In Gyeonggi Province (2)
Children are pure. Or more precisely, immature. They can't hide their feelings or hold back their emotions—if they're sad, they bawl their eyes out; if they're angry, their little fists tremble; if something good happens, their faces light up with grins, and their bodies practically float with joy. Even when they try to play it cool, pretend they don't care, or act disinterested as some half-baked scheme, anyone watching can spot it a mile away.
After years of teaching, she'd seen it all—the typical patterns of kids' behavior. But as the new homeroom teacher for this class, she found herself increasingly puzzled by a new type: Seojun.
Calling a child "mature" usually means they don't get swayed by their moods or feelings, showing consideration and patience instead. Whether it's innate temperament or shaped by their home life, a mature kid is one who can control themselves well. In that sense, Seojun was different. Less like a mature child, more like a jaded adult.
His eyes screamed everything's a hassle as he yawned wide, yet he'd answer promptly when spoken to and follow along diligently wherever the other kids led. Watching him hang out with them felt like seeing an older brother or young uncle playing with his nieces, nephews, or little siblings.
"Seojun, wanna play 5-on-5 soccer? We're short one player."
"Sure."
"No way! My mom said that kid's possessed by ghosts—don't play with him."
"Guess can't be helped then."
"Seojun! Let's keep decorating characters today!"
"Yeah, I even bought stickers this time. Here's one for you."
"Whoa!! This is gonna be awesome!"
Today, as always, the boys avoided him like the plague, while the girls adored him. Watching this aloof kid—who seemed neither outgoing nor introverted—the teacher sank into thought.
He's probably fine, right?
There were weird rumors floating around, and his behavior wasn't exactly kid-like, so she'd worried enough to counsel him a few times. But he always just said he was doing fine. When she called his parents, all she got was an awkward laugh, "He's always been a bit quirky," and "Please take good care of him."
Didn't seem like he was lying, and there wasn't any dark shadow hanging over him.
"Thanks for all your hard work today, Teacher."
"Oh, uh, yeah. You too, Seojun—get home safe."
A perfect 90-degree bow, polite as could be. Despite his deadpan face, he left the classroom with courteous poise. The teacher watched his retreating back with a pang of unease.
* * *
Finally, the tedious classes were over.
The kids piled into shuttle buses home, got picked up by academy vans, had parents waiting, or just walked off however. The others were dragged to English, Chinese, math, and who-knows-what academies from a young age, swamped after school. But thanks to my showdown with my parents, I'd won my freedom—and had all the time in the world.
Snack around until sunset, stroll home leisurely, and the day was done. Perfect. Plus, Rodeo Street sat right between school and home—ideal for killing time.
"Ahh, peace."
Children's bright laughter carried on the wind, fading into the distance. The sky was clear, not a speck of choking fine dust.
It'd been nearly ten years since I started this new life, but even now, the lab's acrid chemical stench and the harsh white fluorescent lights illuminating the damp underground sometimes haunted me.
Movies and games often feature humanity's last city, the final ark fleeing doom—massive underground metropolises. Some devolve into cave-like hovels where people evolve into monsters. Others mimic real skies on giant displays, complete with day-night cycles, seasons, even weather anomalies—a tiny paradise.
Unfortunately, my old haunt was somewhere in between. Closer to the former, really—not a city so much as a giant bunker. In my previous world, I couldn't just gaze at this endless blue sky or savor the breeze like this.
Hell, I barely had time to stay sane.
A tempting rational being before instincts-driven grotesques. Even to those blurry on gender, it triggered an unnatural pull—like forced addiction, a dangerous drug. Irresistible temptation and violation.
As the ancient words go: Do you not know that he who unites himself with a prostitute becomes one body with her? For it is said, "The two will become one flesh."
The sensation of souls dissected and mingled, brain-melting ecstasy. Day after day, as body and soul warped, the windows of sanity were fleeting.
"What luxury."
