How to Throw a Tantrum
I threw a fit to get my way. I was born on January 18th, making me one of the early-year kids. So even though it was 2003 now and I should've been in 4th grade, Mom had planned to stick me in 3rd since I'd spent two years in America. I told her absolutely not—I was going into 4th grade. No way was I rotting away an extra year in school.
Thanks to that, I crammed through the entire 3rd-grade elementary curriculum. Sure, it's just kid stuff, but Korean wasn't second nature to me yet—it was a real hurdle. Your average Korean reading English translates it in their head to Hangul first. For me? Even numbers pop up in English. So I started with Hancom typing practice on the computer. I'd played plenty of games in Korea, so I'd pick up typing fast enough.
Mom watched me pounding away at the keyboard while munching fruit.
"Whoa~ your fingers are flying!"
"You should practice too, Mom."
"I am practicing~"
My typing speed had climbed to 120 keystrokes per minute. Not lightning-fast, but it probably looked impressive to her. Mom tilted her head at my computer's tower. No proper coolers in this era, so I'd half-disassembled it and jammed a fan in there instead. Electrical tape and tools were scattered around.
"What'd you do?"
"Cooling it down. It was overheating and freezing up. They say this keeps it running."
"Whoa... that's impressive. What's 'overheating' mean?"
She wasn't asking because she didn't know. It was more like, Did my American kid really figure this out?
"You don't know?"
"Yeah? How'd you even learn this?"
"...The computer told me~"
Her out-of-left-field question left me speechless. I get it—even I wouldn't believe a kid pulling this off. But explaining regression to Mom? That'd be way harder. Would she even buy it?
Mom gazed at me fondly and ruffled my hair. Then kept firing questions.
"This fix it for good?"
"Just extends the lifespan, they said. It wouldn't even turn on when I got here."
"It was broken...?"
She peppered me like she was humoring a kid, praising how amazing I was. That was her parenting style, but at my age, it was straight-up embarrassing.
"So what about Min-seo unnie moving away?"
Min-seo again. Mom wasn't one to dwell on regrets with anyone. But why bring her up so much? I couldn't even picture her face, but I played curious for Mom's sake.
"Where'd she go?"
"What, you miss her? Not far."
"I'm good~"
"You were always after Min-seo unnie~ She'd be heartbroken. She cried buckets when you left for America."
Unnie, huh? No age gap then, judging by the tears over me leaving. Must've hung out before America, but no memory. Not someone crucial to me, then.
"So? Does she miss me?"
"Of course~ But she's sulking hard—won't even look at me~"
Mom said she'd pissed off big-time since we shipped me off without a word. But how's a grade-schooler supposed to meet up? Even Harin barely had time to play with me. Better left as a fond memory.
"Damn... my boy's colder than I thought. Takes after me?"
I definitely took after Dad's temperament. Couldn't be as cool-headed as Mom.
"You're bothering me, Mom. Out."
"What? Puberty already? You are getting big for your age."
"Go play with Harin. I gotta study."
"My big boy's such a boring little squirt~"
She poked and prodded, trying to rile me up, then chuckled and left when I glared.
After she was gone, I fired up email and transferred my memo notes to the computer. These were the big future events I remembered from America—heavy hitters only. I'd jot down ones that surfaced now and then. They'd come in clutch someday.
Before Dad opened the dojo, we went on family trips around Korea. Sampling local foods, with me looking after Harin. I'd carry her everywhere, protecting her, and Mom watched all warm and fuzzy. Dad loved it too—said real men step up for their sisters.
That led to a little issue. While I was bathing a wiped-out Harin after playtime, Mom barged into the bathroom.
"Son~ Mommy's got something to say."
"Harin's all clean."
"Harin-ah~ Want Daddy to dry you off?"
"Yeah!"
Mom handed her off to Dad for no reason. Her expression was off—put me on edge. Had I messed up...?
Harin bolted out naked, sensing the vibe maybe. Mom smiled at me, but it had a chilly edge.
"Son."
"Yeah...?"
"What if you get another sibling?"
No need to guess her angle. Mom didn't beat around the bush. Still in her twenties, Dad hitting thirty, and with two years' breather from us older kids... Yeah, a ten-year gap from my pre-regression life. New baby incoming.
"What!? Why? Without even asking me!?"
"Sorry~ But you'll love 'em like Harin, right?"
What choice did I have? She felt bad dumping surrogate parenting on the eldest. Harin glued to me probably let Mom slack off guilt-free. But doubling up on siblings wasn't in my plans—I was all-in on Harin.
"Harin sings about wanting a baby sister all the time~"
True enough. I played my best, but couldn't be her doll forever. Harin must've nagged Mom for a compliant little sib.
Once Harin started kindergarten, she bawled every morning about not wanting to go. Tough luck—we weren't skipping. Mom wasn't the emotional type anyway. Funny part? Tears stopped the second the car pulled out. Too busy chattering with friends. The pure Harin learning to game the system.
Dad opened his jiu-jitsu dojo. Dumped our savings into auctioning a whole commercial building. Still catches flak for it, but he went big—six stories. Planning to pack it with Korean trainees. Did anyone even know jiu-jitsu back then? No market research? Classic optimistic Dad. Untouched by failure.
I knew it'd tank hard. Turn into a ghost building, crushing him. Might explain why he got so stoic later. But it'd become his best move. A buddy would turn the empty space into a PC bang—Sungsu-dong PC Bang—and it'd explode. Other spots drooling envy, but Sungsu's land prices kept 'em out. Dad's massive building? The only game in town. Even in the future, prime spot. Neighborhood kids' hangout, Seoul Forest meetup pitstop.
Short-term? Total flop. Building hits the market, no takers. We sell our UN Village land two years out, move to Sungsu together. Dad couldn't ditch a yard—snagged a corner house. Four years later, Seoul Forest Station right there. Value 10x's over. House broke? Only now. I'd rub Dad's back through his two-year grind. No advice needed—we wouldn't starve. Grandpa's military supplier kingpin status covered that. But Dad's shoulders? Borrowing living expenses would wreck 'em.
So I started 4th grade. What was school gonna teach me? No smartphones, barely cell phones even. Kids gawked at my near-black blue eyes. Only showed blue in light, but their stares? Par for the course. Mixed kids like me never fully fit anywhere. Harin passed for full white at least—natural blonde, unlike me.
"Don't cross the line."
"..."
This girl had drawn a line on our shared desk. My size cramped her spot, so she got pissy. Moments like this reminded me Harin was a goddamn angel.
Still, basics wouldn't hurt. WFC interviews? Can't look ignorant. So Korean history it was. Japanese on the side when bored.
Pre-regression, I repped America. WFC losing US stars? Fans loved my flag. But they saw me as the dirty Asian—Chinese slurs, racism. Fuck that flag. This time? Korean Monster under the Korean flag. Communities ain't clean anywhere.