Ajumma
Amazing...
From Yoo Min-ah's perspective, who had been a PC bang regular for over five years, it was the first time a girl who looked like an elementary schooler had sat down right next to her. In all that time, she'd never seen anything like it. Sure, elementary school boys were a dime a dozen, but a girl? Not once.
Still, Min-ah refocused on the sudden enemy assault. FPS games didn't give you any room to look elsewhere. She was too busy spraying bullets. And yet, she couldn't help sneaking glances. They were both girls, after all, and she was curious what game this little kid next to her would play.
Maybe one of those trendy RPGs like MapleStory? Or Underground Castle and the Hero, with its killer side-scrolling action and hit feedback? Or would she play the same FPS as me? No matter what, I was sure it'd be a shock.
But the kid next to her did something completely out of left field.
Huh?
She wasn't gaming—she'd opened a homepage and was doing something there. That was fine. Most people came to PC bangs to play games, but every now and then, you'd get someone just surfing the web. The problem was how familiar the interface of that homepage looked.
As someone who worked at a publishing house, Min-ah couldn't not recognize it. It was the site where aspiring novelists posted their stories. And the real shocker? She wasn't just reading novels.
She was typing one out herself! The kid looked no older than first or second grade. At that age, kids were barely learning spelling, let alone reading novels. Some first-graders could hardly speak properly—they hadn't even fully learned Hangul yet.
But this girl next to her was writing a novel with a completely blank expression!
The final straw came when Min-ah glanced at the title of the novel she was writing. She shut down her game on the spot, turned to the kid, and said,
"Hey, kid. Got some time?"
The title of the novel the girl was writing was none other than the Sunlight Painter that Min-ah had been desperately hunting for.
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Yoo Min-ah and Lee Sora headed to a nearby café. Nowhere beat a café for having a proper chat. But café prices in the 2000s were insane. Sora eyed the menu.
Americano: 3,500 won.
Enough for a bowl of jjajangmyeon. No wonder socially active women who frequented cafés got called "bean paste girls"—they were blowing the price of a solid meal on coffee. And from Sora's perspective, that money could make her mom and dad so happy...
"One Americano... and you're Sora, right? What do you want, Sora?"
"Just hot chocolate for me, please."
"Got it..."
Min-ah ordered one Americano and one hot chocolate. Inside, she was crying bloody tears. This was enough for twenty hours at the PC bang...! A full day there. But her boss's words echoed in her head: Capture the author of Sunlight Painter, no matter what.
She decided to expense it to the company later.
They settled at a sunny table, staring at each other in silence. Finally, Sora spoke first.
"Ajumma."
"Gasp!"
Min-ah clutched her chest, reeling from the innocent gut punch. A 28-year-old spinster called an ajumma...? No matter how she sliced it, that was too harsh. She forced an awkward smile and looked at Sora.
She needed to correct this kid's misconceptions. Definitely not because she hated the word.
"Sora, I'm not ajumma—I'm unnie. Call me unnie. Unnie's still in her twenties~"
"Really...? Didn't you say you're 28? That's a twenty-year difference. That's ajumma territory."
"Ugh..."
Min-ah thought it over. From Sora's viewpoint, yeah, it kinda added up. Min-ah herself would call a 48-year-old woman ajumma without hesitation. A 48-year-old was ajumma. Heck, a few more years and she'd be grandma material.
But Min-ah had her pride.
"Still... couldn't you call me unnie?"
"Okay."
Watching Sora's blunt response, Min-ah cut to the chase. Time to confirm if this kid was really the author of Sunlight Painter.
"Sora, you're really the one writing Sunlight Painter, right?"
"Yes. You saw me doing it yourself."
"Your age... first grade, right?"
"Yes. I just graduated kindergarten and started elementary school."
"Uh..."
As they talked, Min-ah sensed something off.
It didn't feel like chatting with a kid at all. More like a peer... no, someone even older. Impossible, of course.
Shouldn't a first-grader act like one? But Sora showed none of that. She wasn't a kid—she was an old soul in a child's body. If someone said a real adult had turned into a kid, she'd believe it.
The more they talked, the more convinced Min-ah was that this girl was the novelist.
At the very least, Lee Sora wasn't your average little girl.
Like some protagonist straight out of a novel, maybe.
Spend enough time talking to a kid, and you could gauge their smarts. Sora's were anything but ordinary.
Right now, she was sipping her hot chocolate and holding a smooth conversation with Min-ah.
Of course, Sora's adorable looks made Min-ah want to pinch those sticky rice cake cheeks. Same age as her niece, with baby fat still clinging to her plump face and beauty that outshone any child actress! To Min-ah, Sora was perfection incarnate.
Min-ah made her decision fast.
"Alright. Can you come to my company next Monday?"
"That might be tricky."
"Huh? Why? Don't like unnie...? I'm sorry! Give me one shot!"
Min-ah hadn't done anything wrong. But from Sora's side, getting to the company was the issue. No taxi money, no bus fare either. She hesitated, then came clean.
"I don't have money to get to your company."
"No money...?"
"Yeah. Honestly, our family's not well-off. We're really struggling."
"Got it. Hold on...!"
Min-ah rummaged in her wallet and handed Sora a 10,000-won bill.
"This should cover it. Take a taxi to unnie's company!"
"Such a huge amount...!"
Taxi base fare was under 2,000 won back then.
Sora examined the bill from every angle. Min-ah grinned at the sight.
"Give me your number too!"
"Sure."
Just in case Sora ghosted, Min-ah got her phone number. She repeated herself to Sora.
"You have to come! Got it? If not, unnie will hunt you down!"
"Okay. I'll go."
"Thanks, Sora!"
"But why'd you treat my number like a prank call?"
"Cough cough!"
Min-ah nearly spat out her Americano.
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I got home from school.
My bag had a hole in it. But whatever.
I wasn't some whiny kid who'd throw a tantrum at Mom for a new one. I knew our family's situation better than anyone. Asking for a fancy bag would just burden them—that'd be weird.
First grade ended super early, before afternoon even hit. No one was home. I dropped my bag and headed out again.
To go to the publishing house Min-ah mentioned last time. I considered a taxi but decided on the bus to save cash.
Every penny saved meant tasty treats for Mom and Dad later.