs eat that much. Right? Or do you eat more than a pig?"
"......"
Ha, haha. Our Jeongu? All grown up! Han Yuna's classroom must've worked wonders.
His vocab's way too fluent for a fresh first-grader.
Never imagined he'd drop 'Yo, pig? You're inhaling it.'
Eh? Mad? Nah~ no way I'm mad.
Body of a kid, but mind of an uncle—would I, Han Yuna, flip out over some 8-year-old's taunt? Me, a hothead?
Not mad. Nope. Totally chill.
'Pissed off?'
Tried power-positive brainwash to play it cool, but...
Rage boils up inside. The spoon in my hand bends like a clenched fist. Ten ways to wreck Jeongu flash through my mind.
He realizes too late, slaps a hand over his mouth, peeks at my eyes while I tremble.
"...You gonna hit me? N-no, right?"
"......"
"...... Not mad, right? J-just a joke! F-friend prank! Yeah?"
"That your last words?"
Jeongu tries flattering with a forced grin, but flinches at my icy tone, sighs in defeat, squeezes his eyes shut.
He bolts from his seat toward the door, but would I, Han Yuna, let little Jeongu escape?
This ain't settling for butt-smacks.
As he stands, my hand snags his nape and fireman's-carries him clean.
"You little shit!!!"
"Eeeeeek!!!"
Jeongu flies airborne, crashes down with a racket, shrieks and spasms.
Teacher faints dead away. Class kids huddle in corners, quivering, watching me.
Haha. Hahaha...
'School life over. Totally.'
I gave Jeongu a flawless fireman's carry lesson, regained sanity, surveyed the room, chuckled inwardly.
Image? Ruined. Whatever.
Damn! But it's not all my fault! Jeongu started it! Calling a girl a pig? A pig! Yeah. Right.
Not my fault anyway!
...Probably not?