Chapter 23
Chapter 23
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ace
Chapter: 23
Chapter Title: Out into the World
-----------------------------------------------------------------
"Nice to meet you all. I'm Choi Eung-muk, your sixth-grade homeroom teacher."
Wahaha!
The teacher laughed awkwardly, and the kids couldn't hold back their giggles. Sure, there were a couple of transfer students and a teacher who got relocated mid-year, but the class size stayed steady at around thirty.
And that went for second grade, fourth, fifth, and now sixth. The same teacher had been their homeroom instructor four times in a row.
For Jin-hyuk, who had been forcibly transferred to the town school after finishing third grade first semester back in the day, it felt especially poignant to complete his elementary years at this rural school with just one class per grade.
"Alright, time to pick a class president. Anyone want to raise their hand?"
As expected, no one raised their hand. Everyone just turned to look at Son Jin-hyuk.
Fate, huh.
Thanks to the kids' and teacher's expectations, he always ended up as class president more or less by force. They said they'd rotate it each semester, but they never did. His friends practically begged the teacher to let Jin-hyuk do it. Why on earth did they hate it so much?
"At-ten-hut! Salute to the teacher!" The rural school kids were even embarrassed to do the commands.
Jin-hyuk let out a shallow sigh and scratched at his desk with his fingernail in resignation.
But then, the kid sitting next to him raised her hand.
It was Choi Mi-kyeong.
Choi Eung-muk, who was something like her distant cousin or uncle, lit up.
"Oh, Mi-kyeong wants to give it a shot?"
"Vice president."
Pfft. Jin-hyuk grumbled under his breath.
Mi-kyeong, who had shed her little-kid vibes, flashed him a cheeky grin.
Thanks to her overwhelming combat prowess securing the seat next to Son Jin-hyuk, he hadn't gotten to sit with anyone else.
"Alright then... Class president: Son Jin-hyuk. Vice president: Choi Mi-kye—"
"Me too for vice prez!"
"Me!"
"I wanna do it too!"
"Teacher! Me toooo!"
Suddenly, the vice president race heated up with candidates popping up left and right.
Out of thirty kids, ten threw their hats in for vice president.
Choi Eung-muk grabbed a 30cm plastic ruler and tore off sheets from a stack of pale, lifeless quad-fold paper. He handed them to the front-row kid, and they flowed back like water to the last row. After six years of this, the kids were more mechanical than a machine.
"Too many candidates, and you all know each other inside out, so we'll skip the campaign promises."
Wahaha.
The classroom erupted. As if vice presidents needed promises. Even if they made any, everyone knew they wouldn't follow through. Normally, they'd vote for president first, but here they fixed the president and voted for vice—a quirky twist.
"The runner-up will be vice president for second semester. Gotta save paper."
Wahaha.
Were they hitting that sensitive puberty phase? The kids burst out laughing at every little thing the teacher said.
Choi Mi-kyeong won with 15 votes—probably thanks to full support from the girls. Yuk Seong-chan took second with 6 and got second semester.
"Then student council president is Son Jin-hyuk too..."
Choi Eung-muk muttered while jotting in his notepad.
Jin-hyuk, who had been slouched sullenly, looked up.
Oh no. With only one class, the sixth-grade president also had to be student council president.
Still, Jin-hyuk stayed quiet. It wasn't like there was any real work. Student council whatever—it was just elementary school stuff. If it were twenty-first-century elementary, maybe it'd mean something.
Compared to his past life's cutthroat corporate grind, rural school life was basically recess. No need to wave it off dramatically.
"Jin-hyuk, prep a bit for the Chungnam Math and Science Contest in April?"
Yes.
And so, his ordinary sixth-grade life finally began.
He'd never skipped the contest before, always bringing top prize to the town’s Tae-yang Elementary. This would be even easier.
Smack!
Mi-kyeong slapped Jin-hyuk's shoulder with her palm.
"Hey! Son Jin-hyuk, what's your deal ignoring the teacher?"
And so began Choi Mi-kyeong's nagging.
Jin-hyuk rubbed his stinging shoulder.
This kid's hand packed a punch.
He'd almost reflexively countered.
A banner went up at the tiny rural school with who-knows-where 115 students hidden away.
<Congrats! 6th Grader Son Jin-hyuk Takes Top Prize at Chungnam Math & Science Contest!>
<Congrats! Eodong Elementary's 3-Peat at Chungnam Math & Science Contest!>
As always, Jin-hyuk arrived first and glanced at the banners strung across the school entrance and main gate. He'd participated every year since fourth grade.
In his previous life, the banners had the town school’s name instead.
Whoosh—the spring breeze carried a funky smell. Compost spread in the paddies before rice planting. The banners fluttered in the cow-dung-scented wind, stirring Jin-hyuk's bad memories along with it.
...
<Congrats! Son Jin-hyuk Tops Korea University Law School Entrance!>
If he'd known the world and how to fight it, he'd have gone independent early. But he was a scared, naive kid. In middle school, he memorized the school library books, hawked evening papers, poked around friends' houses—anything to delay heading back to the attic.
Part survival instinct with nowhere else to go, part because his aunt snatched the one family photo he had and hid it away. That's why he couldn't leave the attic.
To escape the attic, to break from his adoptive family, he got a scholarship to a prestigious private high school in another region with dorms.
Right after that banner went up, his adoptive mother's second daughter—three years older—showed up in her underwear. Jin-hyuk shoved her aside without a second thought, bolted out, rummaged his secret drawer for the family photo, slung his ratty bag over his shoulder, and raced to the terminal. The day he finally ditched the attic for good.
