Let's Go to School

The heavens and the earth convulsed. The sky had been steeped in blood, and the ground had split wide, magma geysering from the wounds.

Wherever he looked, the world was paved with corpses reduced to shredded rags. And the one who had authored that catastrophe gazed down at Han Mir with languid, almost bored contempt.

Every breath seared his lungs as if they were catching fire, and the acrid smoke blurred his vision to a smear. A thick, bitter taste coated his tongue. Han Mir tore out a ragged gasp and clenched the holy sword in a hand that would not stop trembling.

Han Mir's eyes snapped open. What greeted him was not uneven dirt or a hard, sour-smelling cot, but a bed so soft it seemed to sigh beneath him, sweet with the scent of fabric softener. Warm sunlight spilled through the window and laid a gentle hand across his face.

He looked up at a ceiling of clean, fresh wallpaper instead of something filthy and damp, and a small smile tugged at his mouth.

"Peaceful."

He stretched with shameless leisure and checked the time. The clock read six-thirty in the morning. Life in the Other World had meant rising before dawn to start the day's march, and his body, trained to that rhythm, still woke on its own.

Scratching his stomach in no particular hurry, he wandered out of his room and swept a glance across the empty living room.

Han Mir did not have many good memories of family. His parents had always been a dual-income pair, forever busy, the kind of people who cared more about climbing their careers and collecting other people's respect than they ever had about raising a child. His gaze drifted to the family photograph on the table, the faces bleached out by the sunlight glancing off the glass.

Even now they were away on an overseas business trip, and there was no telling when they would be back. They would never notice that their son had gone to another world and returned. Han Mir did not particularly mind. He had not come back to this world because he missed anyone's arms. What mattered was the comfort modern civilization laid at his feet.

"Hmm, hmm, hmm~"

Humming under his breath, he poured milk over a bowl of cereal and crunched his way through it, then switched on the television to break the hush. His eyes latched onto a cartoon he had not seen in years and his mouth kept hunting down cereal, but his mind was elsewhere, turning over the day before.

Lee Si-a. She had refused when he suggested they get fried chicken together — and then she had tasted a single drumstick, her eyes had rolled back in her head, and she had demolished the rest like a competitive eater. Truly, he had no idea what went on inside that girl's skull.

A morning without monsters, without assassins, without anyone trying to kill him. Han Mir cleared his dishes, stepped into the bathroom, and turned the shower on.

Hot water thundered down. Fatigue melted out of him as if it were being rinsed from his bones, and the corner of his mouth lifted on its own.

"Haaah..."

By the time he stepped out, steam had filled the bathroom so thickly he could barely see. Han Mir thought, A perfect morning. The peaceful morning he had dreamed of for so long. Even if he did, unfortunately, have to go to school.

Mentally he was twenty-three. Physically he was still eighteen, which meant the boy had no choice but to point his feet toward a classroom. The Han Mir from before his summoning would have rather died than drag himself to school. Now it was different. He was even, faintly, looking forward to the noisy clamor of youth he had not heard in years.

That feeling did not survive the walk to his desk.

"Ugh. Modern conveniences are great and all, but school really isn't my thing."

He was already draped over his desk, squirming his hips in a doomed attempt to negotiate with a chair that was hard, ugly, and hostile to human life. He could feel the energy draining out of him already. Never one who had cared much for studying, the boy let his eyes drift toward the kids still chattering at full volume before the bell.

Looking at them now, he wondered if there was any other age that threw off energy this pure and this fierce. He was staring at them blankly when a shadow fell across his desk. He tipped his head up.

"Yo, pal! There you are."

The speaker was a big kid with a body far too densely muscled for a high schooler, smiling with empty brightness. Han Mir stared at his face. The bleached-blond hair was dry and brittle. The teeth were yellow, as if they had never met a toothbrush. Dark skin, features that looked like they had been crumpled out of paper and only halfway smoothed flat.

