Stationery Store Nostalgia and the Little Geniuses Call
"Sora! Sora!"
"Huh?"
"Let's play together today...!"
I shook my head at my desk mate Jisu's words. I had a mountain of things to do after school. But Jisu was looking at me with those sparkling eyes. It seemed impossible to shake her off. In the end, I nodded.
Eh, how much could we even play? We'd just hang out for an hour or two and head home. Besides, now that we had a computer at home, I could handle work in the evenings too. Sure, my eyes would automatically shut after 10 p.m.... but it was encouraging that I could work weekends now. I used to go to Songi Media on weekends, but it felt awkward. Saturdays were fine since everyone came in to work, but Sundays? That was a whole different story. Even back then, Sundays were for rest. So I'd avoided going in on Sundays as much as possible.
But with the home computer, I could work Sundays too. Smartphones existed now, but there wasn't much fun media yet. Weekends meant watching TV with Mom or going grocery shopping—that was it. The 2000s were such a boring era with nothing to do. In my old life, it was a nonstop dopamine party. Just scrolling Shorts on NewTube could eat up a whole day.
"Alright, let's go, Sora!"
"Okay."
I gathered my bag. I couldn't remember the last time I'd properly explored around school. Actually, thinking about it, this was my first time. I'd only been at Byeolbit Elementary for a short while, and after classes, I'd rush straight home to pay off debts. Normal elementary kids would leisurely wander and play with friends... but my story was different. I was special, carrying an adult's memories.
"Sora! Sora! Over here!"
Jisu grabbed my hand and pulled me into the stationery store. The familiar atmosphere hit me, pulling me into nostalgia. When I was an adult, these mom-and-pop stationery stores were dying out. I was more used to unmanned ones. Kids' numbers had plummeted due to low birth rates—customer base halved. So places like this selling junk snacks felt like a real blast from the past.
"Whoa, it's been forever!"
"Huh? You've been here before, Sora?"
"Ah... no, Jisu! It just slipped out."
I patted my mouth. The excitement got the better of me. I shook my head and snapped out of it.
The store was packed with all sorts of junk food. Not that it was inedible or anything—just a lifeline for elementary kids, filling the hunger pangs. Childhood was that age when you wanted everything to eat and do.
"Hee-hee! Mom gave me allowance today!"
Jisu proudly pulled out her wallet and flashed me a thousand-won bill.
"This'll buy everything!"
In the 2020s, a thousand won was pocket change—a soda can or one ice cream. But now? You could get three or four ice creams. Or fill your belly till it was stuffed.
"Uh..."
I wondered if I should tell her I had a ten-thousand-won bill in my wallet. Seeing her triumphant face, it felt wrong to pull it out.
"Sora, come here...!"
Jisu dragged me deeper inside. The store buzzed with kids like us. I eyed the snacks on the display racks—junk food heaven.
"Whoa...!"
Memories flooded back: spicy stick snacks supposedly made from cockroaches, ones from silkworm pupae... All lies, but we'd believed them back then.
"Sora, let's get tteokbokki! My treat."
"No... I have money too...!"
"Nope! I'm buying!"
At her bold declaration, I nodded. No reason to refuse a freebie.
Jisu beamed and told the shopkeeper,
"Two tteokbokki, please!"
"Got it."
Kids today might not believe it, but in the 2000s, stationery stores sold full-on street food! Parental complaints killed that off by the 2020s. But here? Instant noodles, sticky rice cakes, steamed buns, tteokbokki—you name it. It could pass for a snack bar.
The shop auntie filled paper cups generously with tteokbokki. In my old era, this portion would've cost at least 3,000 won... but not now.
"Thank you!"
Jisu took her cup too. I said,
"Thanks, Jisu."
"No prob, Sora! I'm just happy to eat with you!"
"Yeah...?"
I felt a twinge of guilt, like I'd swindled allowance money from a snot-nosed kid. I'd buy her tons of treats later. With ten thousand won, I could act like a millionaire—sweep the whole snack menu.
"Hee-hee!"
Jisu giggled, sticking close with a goofy grin. I gave her an awkward smile and picked up a piece of tteokbokki. It was delicious—packed with seasoning.
Vrrrrm!
A huge platform sat in front of the store for kids to rest, with mini car tracks on top. But the mini car craze was fading—no one playing now. I'd bought some and raced them endlessly back then.
"Sora, isn't the new teacher super scary?"
"Is she?"
First graders were at that age where teachers terrified them. To me? Just wage slaves. I was past idolizing them.
We chatted as we headed home. Stopping at that nostalgic stationery store left me satisfied—not just reminiscing, but living it.
Tap tap.
I hammered the keyboard. I'd dramatically reconciled with Mom. She wanted me working from home on weekdays too. But that would tank efficiency. Worst, visitors kept coming—Professor Lee Yeon-ji, Grandpa Min-gyu, and lately Grandpa Sung-min. Giants of literature, drama, film. Mom and Dad would freak if they showed up at home. And it wasn't just them—others too.
So we compromised: three days a week at Songi Media, rest at home with Mom on weekdays and weekends.
I was at Songi Media now. I glanced sideways. Agent Yoo Min-ah was playing Lupin the salary thief. I didn't peek at her monitor—just her face. That grave, intense expression? Definitely not work.
Ring ring!
Her phone rang. She picked up with an annoyed look, but her expression shifted to polite deference.
From what I overheard...
"Ah, a broadcast invitation? Yes. Yes. I'll ask and get back to you."
Broadcast? Someone wanted to film me.
Min-ah hung up, grinned at me, and said,
"Sora, you're a total celebrity now?"
"What's up?"
"KBA station wants to feature your story on TV!"
"My story?"
"Yeah, that program they have. The one with only super smart kids. What’s it called..."
"Oh, I've heard of it. Find the Little Geniuses! That the one?"
"Yeah! The PD called."
"I'll do it."
"R-Really? No need to think it over?"
"Yes. Going on TV is always a good thing."
It wasn't some exposé or scandal show. TV's power was immense. A terrestrial broadcast had wiped out our debt collectors. And building a positive image? Priceless.