He hunkered under the "Cha Pharmacy" sign all night. Above his head, as he transitioned from boy to man, the banner groaned in the wind and rain but held firm, no matter how fiercely it whipped.
<Congrats! Son Jin-hyuk Tops Korea University Law School Entrance!>
Jin-hyuk vowed he'd survive like that long printed banner—unbroken.
...
"Whew. Still so vivid."
Even those devilish people, the shivering cold—they replayed crystal clear, triggered by a single banner.
That was probably the first time.
Ran nonstop to the terminal.
Blasting through wind and rain, the liberation he'd felt.
Maybe that's when running started making him feel alive, savoring freedom.
Several childish voices snapped Jin-hyuk from his reverie.
"Hey, Son Jin-hyuk!"
"Prez bro, hi!"
"Hi, Jin-hyuk oppa!"
Yeah, come on, friends.
School time neared, and the little single-story building started sucking in kids.
Jin-hyuk waved with a silent mental reply.
Mi-kyeong came dashing up and stuck to his side.
As they walked together, kids chattered behind them.
"How's that quiet oppa class president?"
"'Cause he's a real man—doesn't talk much, so the other bros and sisters listen up good."
"How do you know so well? You tight with prez oppa?"
"Yup. Last year he bought me a Choco Bar. Super close!"
Had he?
Jin-hyuk wanted to turn and check the kid's face but held back. Who knew what message that'd send. He did vaguely recall buying strawberry Choco Bars for the playground kids last scorching summer—for 100 won each.
Mi-kyeong looked up at him with a smug smile, like she'd heard her own brag. Then, as if remembering something, she spoke.
"Jin-hyuk, you bring that thing?"
That thing? Quite the catch-all pronoun.
That thing... Art supplies for today: cleaned milk carton, scissors, Scotch tape, colored paper. Tomorrow's music: recorder and triangle. Journal done, lunch packed.
"... No major oversights."
What're you even saying, you old fogey?
Mi-kyeong's eyes narrowed.
"Did you do that thing?"
Jin-hyuk clamped his mouth shut and snorted through his nose.
Brain needed oxygen. Why overuse pronouns like that? Sure, vague ones worked in a pinch, but clear specifics were key for smooth talk.
A memory flashed: chewing out a team member for vague reports and meetings.
- "Deputy, 'that part' doesn't make your point clear. Can't elaborate?"
- "Oh, that part... I mean the part where, to meet customer needs in that part, we process that part, handling their complaint-like parts or company image—in a positive way—."
- "Can't specify? Same as not knowing. If the team lead can't convince, how'll we get exec buy-in and push the project?"
His head stung. Too much of a hardass—face burned. Regret for pushing too hard, reflection on his rigid, mechanical life.
Sorry, Deputy.
Two years older than him, right?
Anyway, ask precisely before getting frustrated. He nodded, resolving that.
While Jin-hyuk's soul took a quick trip, Mi-kyeong facepalmed.
This guy creaks like a rusty cultivator at every question. Her dad'd just hammer squeaky farm tools. But Jin-hyuk was rock—only hurt your hand. She sighed and shook her head.
"Sigh, forget it. Just ask Eun-jung—"
"What's that?"
"Huh?"
"That's why I'm asking. What’s this 'that' you're talking about?"
Mi-kyeong glanced around and mumbled vaguely.
Like Maeng-gu from that old school drama.
"Deworming packet."
Huh, say what now?
Morning prep had been perfect. New house with flush toilet—no more newspaper on squatty potty. Blissful. Jin-hyuk fondly recalled his fresh newspaper-aided morning.
But why would a tidy, shy pre-teen ask that? Mi-kyeong was casual around him, but still...
"Jin-hyuk, y'know..."
She opened cautiously, eyes darting like a scared bunny.
"Can I have just a bit?"
This tween's lost it.
Jin-hyuk widened his eyes in disbelief.
Live and learn—someone asking to share poop pills. You a dog? Even General wouldn't ask.
"Can't? I flushed the water already."
Ah, right—Mi-kyeong's place wasn't flush. Made sense. Everyone slips; give her a shot to fix it. Couldn't embarrass her in front of friends at this sensitive age. She was like family, childhood friend and all.
Not wanting to hurt her, Jin-hyuk forced a smile and held out his hand.
"Gimme the... packet?"
"Thanks."
Fearing he'd change his mind, Mi-kyeong rummaged her bag.
Plastic pencil case rattled briefly; out came a white paper envelope labeled "Choi Mi-kyeong" in crisp handwriting.
"Head to class first."
He took the deworming packet and matches from her, heading to the playground corner.
Never ate junk or raw stuff, so he'd never needed them. Mi-kyeong knew that, hence the ask.
Never thought I'd donate poop pills. To a girl, no less.
Nearly half a century lived combined. Grumbling, he trudged on. At the corner, he rustled into prep. Hated reopening it—stomach churned. Two bowls of breakfast already.
Then—
An odd, mystical sound hit Jin-hyuk's eardrums.
"Hnggh—ungh—hnnnyaah—."
Someone grunting in the nearby outhouse.
Oh ho, a diligent kid hitting the books early.
Haah—in. Deep breath, then strode to the outhouse. Nose pinched, lungs sealed. Jin-hyuk could hold three minutes easy.
"Angh? Ngh—prez?"
"Hnggh—prez?"
A familiar voice replied from inside.
Recognized even his nasally pinch-voice—heaven-sent.
Perfect.
Like fate: right time, right place, VIP arrives.
Another fateful encounter.