Busy or idle—life didn't matter. Meaningless by nature. Even living forever led nowhere, but assigning meaning to fleeting moments gave it a certain charm.
"Hey! It's Seojun!!"
"Yeah? Looks like he's lost in weird thoughts again!"
"Seojun, we're grabbing mala tang—come with!"
A voice pierced the noisy Rodeo Street din. I'd been zoning out when a classmate spotted me and plopped down beside.
She bombarded me before I could react, but kids talk fast—I just caught the gist.
"Mala tang?"
These kids who can't handle spicy kimchi are tackling mala tang? Weirdos.
"Yeah! Me and her decided to challenge Hell Level 1 spicy. Last time we made it to Level 3!"
Hell? Not a word for food.
"You sure that's okay? Don't push it."
But they insisted on treating, so I tagged along. Exterior passed muster—clean glass windows, white interior, looked newly opened.
"What do you like?"
The kids had asked the staff and piled ingredients into plastic baskets.
"Anything. I'll eat whatever you pick."
Truth was, I'd never had mala tang—clueless on flavors. Soon, our picks boiled up in a massive bowl of blood-red broth. The nose-stinging aroma hit first.
I scooped some solids and broth into my small bowl, took a bite—and choked instantly.
"Gahk—cough, hack. Why the hell eat this crap?"
"Mala tang's meant to be spicy! If it's too much, skip the broth!"
The kids suffered but shoveled it in with grim determination.
"Whew—hah—whoa! Hell Level 1 is no joke. Got the milk?"
"Yup, here."
"Careful, or we'll end up in the hospital."
One wrong move and we'd wreck our guts. Shouldn't I stop them? Glancing around, plenty of kids and students among the customers. Picking out solids, shaking off broth—it was tolerable.
Taste is decent enough.
Sharing among three, we barely polished off the huge bowl.
"Done at last!"
"Hell Level 1 cleared!"
"Congrats... Thanks for the meal."
"Gotta brag to the others~"
"Let's come again!"
33,000 won. Steep for three kids.
"No worries! Dad gave me his card for hanging with friends."
They strutted out, faces flushed. I followed, soothing my burning gut with milk.
"Now that we're fed—ice cream time!!!!"
"Fine, I'll buy the ice cream."
Letting kids treat me nonstop felt embarrassing. Body born same year or not, my mind was a full adult—I'd pay gladly.
"Whoa? We're getting the big family size—cool?"
"Yeah, get what you want."
"Yay!!!!"
We hit Forty One, the premium brand boasting 41 flavors from pure milk, eggs, and natural ingredients only.
Huh?
"Family size to share!"
"Sounds good! Seojun?"
"Uh... sure."
"Dad wants T, Gone with Divorce, Mint Hosoin, and two new flavors?"
"Ack! No mint! It mixes weird!"
"This isn't mint."
"Still tastes similar—pass. Stella Room instead."
"Tch, Stella Room over Mint Hosoin then."
24,000 won total. Even with discount, meal-level price.
Oof, no Snowflake Sheer for me.
Unexpected spend—had to ditch that skin I'd eyed. Shook off regrets, shoved a big scoop in.
Sweetness melted stress away. Snacks fill a separate stomach, gender aside. Freshly fed, the tub vanished fast.
"Today was fun. See you tomorrow!"
"Yeah! Bye!"
"Later."
"Oh yeah! Tell us if Tae-woong bugs you again. We'll handle him!"
Tae-woong: the biggest guy in class, towering two heads over the girl in front.
"Got it. Reliable."
Escorted them home to aid digestion, then alone, pondered next move—settled on heading home.
"Something's been bugging me, though."
The breeze carried an undercurrent of foul malice. A predator's gaze scouting prey. Sorrow, fear, anxiety, rage—unstable emotions dissolved in the air.
Whatever the cause, bad vibes brewing.
Hmm, quick check?
Curiosity led me downwind. Far off, by the roadside, a single van was parked.