Han Mir picked slowly through old memories — and his eyes flashed open.

"Kim Gwang-cheol?"

That was it. How had he forgotten? The bastard who had made his entire school life a special kind of hell. A thug who had gone after nothing but his abdomen so the bruises would never show, who had filmed humiliating videos and used them to bleed him for cash. The first time Han Mir had looked at him, the guy had seemed enormous and terrifying. Now he looked like a cheeping chick.

"Kah~ Our pal actually remembers my name! I'm touched!"

Gwang-cheol barked a laugh, perched himself on Han Mir's desk, and leaned down.

Then—

Crack!

Gwang-cheol's palm smashed down on the crown of Han Mir's head.

"Since when does a worm get to say my name? You wanna die, pal? Haven't been hit enough lately?"

Every gaze in the room snapped toward them at once. The lively hum of the class died on the spot, as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice water named Kim Gwang-cheol over the lot of them.

"Whoa, Gwang-cheol's already started Earthworm training? Man, you are dedicated."

"Oh my god, for real? Should we check if our little Earthworm learned his lesson? Kyahaha!"

A skinny, weasel-faced boy named Lee Chi-myeol slithered up behind Gwang-cheol, followed by Shin Ji-yoon, who had a figure built for trouble and a face caked so thick with makeup it might as well have been frosting. They looked down at Han Mir the way nobles looked at a slave.

The nickname was a joke at his expense. The moment they had learned that Mir meant dragon, they had decided he was no dragon at all — just an earthworm — and the name had stuck.

Han Mir looked at them and smiled. To think a day would come when he would be genuinely glad to see the faces that used to make him want to throw up.

Gwang-cheol was smiling on the outside. Inside, he was not smiling at all. The hand he had just used on Han Mir was swelling fast, burning as if it had been set on fire, and the pain was enough to make him want to die. He had jammed it into his pocket so no one would see. It was not merely swollen from the impact — it would not stop shaking. It felt exactly like he had put everything he had into slapping a steel door.

Kh... was this bastard always this hard-headed? He's fine. I'm the one in pain!

He could not let any of that show, so he laughed as if nothing in the world were wrong.

"You prepped today's friendship fee, right, pal?"

He gave Han Mir's shoulder a couple of companionable pats and turned back toward his crew, still wearing that easy grin. Underneath it, his guts were in an uproar.

"That's right. If you don't come up with a million won by the end of the day, that video goes public."

Lee Chi-myeol snickered, his voice oily.

"And that's a million each, obviously! Kyahaha!"

Watching ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠kids who had never earned a single won in their lives demand three million as if it were lunch money did wonders for Han Mir's mood. He rose from his seat, nice and easy.

"H-huh?"

Gwang-cheol took a step back without meaning to. Han Mir was smaller than he was — that much was obvious — and yet, for a single instant, the boy in front of him had felt like a giant.

Han Mir smiled, bright and pleasant, and set a hand on Gwang-cheol's shoulder.

"Of course I did. My adorable friends."

"H-huh? Y-you actually got it?"

Honestly, Gwang-cheol had thought the demand was absurd. He ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠had only said it to manufacture another excuse to torment him. The idea that Han Mir might actually come through had never crossed his mind, and he grinned so wide he almost forgot the screaming in his hand.

"Kahaha! That's more like it. Should've done this from the start."

"Ooooh, our Earthworm finally grew a brain?"

"Something like that. Handing it over here would be awkward, though. Why don't you all step outside with me for a minute?"

"Kyaa, this is gonna be great!!"

Han Mir had just started to lead the way when a girl with long straight hair and a fierce set of eyes planted herself in front of him.

Who was this again?

"Oh, our A-yeong's here?"

Gwang-cheol sidled up to her with a greasy little grin. She scowled.

That was when the name clicked. Park A-yeong. Officially one of Gwang-cheol's people, though she had never quite looked like she belonged with them. Deep dark circles, a tongue like a blade — that was her.

"What the hell are you doing first thing in the morning?"

"Ah, well, our Earthworm here said he'd pay the friendship fee."

Park A-yeong shot Han Mir a look that could have bored a hole through him, then let out a long, exhausted sigh.

"...Haa. The damn teacher's coming. Do it later."

As if to prove her point, the front door banged open and someone walked in.

"All right, all right, quiet down!"

Teaching authority in this country had not merely collapsed. It had punched through the floor and kept going into the basement. Their homeroom teacher stood at the podium, the once-full head of hair sacrificed to stress, a gleaming circular bald spot on display at the crown of his skull.

"Everyone, sit down."

"Tch. Fine. See you later, pal."

Gwang-cheol gave Han Mir's shoulder another couple of taps and went back to his seat. The rest of his crew followed, already arguing over how they were going to spend the money.

Park A-yeong looked at Han Mir as if he were something stuck to the bottom of her shoe and clicked her tongue.

"Tsk."

She drove her shoulder into his as she passed — then froze.

"...Nnh."

A shudder ran through her. She stopped dead, then hurried back to her seat and clutched her own shoulder with both ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hands.

Han Mir sat down, a quiet snort of laughter under his breath. The tasty ones are best saved for later.

The teacher surveyed the restless classroom and spoke in a voice that already sounded tired of the day.

"We have a transfer student today."

Every head in the room turned at once. The teacher managed a bitter little smile at receiving that much attention for the first time in a long while, and gestured toward the door.

"Come in."

The front door slid open, and a girl stepped through. Short hair. Fox-like eyes that looked like they could talk a person out of their own name. A beauty — and a painfully familiar one.

"Hi, everyone! I'm Lee Si-a! My parents just moved to this area, so I transferred here! Looking forward to getting along with all of you!"

She said it with the bright, sparkling energy of a shoujo manga heroine. Han Mir closed his eyes and decided to take a nap.

"Ooooh! A babe! A total babe!"

"No way, is she an idol trainee?!"

The boys lost their minds.

"Hmph. She sure got her face done."

"Tsk. Even the way she looks is irritating."

"Girls who look like that always have the worst personalities."

The popular girls in class pinched their brows, jealousy written plainly across their faces.

Lee Si-a's gaze, however, went to none of them. Not to the boys lighting up at the sight of her, and not to the girls cutting her apart with their eyes. It was locked, with absolute precision, on the idiot sprawled out asleep in the very last seat by the window. Han Mir.

She was smiling on the outside. On the inside, she was rotting. Her mind had been stuck on repeat since yesterday, playing the same conversation over and over again.

"What?! You want me to go to school?!"

Team Leader Kang Him-chan had looked at her with that same listless expression, unmoved by the shock she could not even try to hide.

"It's an order from upstairs. The fact that you walked away from him alive is enough for them to classify that Anomaly as relatively friendly — something that can, at least, be reasoned with. They're estimating that the kind of power he showed would inflict unacceptable casualties if we tried to put him down with ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a special forces unit. So we're attaching you as his watcher."

Lee Si-a took an involuntary step back, as if the words themselves had shoved her.

"Th-then I'm just supposed to keep watching him? That's all?"

"No. This is not a simple surveillance assignment."

Kang Him-chan folded his hands on the desk and regarded her with a calm that did not match what came out of his mouth.

"...Excuse me? I must have misheard you. You just told me to seduce Han Mir. That's not what you said, right?"

"That's exactly what I said. Seduce the Anomaly and get him to walk into the Management Bureau of his own free will. You've already made contact, and you've been through honey-trap training. You're the best asset we have for this."

"B-but he didn't even seem interested in me!"

"Don't worry about that part. I've received special authorization from above."

Lee Si-a saw something flash in Kang Him-chan's eyes.

"Authorization to use Special-class Objects. Hypnosis, aphrodisiacs, love potions — take every Safe-grade Object we've issued you and use them however you need to. Seduce him."